State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(88)
“It’s about to begin,” he said, by way of explanation, and no sooner had he said it than Vespus, again with Aphora by his side, followed by Rasmus and Eirlys, swept down the aisle and took their seats at the front. Sorrow looked away as Rasmus passed, annoyed at how her skin flamed with embarrassment.
Then, at some signal Sorrow missed, everyone turned to the doors as Melisia and Caspar entered the room. Both wore white, and the babe in Melisia’s arms wore gold. They made their way slowly up the makeshift aisle to where a priestess of some kind had appeared, clad in a blue shift, beside the altar. Melisia handed the baby to the priestess, who began to speak in rapid Rhyllian. Sorrow didn’t even try to follow the words, instead focusing on the feeling and the beauty of the ceremony.
She was surprised when envy gripped her as she saw how carefully they all handled the child; as though she was the most precious thing in the world. She wondered if her mother would have held her so tenderly if she’d survived. Perhaps she might have grown to love her daughter once the pain of childbirth faded, regretted naming her Sorrow.
The priestess anointed the child with clear water from the bowl, and then spoke one final time, before saying, “Aralie.”
Almost everyone in the room replied, “Arventis, Aralie.”
“Welcome, Aralie,” Harcel leant over and translated.
Sorrow didn’t tell him it was one of the few Rhyllian words she knew. “Beautiful name,” she murmured instead.
“It is. In Rhannish it would mean something like ‘she who flies the highest and sings the sweetest’.”
“Like a kind of bird?”
“Perhaps.” The red-haired baron shrugged.
They all rose as Melisia and Caspar returned down the aisle with their newly named daughter, followed by Eirlys, Vespus, Aphora and Rasmus. Sorrow kept her eyes fixed on the tiny hand waving from the blankets in Melisia’s arms, turning back to Harcel when Rasmus drew level with them.
“What happens now?” Sorrow asked the baron.
“Now baby Aralie will receive her blessings from those Her Majesty and the prince consort have chosen to bless her.”
“Blessings?” Sorrow had spoken to him to give her something to do while Rasmus passed, but her curiosity was piqued. She didn’t know what blessings were.
The room began to empty, those not invited to the private part of the ceremony eager to find the wine and toast Aralie’s health, and Harcel gestured for her to follow the crowd outside.
“Yes. You know that some Rhyllians have abilities?” he asked, steering her to where a table had been set up beneath a large tree and glasses were being filled. Sorrow picked up a glass and handed it to him, taking one for Luvian until she saw he’d been waylaid by Fain Darcia, so she kept it for herself and allowed Harcel to find a space for them, away from the main throng hovering near the door.
“I do, of course.”
“Well, it’s tradition in Rhylla to ask those whose abilities you find particularly admirable, or worthy, to bless your child, in the hope it will foster a good ability in them.” He took a sip of his wine, and Sorrow did the same. “Of course, that’s not how it works. These days only one in seven Rhyllians has an ability, and it doesn’t follow a logic. Fathers without an ability can have children with one, a pair of twins might find one has an ability, one does not.” He turned and looked around the room. “There, see.”
Sorrow followed the gesture of his glass to where Aphora now stood with Vespus, and the man who’d been with them at the bridge all those months ago. Her brother, Melakis.
“Twins,” Harcel continued. “The girl has a gift, but her brother doesn’t. And yet they were both blessed by the same people, born to the same parents. We’re not a naturally discriminatory race, and yet the abilities do mark differences that sometimes have an impact. Melisia would tell you otherwise, but then who discriminates against a queen? No, she’s fine. But some of us are less valued, in some circles, for our lack of ability.”
He looked across the room to where Eirlys was standing with Rasmus, the pair doing their best to be subtle as they poured something from a flask subtly into their drinks. Starwater, she assumed. They toasted each other and drank, Eirlys sucking an ice cube into her mouth, grinning at her cousin, whose lips curved in response.
As Sorrow watched, Eirlys trailed a hand over the back of a chair, leaving a patina of ice crystals in its wake. So she could wield coldness, Sorrow deduced. Not really useful in a land that bordered the Svartan sea at the north, but probably in demand over high summer.
When Sorrow looked back at Harcel, there was a wistfulness on his face, and Sorrow wondered whether it was for the girl, or her ability – she noticed he had mentioned no ability of his own.
“I’m surprised Her Majesty didn’t choose Lord Corrigan and his son to bless Aralie, given that they’re family,” Sorrow said carefully.
Harcel frowned. “Well, healing isn’t one of the most sought-after gifts. There are pills and potions that can alleviate pain as well as what Rasmus can do.”
He was jealous, Sorrow realized. So it was the princess Eirlys he liked.
“No,” Harcel continued. “Her Majesty and the prince consort will have chosen carefully who gives the blessings, and it would never have been Rasmus or his father.”
Sorrow kept her voice light and level as she replied. “Really? I suppose because Lord Vespus is only Melisia’s half-brother? And so Rasmus is only a half-cousin?”