State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(89)

“It’s nothing to do with that,” Harcel was dismissive. “None of the blessers are related to Aralie. It’s political, Miss Ventaxis – something you must understand given your new situation. It’s all about appearance and meaning. Who they’ve chosen sends a message about who’s in favour, and also what qualities they have decided are to be celebrated. Rasmus resigned his role in your country and left without warning. The queen isn’t happy with him.”

Sorrow’s chest tightened guiltily. It was her fault Rasmus wasn’t in favour right now. But, she realized, Harcel had said Vespus wasn’t in favour either. Was this because of the Alvus farm, or something more? Did Melisia suspect what her brother was trying to accomplish with Mael in Rhannon?

“True,” she replied. “But what has Lord Vespus done?”

Harcel gave her a sharp look, though whatever response he’d been about to make was lost to the fanfare as Melisia, Caspar, the baby and three other Rhyllians left the ruins and joined them in the courtyard. The guests broke into applause, and Sorrow looked at the three Blessers: a Rhyllian woman with the white hair of old age, a younger woman who stood proudly, meeting the eye of anyone who looked at her, and a young man who looked both thrilled and terrified simultaneously, his pale skin alternately flushing pink and then blanching white as he gazed at the queen and then the clapping crowd.

When the cheering had died away, Melisia spoke, first in Rhyllian, then again in the languages of those gathered.

“We will now adjourn back to our rooms to rest, relax and celebrate in private before the ball tonight. We look forward to seeing you there,” Melisia finally said, working her way through the spectrum of languages her guests spoke.

When the royal party, including Eirlys, left, Harcel visibly slumped.

“I’ll see you at the ball,” he said, sloping off after them, joining a group of laughing Rhyllians.

Sorrow looked around for Irris, but couldn’t see her. Then Luvian appeared by her side, an odd look on his face.

“Have you seen Irris?” Sorrow asked.

“She was talking to Rasmus earlier. Maybe she went to start getting ready for tonight.”

Sorrow blinked. Surely Irris wouldn’t have left without her? What was wrong with the Days today? “Oh. Well where have you been?” she asked. “More breaking and entering?”

“How dare you besmirch my good name?” Luvian replied. “And, no, actually I was getting told off by Charon Day. I had to go to the bathroom, and when I came back it had started, so I sat next to him and he collared me afterwards. He’s not happy with me. I’d go as far as to say he’s outright furious with me. Apparently I’m not being paid to waste your time on a wild-goose chase.”

Sorrow swore. She’d meant to warn him Charon planned to speak to him but had forgotten.

“Sorry,” she said.

Luvian looked at her. “He’s wrong, you know. I mean, not totally. Obviously finding out who Mael really is isn’t enough on its own, and we know that. But that, combined with finding Beliss and getting her to admit she raised a stolen child given to her by Vespus, will be enough. And it will give him somewhere to return to afterwards. If we can match him to a missing child, and have Beliss’s confession, that’s enough.”

“So you think we should continue looking through the reports?”

Luvian nodded. “But Lord Day doesn’t need to know,” he added. “He made it very clear we were to stop.”

Suspicion made her narrow her eyes.

Why? she asked herself. His reason, his insistence, didn’t make sense. So what if she whiled away a morning reading an old list? There was nothing else she could have been doing. Why did he want them to stop looking into it?

“I think Darcia and Skae plan to start the party early,” Luvian said as they made their way back to the carriage. “Shall we join them? Do a little more for diplomatic relations?”

“You go,” Sorrow said, a plan forming. “I have a headache.”

Luvian shrugged. “Are you sure?”

Sorrow nodded.

They parted, Luvian joining Lady Skae and Darcia in their carriage, and Sorrow taking her own, alone, back to her quarters. Dain, who had been dozing in the Rhannish party’s private parlour, looked up when she entered, but Sorrow repeated her lie about having a headache and retreated to her rooms, where she picked up the reports she’d left there earlier.

She never had been very good at following rules.





Succedaneum

She found it so fast it was as though it had been waiting for her. There, on the page after the one she’d been looking at that morning, two days after Mael had fallen from the Humpback Bridge, she found the missing child.

But not a son. And not a toddler.

A baby. A girl, taken from a hospital in the North Marches hours after her birth, while her mother was sleeping and the nurses were occupied with another, difficult birth in the very same building.

The hospital Sorrow had been born in. The night Sorrow had been born.

Her grandmother told her she’d been a miracle child, snatched from the jaws of death. She’d told her how she’d offered anything to the Graces if they’d bring her back. The story had warmed Sorrow as a child, this proof that someone had loved her enough to want her to stay. Her father couldn’t have made it clearer he didn’t love her, didn’t even like her. He never used her name, always “daughter”. An accusation. Or perhaps a question…