State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(65)

Sorrow took a halting step forward and gripped the hand Arta Boniface offered. “Sorrow Ventaxis,” she said. “This is Luvian Fen, my advisor.”

“I know Luvian,” Arta Boniface said. “In fact, I taught him at the East Marches Institute.”

Luvian’s face was carefully blank as he shook his former tutor’s hand. “Arta was the only professor to grade me less than ninety-five per cent on my final exams,” Luvian said. “Have you left the faculty now?” he asked the older man.

“A sabbatical.”

“Until after the election?”

Arta inclined his head. “Unless I’m needed afterwards.” His tone implied he didn’t expect to return to his old role.

They lapsed into silence. Sorrow wanted to ask Luvian what had happened after she’d run, wanted to tell him that Meeren Vine had stood by and watched it happen, but she didn’t want to say anything in front of Mael or his advisor, didn’t want them to think her weak. So instead they waited, until finally Meeren Vine himself and two other members of the Decorum Ward appeared. Sorrow’s fury mounted as she saw his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. She might have mistaken them for signs of exertion, if she didn’t know better.

He was excited.

“All clear,” he said, inclining his head towards Sorrow in a way that made her blood boil. How dare he pretend to care?

“And the men?” Luvian asked, before she could say anything. “The Sons of Rhannon? Did you catch them?”

“Got away,” Vine replied. He looked at Sorrow, and she could have sworn she saw his lip twitch, as though he was trying to master the urge to smile, or smirk.

She decided not to give him the satisfaction of her anger. He knew, and he knew she knew what he’d done. Let him wonder when her vengeance would come. Because it would.

“What about the people?” Sorrow asked, keeping her tone as pleasant as she was able. “Was anyone hurt?”

She knew she’d scored a point when he blinked rapidly before replying. “There was a crush, to escape.”

“Did anyone…? Is anyone…?” Mael asked.

“No one died,” Vine said.

Sorrow was careful to keep her own expression neutral as she replied. “Thank you for your service. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

Again, that satisfying double blink of confusion, before he said, “Any time, Miss Ventaxis. I’ll send some people back with you to the North Marches –” he nodded to the man and woman with him “– in case any of them are still around. They’ll keep a close eye on you.”

Sorrow heard the threat in the words, but understood too late what it meant.

Meeren Vine didn’t like to lose.

“In fact,” Vine continued, “you ought to keep a guard with you at all times, seeing as the Sons of Rhannon have it in for you. Commander Dain, you wouldn’t mind sticking near Miss Ventaxis, would you?”

The female Decorum Ward shook her head wordlessly as Sorrow’s heart sank.

Sorrow looked at the female guard. She was tall, two heads taller than Sorrow, and broad, her muscular frame obvious even beneath her black tunic. Her dark hair was shorn close to her head, like all of the Ward, and her expression was theirs too: chin raised and jutted, eyes unforgiving.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Sorrow said.

“Oh, after what happened tonight, I think it is. And Commander Dain is one of my finest lieutenants,” Vine replied with a smile. “You’ll be in very safe hands.”

Clever bastard. The last thing she wanted after his display inside was to have one of his people with her, and he knew it. This was a warning not to say anything about what he’d done. And to remind her that he and his men were her only real protectors.

“What about Mael?” Sorrow said desperately. “He’ll need someone too.”

“It’s in hand,” Arta Boniface said, and Vine gave him a courteous nod.

Sorrow looked at Luvian, imploring him to do something, but he shrugged, an apology in his eyes. Traitor. “Let’s go,” she said tersely.

Vine inclined his head and turned, leading her, Luvian, Mael and Arta through the warren of corridors, Dain and the other Ward bringing up the rear. They finally arrived at a door leading out to a small side lane, where Irris was waiting with two more members of the Decorum Ward.

She moved to Sorrow’s side and hugged her before taking her by the hand and saying, “The carriage is this way, come on.”

Sorrow allowed herself to be led as the last of her adrenaline seeped away, leaving her shaking and cold.

“Sorrow,” Mael called.

She turned to see him standing in the light of a gas lamp on the wall.

He looked small, sad, and very tired. She was lucky to be going back to the North Marches with Irris and Luvian. Arta didn’t seem like much of a friend, and Vespus was in Rhylla. She didn’t know if he had anyone else. And she was surprised to find she hoped he did. Hoped he wasn’t alone. Not tonight, at least. She waited for him to say something more, but then Arta Boniface took his arm and guided him away.

Meeren Vine stepped forward then, standing in the light Mael had just left. And unlike Mael, he didn’t look sad or lost. He raised a hand to Sorrow, as though bidding her farewell. It was only once she was safely in her carriage, Luvian and Irris either side of her, that she realized his fist had been closed. Not a wave, but a gesture of victory.