State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(78)
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Sorrow said. “And I have Dain.” Sorrow smiled at the Ward, and her cheeks turned dusky.
“I rather hope you won’t need her,” Deryn replied, and it was Sorrow’s turn to flush as she wondered if she’d insulted her hostess.
“No, of course not. While we’re here Dain can relax.”
“Very good,” Deryn replied. “Though it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to attend the festivities, you must feel welcome to use the parlours downstairs.” She addressed Dain directly before speaking to them all. “Her Majesty says you’re free to use the grounds, but she asks that you respect the privacy of the castle residents and remain on the paths. The guards won’t take kindly to people being where they’re not expected. Dinner is at seven; if you could please meet downstairs in the hall, someone will come to escort you to the main keep. I think that’s all… Unless you have any questions?”
“None. Luvian?”
“I’m good.”
“If you’d like to follow me, I’ll see what I can do about rooms for you.” Deryn spoke to Dain, who turned to Sorrow with a questioning look.
Sorrow nodded, and the Rhannish and Rhyllian women left.
“I don’t think Deryn has a good grasp of what bodyguard means,” Sorrow said.
“I think she was insulted you thought you’d need one here,” Luvian replied.
“What should I do? I mean, the point of her being here is to guard me.”
“Hard to argue that when you left her on a bench in Ceridog because it suited you,” Luvian said. “And Deryn is right. The castle complex – Rhylla in general – is the safest place in the whole of Laethea. Historically there has never been a breach of the walls, never an attack here.”
Sorrow narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you actually read some kind of guidebook before we came?”
“Yes. Because I like to know about the places I’m going. Ignorance is nothing to be proud of, Sorrow dearest. Now, I think I’ll go and investigate my room.” He smiled winningly and left her.
Sorrow rolled her eyes, and turned to the door labelled for her in beautiful script. It was small but elegant, a carved bed with a headboard that looked like a scroll in the centre, a wardrobe and dressing screen made with the same golden wood. Alvus, she expected. She crossed to the window to see what view she had.
She regretted it instantly. Rasmus – there was no mistaking him this time – was walking away from the guest quarters, heading towards the main keep. Beside him was a young Rhyllian woman, fair-haired as he was. Longing tugged at Sorrow. Though she’d tried to prepare herself to see him, she hadn’t realized just how strange it would be. Nor how sad it would make her.
As though he sensed her gaze, Rasmus turned, looking directly at her, and Sorrow ducked back, pressing herself against the wall, her heart slamming against her ribs as though she’d been running. Luvian chose that moment to appear in the doorway, a steaming earthenware cup in his hand.
“Coffee?” he began, then frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Her voice was high and tight, like a violin string.
Luvian wasn’t convinced. “Right… Just casually standing pressed against the wall?”
“Yes. No. No, thanks, to coffee.” Sorrow stepped away from the wall and tried to calm herself. “I think I might lie down for a bit.”
Luvian shrugged, but his eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. “Do you want me to come and get you when it’s time to go?” he said finally.
“Thanks, yes.”
He stayed there for a moment, and Sorrow waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t, merely turning and closing the door as he left.
Sorrow turned immediately back to the window and peered out, but Rasmus was gone.
Instead of resting, she’d locked herself in the bathroom and tried to groom herself into calmness.
With painstaking care, she lined her upper eyelid, keeping the wings small and sharp, only having to start again three times, which felt like an achievement. She’d already decided there was no point in lipstick if they were eating, but once her eyes were done, she thought her face looked out of balance, the drama of her eyes versus the normality of her mouth. So she smeared on a rich red, only to wipe it off a moment later. Too much. Unless she added more eyeliner…
No. She forced herself away from the mirror. Her make-up was fine.
Rasmus had never seen her with make-up on – not that he was the reason she was doing it, she told herself. Putting on make-up was like putting on armour – a mask to hide her worries about seeing him, and also Mael, the election, and the Sons of Rhannon. How could anyone with kohl-lined eyes, or bright red lips, be thought of as afraid?
And it wouldn’t hurt for him to see her looking good, so he’d know she was all right.
She released her hair from the braid she’d worn to travel in, running her fingers through the soft waves, allowing them fall naturally down her back, though she slipped a hair tie over her wrist.
Ines had fashioned a soft teal gown for this first supper, as it was known to be one of Melisia’s favourite colours. The gown was simple, a sleeveless column with a modest V-shaped neckline in front and back, falling into soft folds to her ankles, a braided gold rope around the waist. Mercifully, Irris had paired it with flat gold slippers, and Sorrow was grateful to slip her feet into them. She found the shawl her friend had included, and was mulling over whether to put it on, or wait, when Luvian knocked on her door.