State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(118)

“I’m eighteen years old,” she said, ignoring the words on the page before her. “And I, like all of you, have spent the past eighteen years living in a country that knew nothing but grief and darkness. But I’m not like you. I grew up inside the walls of a palace; I didn’t have to worry about food or money. I didn’t have to raise my children not to smile, not to laugh. I didn’t grow up fearing that the slightest wrong move might be interpreted as an insult, and fear I would be beaten for it. Whatever I thought I had suffered, you’ve suffered more. Hurt more. Lost more. And I can’t undo that. I can’t turn the clock back and right the wrongs Harun Ventaxis visited on you. Nor the ones his father did. In that, the Sons of Rhannon are right. The last century has seen Ventaxis after Ventaxis let you down.” She paused. “Grind you down.”

Across the room she saw Charon staring at her.

“I’m not like them,” Sorrow continued. “I know it’s an easy thing to say, as I stand up here, courting you. Trying to impress you because I want your vote. Why should you trust me? Why should you listen? You don’t know me. But I want you to. And I want to know you. I’ve spent the past few weeks trying to meet you, trying to get to know you, and what you want. I know Arla Dove in Asha is frightened she’ll die before she sees her great-grandson smile. I know Mael Braith in the East Marches can’t imagine the sound of music. And I know a man who would have liked to be an artist, if Rhannon allowed the arts to flourish.” She gave Luvian the briefest flicker of a glance at that, pleased when she saw him smiling up at her.

“I expect all of you have a story like theirs. Something lost to you. Opportunities you’ve missed, sacrifices you’ve made, seen loved ones make. You’ve all been asked to suffer so much. Today I was supposed to read out a list of things I plan to do for Rhannon, but I’m not going to. They’re just words, and they mean nothing without actions. I want to be a chancellor of action. So here is my promise to you all: I plan to keep travelling Rhannon, to visit every district at least once every six months, more if needed, to speak to you. Not to my senators –” she nodded at the Jedenvat “– but directly with the people. I’m going to work with the Jedenvat to get to the heart of what you need, and figure out how we can raise the money for it without taxing you further. I want the museums to reopen, and the libraries. I want the universities to teach literature and philosophy and art and music again. I want to build relationships with the countries around us, and work with them to create more opportunities – things we haven’t dreamed of yet: transport, tourism, science, medicine. And I’m going to listen to you and then decide what laws to change, or to make. I want Rhannon to be the country it should have always been. Because whatever else I am, first and foremost I’m the daughter of Rhannon.”

She took a step back, and listened to the deafening silence that rang through the room, blood rushing in her ears as she took in the stunned faces below her. She’d gone too far.

She looked down at the paper, held in her trembling hand. Maybe it wasn’t too late—

The room erupted into thunderous applause; the force of it jolted her bones.

Luvian’s face was shining below her – she could already see the palms of his hands reddening from the force of his claps. On the platform Bayrum Mizil, Tuva Marchant and Arran Day had risen to their feet; Charon was sitting up tall in his chair, his hands raised over his head. Even Samad and Kaspira were clapping with more enthusiasm than Sorrow had expected. Balthasar alone remained still, but there was no surprise there.

Down in the audience the people clapped, on and on, guards and citizens daring to beam openly at each other. It was only when the announcer stepped forward that the cheers died away.

“Mael, would you like to present your plans to the people?”

He nodded absently, and looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. It was crumpled, gripped too tightly while Sorrow had been speaking, and she watched him smooth it out and scan the words. He opened his mouth once, twice, as though to speak, but no words came. Low murmurs rose from the crowd, the announcer cleared her throat, and Mael shook his head, before turning to Sorrow, his face expressionless.

“No,” he said.

Then he turned, and walked off the stage.

Without stopping to think, Sorrow followed him, running to catch up as he tore through the corridors.

“Mael, wait!” she called.

He stopped so suddenly she almost crashed into him.

“Did you know that’s the first time you’ve ever addressed me by my name?” He spoke without turning.

Sorrow faltered. “That can’t be true.”

“It is. Believe me, you notice these things.”

There was an uncomfortable sensation in Sorrow’s stomach. It was exactly as Harun had done to her. Calling her “daughter”, never using her name.

She swallowed, trying to cover her sudden nervousness. “Is it? It’s not as if we’ve had many chances to talk.”

“We could have. I’ve tried to.”

He began to walk away again, and Sorrow’s unease grew.

“Are you… Are you all right?” she called after him.

He turned, and the expression on his face was so fierce, so twisted, that she took a step back.

“What happens to me, after you win?”

“What?” Sorrow was stunned. “Where has this come from?”