State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(66)
To Ask, Not Answer
Dain sat with them in the carriage as they returned to the North Marches, preventing Sorrow from telling Luvian and Irris about Vine’s actions – or lack thereof – during the attack. She didn’t want the Decorum Ward commander reporting back to her boss; she wanted Vine to think she’d let him win, that she’d learned her lesson.
But inside she smouldered, her anger red coals that burned the whole way back. She kept replaying, it, over and over, fury and shame taking turns to assault her: how he’d turned away. How he’d smirked at her through the flames, while the Sons of Rhannon advanced. How, in that moment, he’d taken all of her power and made her beg for his help, and still done nothing. She’d been a fool to think he’d be so easily got rid of. And now he had someone watching her. Without meaning to, she shot Dain a filthy look, which the Decorum Ward missed as she stared out of the window into the night.
Irris noticed, though, and glanced at her questioningly.
“This is Commander Dain, my new bodyguard,” Sorrow told her. “Captain Vine assigned her to me.”
“I see,” Irris said, offering Sorrow a sympathetic smile.
Sorrow supposed she was lucky to have got this far without having a personal guard assigned to her, but then the hooded man had been right too – she’d barely left the palace before, and when she had, there had been a battalion of Decorum Ward between her and the people.
And the people had never tried to attack a Ventaxis before.
Nevertheless, the presence of the guard annoyed her, and, still shaken from the events at the hall, Sorrow pretended to doze on the journey home. There would be repercussions from this, she thought, as she leant against the carriage side with her eyes closed. More than being assigned a bodyguard. Twice she’d been targeted now. Would there be more? Or would Mael be next? She found she didn’t like the idea of that, either.
Mael… Another thought was demanding room in her head, one she didn’t want to give any credit to. But it wouldn’t leave her: the way he kept defending her, even against Vespus. The way he was always so nice. The way he’d grieved when Harun had died…
The way he acted persistently like a big brother.
Even though he couldn’t be.
By the time they arrived back at their headquarters, Sorrow’s pretend sleepiness had become real, her body and mind utterly exhausted; she didn’t think she could talk if she’d tried.
Luvian gestured for her to follow him into the library, but she shook her head, barely able to put one foot in front of the other.
“Tomorrow,” she said finally, her voice soft and slurred, and he’d paused, about to speak, and then nodded.
The last of her energy was spent shooting a dark look at Dain as she took up a station outside her room. She made sure to turn the lock loudly, and then, quietly, she placed a chair under the doorknob. The idea of Dain out there didn’t make Sorrow feel secure.
Sorrow climbed into bed fully clothed, not even bothering to kick off her boots as she pulled the sheets up to her chin, for once wanting the weight and warmth of them. When she closed her eyes she saw the three men again, staring up at her. The fire blazing across the stage as they’d flung their missiles at her. She sat up, heart pounding, reaching into her drawer for the remainder of the sleeping draught she’d taken the night before. Three large sips saw her sinking into a mercifully dreamless sleep.
She woke earlier than she’d expected, the sun barely warming the room. The manse felt quiet and still as she sat up. Her feet hurt from being confined inside her boots all night, and she pulled them off, dropping them to the floor with a thud. She followed them out of the bed, crossing to where her trunks were packed and waiting to be loaded on to the carriage for the journey to Rhylla later that morning.
Would they still go? she wondered. After what had happened, was it too dangerous?
If only Mael hadn’t appeared that day on the bridge, she would have returned to Rhannon after the memorial and signed the papers deposing Harun. She’d already be chancellor, or as near as. Last night would never have happened. Though the Sons of Rhannon had made it clear they were against all Ventaxises, so perhaps it might have done… Vine had said there was a crush. No one had died, but that didn’t mean people hadn’t been hurt. More pain at the hands of a Ventaxis.
Again she thought about how much she’d underestimated the work ahead of her. Luvian had been right to call her list naive. It was nowhere near enough to simply open curtains and bring back colour. She had to make them trust her – despite her name.
There was a kind of karmic resonance to the Sons of Rhannon, she realized, crossing the room to check the balcony door was locked. Her family had been a little like them, once. They’d been the ones trying to overthrow their supposed evil overlords, gathering allies and spreading the word across Rhannon. And they’d succeeded. The kings and queens who’d once ruled Rhannon had been destroyed, and replaced, by the Ventaxises.
So she had to learn from this. Or else be the bad guy on two fronts: former usurper, and present dictator. She needed to be better than her ancestors – more than them. But how?
She was the first to arrive at breakfast, and she dismissed the servants and told Dain to remain outside the room, closing the door on the large woman. On her way to the table she pulled the list from the wall, pouring herself coffee while she read through it, tearing a roll into small pieces, waiting for the others to join her.