State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(111)

Arran laughed, and then greeted his sister.

“Father should be worried,” he said. “You’d make a very good vice chancellor.”

“You should be worried,” Irris replied. “I made an excellent senator.”

He laughed again, and then it was Sorrow and Irris’s turn to make their offering. They stepped up together with the basket, touched their fingers to their stomachs, and accepted the glass of summer wine an attendant handed them afterwards.

“So … you two have had quite the tour of Rhannon these past three weeks,” Arran said. “You’ve certainly rattled a lot of cages.”

“Any in particular?” Irris asked, and Arran nodded to his left.

Vespus, Arta Boniface and Mael were standing talking. Or rather, Vespus and Arta were. Mael was silent beside them, staring at his wine, clearly ignoring them both.

“Rumour has it your opponent isn’t thrilled with the counsel he’s been receiving.”

“Really?” It was the first Sorrow had heard of it.

“He blames Vespus for his strained relationship with you, so I’m told.”

Mael looked over then, but when Sorrow smiled he looked at her blankly. Then he turned and walked away, heading towards the palace.

Vespus spoke, loud enough for Sorrow to hear. “Where are you going?”

“Away.”

“Mael…”

But Mael ignored him, leaving Vespus glaring furiously after him.

Sorrow didn’t stop to think. “I’ll be back,” she said, handing her glass to Irris.

“Sorrow…” Irris warned.

“Bathroom,” Sorrow lied.

She weaved her way through the crowd, making excuses when people tried to waylay her, promising she’d find them later.

There was no sign of Mael in the foyer, and she wondered where he’d gone.

A door closed down the passageway and she moved towards it, passing through a reception parlour, and a smaller antechamber, until she reached the door to the library.

She knocked, and heard something inside fall, and footsteps. But no call to enter.

Too bad, she thought, and opened the door.

“Mael?” She stepped into the room, peering around. “Mael?”

A gloved hand closed over her mouth, as another pulled her flush against a body.

“Don’t scream,” Luvian Fen said in her ear.





The Thief’s Return

Sorrow screamed.

The glove pressed over her mouth absorbed the sound, so she tried to pull free, wriggling and writhing in his grasp. How could this be happening again? Furious, she kicked him in the shin, causing him to yelp.

“Sorrow! Stop it. I’m not here to hurt you.”

To hell with that, she decided. She planted her feet into the ground and shoved backwards, driving them both into the wall with a muted thud. Damn, she’d hoped to hit the door, hoped the noise would bring guards running. His grip loosened for a moment, then tightened, as he swung them around and pressed her into the wall, trapping her against it. She was surprised by his strength, realizing too late that his carefully tailored clothes hid lithe, disciplined muscle. The understanding needled her, another trick, and she jerked her head back, trying to headbutt him as she’d done to her last assailant.

She missed.

“Seriously, stop it,” Luvian hissed in her ear. “Listen to me—”

She screamed into the glove again, tried to bite at it. She lifted her feet to stamp on his, making contact and wincing as he cursed loudly in her ear.

“Damn it, Sorrow, I found Beliss.”

She went still in his grip.

“It’s not a trick,” he said quietly, still holding her tightly. “I’ve been in Rhylla searching for her. I found her. I found lots of things. I came here to tell you them. If I let you go, do you promise not to scream, or hit me?”

Sorrow paused, then nodded. If he’d wanted to really hurt her he could have done it already. He released her, and stepped back as she spun around to face him, hands raised in fists.

“Easy,” he said. “I meant it. I’m not here for trouble.”

She barely recognized him. He was wearing the pale green livery of the servants, hair shorn all over, scruff darkening his chin and upper lip. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and his eyes were slightly unfocused. He held up his own hands slowly to show her he wasn’t armed.

Even so, Sorrow wasn’t about to open her arms to him, metaphorically or otherwise. He was connected to the Sons of Rhannon, and they’d killed Dain, and almost killed her. “There’s a soldier outside,” she lied. “There are soldiers everywhere, so if you try anything…”

“I won’t hurt you. I never would. I swear it.”

She edged away from him, and he turned on the spot, tracking her path, though he made no attempt to follow her. She moved behind a desk and picked up a letter opener with a bone handle, holding it up so he could see it. “Try anything and I’ll use it. How did you get into the palace?”

He lowered his hands. “I stole a uniform from a man returning from his afternoon off, and came in through the main gates behind two others.”

Sorrow made a note to have a word with Charon about the security. “Stole it from where?”

For the first time – ever, Sorrow realized – he looked contrite. “I might have had to hit someone. And tie him up. And leave him in an alley.”