State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(64)

She understood as he met her gaze with those merciless shark eyes that he wasn’t going to help. This was his revenge for her behaviour in the Winter Palace, all those weeks ago.

The last of her courage seeped from her as panic took over. Her knees locked, her body froze, the Sons of Rhannon getting closer every moment, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything except stare at the man who’d betrayed her.

“We have to go.” Mael tugged on her arm, as she stared at the captain of the Decorum Ward in horror. “Sorrow…”

The hooded men turned to the left, making their way to a small set of stairs at the base of the stage. There was something in their hands, something long and glinting.

Curved swords, she saw, as the leader pointed his at her and it flashed.

“Sorrow…” Mael pleaded.

A gout of flame licked the edge of her shoe, and she grabbed Mael’s hand, instinct finally kicking in, and dragged him from the stage.

She led blindly, listening for footsteps chasing them. Her heart beat triple time, her body screaming at her to get away.

They found themselves in a dead-end passage, four closed doors along one side. Sorrow turned, pulling Mael back the way they’d come, freezing when she heard voices shouting.

Mael opened the nearest door and pushed Sorrow through it, following her and closing it behind them. Sorrow backed away until she reached the far wall, hand pressed to her chest, eyes fixed on the door. They were in some kind of empty closet or storage room, the walls bare save for scuffs and chipped paint, a small, dirty window high up allowing a little light into the room. There was no lock on the door, and so Mael braced himself against it, pushing the handle up and pressing a finger to his lips. After a moment, Sorrow moved to his side, leaning against it too.

“The door won’t hold them if they find us.” Mael spoke in a low voice.

“We have to find a way out. The fire…”

“You’ll fit through the window. I’ll help you.”

Sorrow looked again at the window. She might get through it, but he wouldn’t. “And what about you?”

He didn’t reply.

She hesitated, debating furiously whether she should go.

Leaving him to face them alone...

No, she decided. Two against three were better odds. Even if they did have swords.

“Do you think they actually want to kill us?” Sorrow asked. “Or is this all to scare us?”

Deep down she knew it was a stupid question – people didn’t throw fire and point swords unless they meant it – but she was desperate for some kind of reassurance.

Mael was silent for a moment. “I don’t know.”

They both fell quiet then, and Sorrow realized that they were pressed shoulder to shoulder, and for the first time she didn’t want to recoil from his touch. He might not be her brother, but right then she was grateful not to be alone. Because she’d loathed her father, she had no difficulty understanding that the people would. Stars, if they’d risen up against him while he was alive she might have been tempted to join them.

But she’d never imagined it might have transferred to her. She’d spent so long crafting a speech she’d thought would please them, reassure them. She didn’t know them at all. And now she might die here. Murdered by masked men, who despised her because of her name.

She leant harder against Mael, comforted when he pressed back.

Minutes passed, with no sound from outside, and Sorrow shifted her weight. Beside her, Mael did the same.

“Maybe we should go?” Sorrow said.

Mael shook his head. “We’re safer in here for now. It’s us they want.”

She suppressed a shiver. Maybe it was the Sons of Rhannon who’d sent the dead kitten. It seemed likely.

“Have you heard of these people before?” she asked haltingly. “Or has anything happened to you?”

“No. Nothing.”

Sorrow blew out a long breath. “It sounds quiet. I’m going to—” she began, but no sooner had she said it than they heard footsteps and shouts. Someone rattled the door and Mael pushed Sorrow back, covering her as he gripped the handle.

“The window…” Mael hissed. “Go…”

“Sorrow?” Luvian’s voice was tight with panic. “Sorrow?”

“In here!” she cried, forcing Mael out of the way and throwing the door open.

Luvian was alone.

“Where’s Irris?” Sorrow asked, looking around for her friend.

“Safe. Don’t worry,” Luvian said. “Are you all right?” He moved as though to embrace her, stilling when Mael stepped out of the room.

Before Sorrow could explain, an older man, tall and reed thin, with thick sideburns, rounded the corner and stopped when he saw them.

“You’re all right?” he asked Mael, who nodded, then moved to the man’s side, a slight tremor to his hands the only sign he was still shaken. Sorrow’s own heart was still fluttering away inside her chest like a trapped bird, her knees locked to keep her from collapsing or running, her body torn between both.

“Captain Vine said he’d send someone to fetch us when it was safe to do so,” the man announced to the group. “The fire is mostly contained, but we can’t leave via the main hall. I’m Arta Boniface, Mael’s advisor. Glad to finally have the pleasure. I’m only sorry it’s under such strained circumstances.”