State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(79)
“Coming,” she said, turning as he opened it.
“Are you—Wow.”
“Am I wow?”
“You look…” He waved his hands at her as though that said it all. “Your eyes…” He gestured again.
“Does it look bad?” Sorrow asked, suddenly worried by his reaction. “I tried to do it how Irris did it for the presentation, but I embellished a bit. Because it’s a party…”
“No,” he said slowly. “It looks good.”
Mollified, she took his arm when he offered it and they made their way down to the rose parlour. They were the first there, save for a manservant serving drinks and Dain, a glass of amber liquid in one hand and a book in the other, looking for all the world as though she belonged there. She stood guiltily when they entered, but Sorrow waved her down, moving to stand beside her as Luvian went to the bar.
“What are you reading?” she asked.
She held it up so Sorrow could see the cover. “Adavere and Namyra. I love that story.”
“It’s all they had in Rhannish,” Dain said. “Miss Ventaxis, if you need me to come—”
“It’s fine. I’d prefer not to insult the queen by implying I don’t think her castle is safe.”
“I don’t want to be accused of neglecting my duties,” Dain said, a faint edge to the words.
Sorrow understood. “I have no plans to mention this to Meeren Vine,” she told her. From the way the tension in her jaw loosened, she knew she was right. “Enjoy it,” she added with a smile.
“I will, Miss Ventaxis.”
“Where are you sleeping?”
“The library.” The woman’s eyes lit up at the word, and Sorrow gave in fully to liking her. As soon as they got back to Rhannon, she’d ask her to leave the Ward, and become her personal guard permanently.
Luvian joined them, with a small glass of wine for her, and she was grateful. She’d thought she’d mastered her fears, locked them behind layers of eyeliner and chiffon, but now, with only a short walk between her and seeing Rasmus, she found she wasn’t steady at all.
When Luvian handed her the glass, he noticed her shaking hands.
“Nervous?” he asked.
There was little point in denying it, so she nodded.
“Just remember…” he began, but then fell silent as Fain Darcia – for the tall, slender woman with bone-white skin and silver fur at her throat could be no one else – glided into the room, coal-black eyes settling immediately on Sorrow. She smiled and crossed at once to her, and Sorrow and Luvian bent deeply at the waist in greeting.
“Miss Ventaxis,” the northern woman said in Rhannish, once again shaming Sorrow for her own lack of language skills. “I am happy to meet with you.”
“And I you.” Sorrow took the hand she offered in hers. “I heard so many good things about you and your country from Ambassador Stile.”
“She spoke of you too. With much fondness. She was sad to leave you, but … you know, these things.” She turned then to Luvian. “And this must be…” She paused. “No, I don’t know. Who are you?”
“Luvian Fen, my lady.” He bowed again, rising when she offered her hand.
“You may call me Darcia,” the Svartan said. “Both of you may; we are friends.” Darcia gave her drink order to the manservant and waited while he prepared it. When he handed it over, it was a thick, black liquid that smelled like aniseed. Darcia took a hearty swig and wrinkled her nose.
“Bah, not like at home,” she said, offering the glass to Sorrow.
Sorrow took a tentative sip and coughed, her cheeks turning scarlet, eyes watering, as the liquid blazed a fiery trail of lava down her into her stomach.
“Too mild,” Darcia said. “Weak, southern stuff. When you come to my home as the chancellor I’ll give you the real thing. It’ll keep you warm through our cold nights.”
Sorrow, her voice burned clean away, could only nod. She was saved from replying at all when a liveried woman appeared in the doorway.
“If you’d like to follow me, your carriage is here.”
A Taste of Mania
The assembly hall in the central keep was intimidatingly grand, built to impress or inspire, exactly how Sorrow imagined a temple or sacred space would be. The ceiling was high and vaulted, ornate buttresses arching out from between the stained-glass windows. Rasmus had said the windows told the story of Adavere and the Humpback Bridge, and Sorrow saw it there, fourteen tall, colourful panels recounting the tale of how he tricked the stars detailed in the candlelit glass. Ten large columns supported the ceilings, each one wrapped with white silk that glowed like moonlight, creating a central space, filled with round tables, where the welcome feast was to take place.
Sorrow couldn’t see a high table, nor any of the Rhyllian royals – including Rasmus – amid the chattering people, and it puzzled her, until she noticed an empty table at the centre of the room and wondered if the Rhyllian royals sat amongst their guests, as though they were all equals.
A servant showed them to their table, and Luvian pulled out her chair, but before Sorrow could sit, a hand gently touched her shoulder, and she turned to find Mael standing there, smiling at her. She allowed herself to give him a small smile back – it wouldn’t hurt to be nice – and was rewarded by his own widening grin.