State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(109)
They sought out small villages that seemed to care very little who their chancellor was, as long as the wretched Decorum Ward would be a thing of the past and they’d largely be left alone. Sorrow promised them they would, and they seemed happy, but again, whether that would translate into votes was anyone’s guess. They’d find out, soon enough.
As well as being the harvest festival, the Gathering traditionally marked the time the chancellor and his family moved back to Istevar from the Summer Palace, and it was on Sorrow’s mind as she and Irris made their way to the Winter Palace, for the final celebration before the election. With a few days before the election, she was keenly aware that it might be the last time she ever went to the Winter Palace. She hadn’t let herself think about what might happen if she lost, and what it might mean. Before she found out she wasn’t a true Ventaxis, she’d assumed she’d continue living in Istevar anyway. But now she didn’t know if she could… She shoved the thoughts aside as they turned on to the road approaching the Winter Palace, and looked out of the window.
Arran Day had written to his sister, mentioning there had been some renovations, but nothing could have prepared Sorrow for the sight of her childhood home brought back to life.
Even from the outside, it looked completely different. The sweeping drive up to the white mansion was manicured, the trees trimmed into uniform sizes, the gravel freshly raked. The palace glowed in the late summer sun, the windows finally uncovered, reflecting the cloudless blue sky above them.
Sorrow was hesitant as she climbed the steps to the front door, where servants now dressed in soft green livery waited with wide smiles. She didn’t know this place.
The staircase that dominated the main hall gleamed, the marble floor free of dust, the banisters polished to a mahogany shine. Everywhere was light, no shadowy corners; even the smell was different. The scent of her childhood home had always been burning oil, and sadness – she realized then sadness had a fragrance: mould, and dust. Neglect. But now it was gone. The palace smelled of lemons, and warm sunlit skin.
Grinning at each other, she and Irris began to explore, but were quickly hustled out of the ballroom, the chandeliers sparkling above them, by servants preparing for the Gathering. The formal dining room was also in a state of siege as staff readied it for the celebration, so instead they wandered into parts of the palace Sorrow hadn’t visited since they were children, hiding away with Rasmus and snatching at tiny moments of joy. The winter breakfast room, made entirely of glass, looking out on to a now immaculately mown lawn. The games room, the green baize tables now uncovered and ready to be used. The ladies’ parlour, where all the furniture had been re-covered in soft, buttery yellow velvet. Last time Sorrow had been in there, Rasmus had dared her to touch one of the old chairs, and the fabric had turned to dust under her fingers.
The piano in the music room played true when she ran her fingers down the keys; even the portraits of her ancestors in the walking gallery looked friendlier. It was as she’d imagined it, as she’d longed for it to be. A living palace.
The only place they didn’t go was to the west wing, partly because it held nothing but miserable thoughts for Sorrow, but also as it was where Charon had informed them Mael would be housed. Both of them were staying overnight following the party.
Her old rooms were transformed too, the holey carpets and furniture replaced with bare floors covered in thick rugs, and new sofas and tables. Her mattress had been replaced too, and she enjoyed a few bounces on it before leaping off and throwing open her bedroom windows legally for the first time in her life.
Below her she could hear the preparations for the gala, and she leant out to watch the people bustling to and fro. A pair of swallows darted back and forth from their nest above her, leading Sorrow to believe they must have chicks in there, even this late in the year.
Because of the election, she had no official role at the Gathering, and was there as a guest only. So she took her time bathing, and choosing an outfit. Traditionally people dressed in the colours of nature, the golds and russets and oranges of the leaves, and Sorrow had chosen a burnt-orange dress in layers of crepe that fell to her ankles, paired with matching slippers.
She looked at the coronet of gold-painted leaves on her bed. Across the land, people would be fitting them to their heads, preparing for their own feasts with their family and friends…
Sorrow had an idea.
She left her rooms, coronet in hand, and ran down to Irris’s door, knocking impatiently.
Irris answered the door, wearing a russet gown and a confused expression. “Yes?”
“I think we should skip the feast, and go into Istevar. I think we should take food with us, as a gift, and go door to door, offering our blessings.”
“Sorrow, you can’t. You’re a guest here. This is the first Gathering in eighteen years.”
“Exactly. A huge thing for everyone. I’m not saying all night, but a couple of hours, during the feast. We’ll come back for the offerings to the Graces, and the party. Come on. One last push before the election. Think of the message it sends, that I left a huge, fancy feast to visit the people…”
Irris shook her head, and sighed. “There’s never a middle ground with you, is there? Either you’re adamant you can’t or won’t do something, or you’re throwing yourself into it as though the world will end if you don’t.”
For a moment Sorrow faltered, before saying, “All part of my charm?”