State of Sorrow (Untitled #1)(92)

“And my real parents. Do you suppose they made the best of it?”

Charon shook his head mutely.

Sorrow made her way back to her seat. “Who else knows?”

“No one. Your grandmother only told me. And I know you might not want to hear this now, but she loved you. As far as she was concerned you were her true granddaughter. She knew what she did was wrong, but I don’t believe she ever regretted it. And…” He paused. “You’re the true Ventaxis heir. You might not be a Ventaxis born, but you’re Ventaxis bred. You’ve been raised that way.”

“How can you condone this?” Sorrow said on a breath. “It’s your job to make sure that the laws of Rhannon are upheld. I’m not a Ventaxis. I can’t run for election any more.”

“It’s my job to make sure the needs of Rhannon are served before anything and anyone else. No individual is bigger than Rhannon; only Rhannon matters. I’ve told you that a thousand times,” Charon said. “You have to run. And you have to win. Or Rhannon will fall under Vespus’s control.”

“How is this any different to what Vespus is doing? I’m the same as Mael. Raised to be something I have no right to be.”

“It’s not the same. You have lived your whole life Rhannish, as Sorrow Ventaxis.”

“It wasn’t my life to live!” Sorrow said.

“It’s too late to think those thoughts, Sorrow. This can never come out.” Charon’s eyes were wide. “You can’t reveal this. Not now. Not ever.”

She knew they couldn’t. Especially not now, not with the Sons of Rhannon and their stirring up of hatred against the Ventaxises. It wouldn’t take much to ignite the fire they were kindling under the people of Rhannon, she’d seen that at her presentation. There was an undercurrent of hatred running through the heart of Rhannon. The people were already on edge. The slightest spark could cause an explosion that would devastate the land. Bad enough that after too many years of suffering and deprivation they were now playing witness to a fight for the chancellorship. Two Ventaxises battling for the role.

No. Not two.

Because she wasn’t a Ventaxis.

She didn’t know, still, whether he was – not for sure.

But she knew, without doubt, that she wasn’t.

The knowledge sank into her, and she doubled over, gasping for air.

She heard Charon move, felt his hand on her shoulder, and she wanted to shrug it off. He’d lied to her, almost her whole life. And yet he was all she had and she couldn’t push him away. Not then, at least.

The sobs were deep, coming from somewhere inside she hadn’t known existed. She’d never been someone who cried easily, or at all. As a child she’d raged and seethed when things didn’t go her way, but never cried. When she’d fallen over or hurt herself, she’d remained stiff and silent, biting her tongue to keep from crying. Even when her grandmother had died – not her grandmother – she’d felt broken, bereft and empty, but she hadn’t cried. In a country once caged by grief, not crying had seemed an act of rebellion. Yet now all she could do was cry, convulsing as weeping engulfed her body, her mouth open in a silent moan as tears fell. Her hands were fists, beating softly at her knees as she wept a lifetime of tears, until the well was dry and she was hollowed out, empty of everything.

All the while Charon kept his hand on her shoulder. He didn’t rub it, or offer any words. He was Charon, her all-but-father, as stoic and steady as he’d always been. There, always there.

She wanted so much to be angry with him. But her rage had leaked out too, washed away by her tears.

She looked up, her throat aching from crying, her face puffy and tender from the salt water that had flooded it.

“My girl,” Charon said.

Then she moved, allowing herself to be held by him. Needing it.

When she finally pulled away, embarrassed, she scrubbed at her eyes furiously.

Her voice, when she spoke, was a crow’s song, croaking and harsh. “What do I do?”

“What you’ve been doing.”

“And if I win?”

“Then I’ll be a happy man because Rhannon will finally have the chancellor she deserves.” Charon said. “You’re Sorrow Ventaxis. It’s who you were raised to be. Nothing has changed.”

He was wrong. Everything had changed.

She had more questions. More she wanted to know. But her tongue was lead in her mouth, thick and heavy. She rose to her feet, forcing him to roll his chair back to look up at her.

“I’d better get ready for the ball,” she said.

“Sorrow…”

“I’m … I need time,” she said. “Please.”

Charon nodded.

He wheeled ahead of her to the door, turning his chair to block her path.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he said. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but you can’t. Not Luvian, not Irris. No one. Please, trust me.”

Trust him… How could she, when he’d lied to her for most of her life?

“I’m here for you,” he said. “Whenever you need.”

She believed him in that, at least. He held up a hand and she took it, reaching for the door handle with the other. Then she left him, left the ambassador’s palace, walking back to the small palace in a daze. When she got there she couldn’t recall if she’d met anyone on her journey back, or spoken. She heard voices from the parlour but ignored them, climbing the stairs to her room. Mercifully Dain had gone, and Luvian was still out. Sorrow closed the door to her bedroom and lay on the bed, eyes open but unseeing.