State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(103)
Sorrow hummed noncommittally.
“I don’t suppose you want to do anything on finding out who Mael is?” Irris asked tentatively. “What about Luvian’s lists? Or perhaps we could hire someone to find Beliss.”
“No,” Sorrow said forcefully. She’d lost the taste for proving Mael wasn’t who he claimed to be since her own past had emerged. It didn’t matter who he was; he wasn’t her brother. She knew that for sure.
“Then what do you want to do?”
When Sorrow didn’t reply, Irris picked up a stack of papers and began to go through them, turning each one over violently.
The reports that used to come to Luvian now came to Irris, who’d taken over running the tattered remains of Sorrow’s campaign. Irris has issued a statement, saying Sorrow was taking a few days to recover from the attack, but then planned to return to campaigning. That was two weeks ago, and Sorrow hadn’t so much as got dressed in that time, let alone done any work.
By contrast Mael had returned from Rhylla with a new-found zeal, vowing to find and arrest the Sons of Rhannon, to make them pay for Dain’s murder and the attack on Sorrow. He wrote to her daily, and released a new statement almost as often. Irris read it out in the morning, while Sorrow ignored her breakfast and counted down the hours until she could go back to sleep.
“He’s suggesting the Decorum Ward be converted into something called Peacekeepers,” Irris had said that morning. “It sounds very much like your idea for Lawkeepers. Suspiciously so, don’t you think?”
Sorrow had shrugged, and Irris had put her cup down with more force than she needed to.
She was getting irritated with her, Sorrow knew that. But again, the knowledge had no impact. It was a fact, like the sky was blue, the ocean was salt water, and the Humpback Bridge was deadly. Irris was disappointed in her. So what?
Outside a storm raged, and Sorrow watched it, transfixed by the aggression of it. Storms were common in Rhannon during the late summer, but she’d never seen any like those that ravaged the coastal district of the East Marches. They came without warning, lasting only minutes, but during that time it was hard to imagine the weather being any other way. The thunder boomed relentlessly; the rain poured down in thick sheets that obscured everything outside the windows. Sorrow liked them, liked that the lightning scorched her eyes, so when she closed them she could see the forks in red against her eyelids.
As the storm died away, a shadow appeared in the distance, eventually revealing itself to be a hawk, slightly sodden from the dregs of the rain. Irris rose to let it in, carrying it to a perch where it shook itself as she retrieved the scroll it carried. Irris waited until it was finished, before reaching into a bag hanging from the perch and tossing a dead mouse to the bird, her other hand already busy unfurling the letter.
“Shit,” she said.
Irris wasn’t given to swearing, and it was enough to rouse Sorrow from her inertia briefly.
“What?”
“Rhylla have appointed a new ambassador to Rhannon. It’s Vespus.”
Sorrow sat up. “Vespus? Vespus Corrigan?”
Irris nodded, and held the letter out to Sorrow.
She scanned it briefly and then read it aloud. “We are delighted to welcome Lord Vespus Corrigan, half-brother of the queen of Rhylla, back to his post of ambassador to Rhannon. Lord Corrigan looks forward to a long-lasting relationship with the new chancellor, building on the foundations of trust, respect and admiration that already exist.” Sorrow paused. “Wow. They might as well come out and say he means Mael. Because it’s clear this isn’t about me. They’ve obviously decided I’m out of the running.”
Irris remained silent.
“Don’t you have anything to say about it?” Sorrow demanded.
Irris’s eyes blazed for a moment, then cooled. “Row, you’ve spent the last two weeks lying exactly where you are right now, in your pyjamas. You’ve decided you’re out of the running. They’re simply saying it out loud. Maybe it’s time someone did, so we can all move on.”
“I…” Sorrow blinked at her. It wasn’t the rallying comment she’d expected.
Irris offered a small smile. “I’m going to fetch tea. Do you want some?”
Sorrow nodded.
She looked again at the letter from Istevar. This was it, then. With three weeks until the election, Vespus was moving himself into position, establishing himself back in Rhannon. Once Mael was elected – and Sorrow understood that he probably would be, now – Vespus would already be there, waiting for him in Istevar. Whispering in his ear. And Mael would listen, at least at first, because Vespus had been like a father to him. Vespus was kind to him, when no one else had been.
She saw it all then, as though it was a game of Malice: where every piece would move to, and where it would be eliminated. Charon would be fired, Sorrow realized. Vespus wouldn’t allow him to keep his role. Bayrum Mizil, Tuva Marchant, Arran Day … they’d go too. Balthasar would go where the power was; he probably wouldn’t even care that Vespus was Rhyllian as long as he kept his seat on the Jedenvat and the perks that went with it. Samad would be happy a man was in charge – the sexist values of the Astrians who bordered with the district of Asha had clearly rubbed off on him – and Kaspira… She didn’t like Sorrow, but she did like her district, for all her grumbling about its crime-loving people. She’d likely go with the flow to keep her seat too.