State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(16)
“You’re the only horse, don’t you get it?” Irris finally lost her temper. “Fine. So be it. Let your father carry on as he is. Until he dies, and there’s no one to take his place. And then sit back and watch as civil war breaks out, with people like Lord Samad or Balthasar trying to take over. Or when Nyrssea decide to invade, because they’ve figured out we don’t have the money or troops to stop them. Or when Meeren Vine stages a coup and kills us all, before turning the country into a prison state. Is that what you want? Is it?”
“You know I don’t,” Sorrow said in a low voice.
“And do you think you are the only young woman who’s had to step into a role she didn’t expect to, and make the best of it?” Irris’s eyes blazed. “Put aside her own plans and make do, because it was for the greater good? Remember, Sorrow, I had a life before I came back here. I had plans of my own.”
Sorrow hung her head, ashamed. Lost in her own anguish, she had forgotten.
Eighteen months earlier, Irris had been enrolled at the university in Istevar to study conservation. She’d spoken about it as long as Sorrow could remember: her dream of becoming an archivist at the state library, specializing in the old scrolls, the ancient history of Rhannon, before the Ventaxis family and their allies had overthrown the king and taken the country.
She was three weeks into her studies when Harun had dismissed her brother, Arran, and another councillor, Coram Mellwood, from their places on the Jedenvat, due to some imagined slight. Balthasar had taken over from Coram, and Charon had immediately proposed Irris as Arran’s replacement. Luckily Harun had accepted.
Irris had stepped into her brother’s shoes easily, and Sorrow had been so wrapped up in the new situation with Rasmus that she’d never thought to ask if she regretted what she’d lost.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Irris, I’m so sorry…”
“It doesn’t matter,” Irris said stiffly. “But I get it, Row. I know what you mean. And I agree, it’s not fair. A seventeen-year-old should not be shouldering this burden. But … what choice do we have? You can fight it, or you can lean into it and make it work. Trust me.”
Sorrow nodded sheepishly, and Irris continued. “Your grandmother would want you to do this, you know.”
Sorrow almost laughed then, shaking her head. “Would she? Then why didn’t she teach me any of it? She taught me about the old festivals and rites, showed me colours and books and told me tales, but she never taught me about taxes, or office, or anything that would help if this day came. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
Irris sighed. “She was trying to give you a childhood. Didn’t you know?” Sorrow looked at her blankly. “She and my father argued about it all the time. He wanted you to start attending meetings and she told him not before you were eighteen. She said she owed you that, at least, and it was worth pawning her retirement if it meant you had some kind of youth. But she had planned, after your birthday, to teach you. And…” Irris paused, taking a deep breath before meeting Sorrow’s eye. “She promised my father that if yours hadn’t pulled himself together by the time you were twenty-one, she’d have you depose him. I think she’d agree that after tonight, none of us have a choice.”
Sorrow was stunned. Was it true? She’d always assumed her grandmother had kept her away from the council because of her mother’s dying words. Sorrow hadn’t minded, because it’s what she believed too – in fact there had been a relief to her beloved grandmother agreeing with her, however unspoken the agreement was. But it wasn’t true, according to Irris. Though it explained why the vice chancellor and the dowager disliked each other.
Irris smiled sadly. “Besides, as I keep saying, no one is asking you to do this alone. I’m behind you, my father’s behind you. Bayrum Mizil and Tuva Marchant will back you. That’s more than half of the Jedenvat. And the rest will fall in line when they realize they stand to profit from it. So, one last time… You can do this. You will do this. And you will excel at it.”
Sorrow was silent as she finished unbuttoning the gown and shivered as it fell to the floor, the air temporarily cooling her skin. “Do you really think they’ll accept me as the chancellor?” she said, the question declaring a truce.
“Are you joking?” Irris paused. “They’ll be delighted. Well, Lord Samad might not be thrilled. Nor Kaspira. And Balthasar won’t easily forgive you for locking him up, although losing poor Alyssa will hopefully make him realize how damaging Lamentia is. But what they all value most are their lands and their money. If they think opposing you might ultimately lead to them not being appointed to your Jedenvat, they’ll bend over backwards to support you, whether they like you or not.”
“I meant the people,” Sorrow said. “Not the Jedenvat. I know who my friends are there. Will the people accept it?”
Irris picked up Sorrow’s dress and handed it to her. “It will be odd for them, to begin with. Your age, even your sex will concern some, I suppose. But the bright side is anything you do after the last eighteen years is going to be a relief to the vast majority. I think once they realize that you don’t mean to govern like your father, they’ll be happy.”
Sorrow looked down at the garment in her hands.
Back when she was twelve, Sorrow had burst into her grandmother’s bedroom unannounced, and found her standing before an uncovered mirror, a sapphire dress held against her body. In fright she’d shouted at Sorrow, then ushered her into the room.