State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(102)

Looking back, she realized all the clues were there that she should never have trusted Luvian as much as she had. His desperation for the job, writing to beg for an interview. The casual way he spoke of breaking into official places, the way he stole information and the painting. The way he never talked about himself, or his family, or his past.

And he’d stayed very quiet about his connection to the Sons of Rhannon. Dain was dead because of it.

Over and over she regretted screaming for the guards instead of trying to coax the truth from him. Now she knew nothing, and was a mere five weeks from an election she had no business even running for.

“We’re here,” Charon said as the gates to the Days’ estate swung open.

And as they closed behind them, the iron ringing with finality, Sorrow gave in to the darkness that had been threatening to consume her.





PART THREE

All warfare is based on deception Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; When using our forces, we must seem inactive; When we are near, we must make the

enemy believe we are far away; When far away, we must make him

believe we are near.

—Sun Tzu, The Art of War





After the Storm

“Nothing,” Irris said as she put down the letters that had arrived earlier that morning. “It’s like he appeared from nowhere three years ago. How does no one know who this man is? It’s impossible.”

Irris had taken Luvian’s treachery very personally, and had dedicated herself to uncovering who he really was. She wrote again and again to his tutors and classmates, the same people she’d asked for references when they were interviewing him. And they all said exactly what they’d said in the first place: that he was arrogant and undoubtedly cunning – admirable qualities in a politician, some might say – but he was an undeniably hard worker, and guaranteed to see a task through, come what may. While he wasn’t considered unpopular, he hadn’t had any friends at university, had remained on campus during breaks, joined no clubs, and kept to himself. The staff who worked in the student housing said his rooms were always neat and tidy, and he never returned drunk, or tried to sneak anyone into his bed. He was a model tenant, a model student. Too good to be true, many of them commented.

They had no idea…

“We don’t even know what part of Rhannon he’s from,” Irris said. “If we did, we could go there and ask around. Maybe even offer some kind of incentive for information.”

“If that was going to work, someone would have already come forward to claim the official reward,” Sorrow said.

A statement had been released, saying Luvian was wanted in connection with the murder of a Decorum Ward commander by one of the Sons of Rhannon. Both the Rhannish and the Rhyllians had put up a significant amount of reward money, and Melisia had written to Sorrow directly to apologize for what had happened, offering any aid Sorrow might want in finding him.

But Sorrow was finding it harder and harder to care that he was still out there. Or about anything at all. The hollow feeling that had begun to consume her after Charon told her the truth about who she was had returned, and there was no sign of it fading or leaving. Save for the brief moments of respite when she’d been with Rasmus, it was there all the time, like a shadow, but inside her.

To avoid it she went to bed earlier, and slept later, sometimes managing as many as sixteen hours of blissful, ignorant sleep before Irris bullied her from her bed. When she did get up, all she did was lie on the fainting couch, staring at the ceiling, while Irris pored over the correspondence with as much rigour as Luvian had given to the reports of missing children. And every time Sorrow thought of those, she remembered who she was – or rather, wasn’t – and the darkness inside her deepened.

Irris had given up trying to entice Sorrow to help her, after Sorrow said she was still recovering from the attack.

It was a lie, another one. All she had was lies.

She ached for Rasmus, for his touch, knowing it would take the pain away, however temporarily. And she hated herself for it, for wanting him, and for using him, and for being weak. For being like Harun.

The only other person who might have been able to chivvy, or more likely annoy, her out of the black hole she found herself in had been a lie too. And that’s what hurt the most. For the first time in her life, she’d felt released from the curse of her name – if ambitious, bright, brilliant Luvian Fen thought she was something special, then maybe she was. His respect for her, his faith in her, gave her something she’d never had before, not from Rasmus, Charon, her grandmother, or even Irris. He hadn’t known her his whole life, hadn’t loved her or been her best friend. He was a stranger, and because of it his belief in her made her believe in herself.

But he must have had an agenda all along, she realized. Something more than launching his own career, or helping the people of Rhannon. Something so important to him it was worth trying to conceal the fact he knew who’d tried to kill her, and who’d killed Dain. He’d used her.

It had been easy to talk to Irris about losing Rasmus. But Sorrow couldn’t stand to hear Luvian’s name said aloud; every time Irris said it Sorrow felt ill, as misery and loss claimed her.

“We’re plagued by imposters,” Irris said, and Sorrow choked on thin air. “Mael, now Luvian. No wonder Luvian was so keen to be the one to look into Mael – he must have known all the tricks from his own dealings.”