State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(28)
“It’s a bird!” she said in shock, rearing back as the tiny thing hovered in the air, before it vanished around the same corner Vespus and his cohorts had moved beyond. She turned to Rasmus for confirmation; he nodded.
His eyes were soft as he watched her taking it all in, his mouth fighting a losing battle with a smile.
“All clear,” a female voice called, and Sorrow dropped her gaze from Rasmus’s, catching the pinched look of anger on Charon’s face as she turned to follow Vespus.
She rounded the corner of the building to find the Rhyllian twins waiting outside a round, honey-coloured door, three of the blue birds flitting around the woman as though she were a flower. She offered a friendly smile, which Sorrow was too anxious to return, nodding instead. After a pause, Charon wheeled forward to enter first, Sorrow behind him, helping him tilt the chair to mount the doorstep, and Rasmus at the rear.
All three stopped as the door closed firmly behind them and the Rhyllian woman passed them, heading towards the back of the inn, then disappearing around a corner. When Sorrow turned, she realized the male twin must have remained outside.
It was dark in the inn, compared to the summer brightness, and much cooler. The skin across Sorrow’s shoulders prickled, and her senses sharpened. She fisted her hands, relishing the press of her nails against her palms, the pain somehow reassuring.
“This way,” Vespus called in Rhannish, from somewhere deeper in the building. Sorrow took a moment more for her eyes to adjust to the softer light, and then began to move towards where Vespus, and the boy, waited.
They weaved around benches and tables made of the same golden wood as the door, polished to a buttery shine; in the centre of each one was a small vase with a red flower, like those on the walls, inside. There were curtains at the windows, red-and-white check, and the floor beneath Sorrow’s feet was a red too, tiled, clicking in a friendly manner under her heel, whispering beneath Charon’s wheels. Again her focus wandered, and despite where they were, and why, she wanted to stop and stare, to savour this moment, this place that was like nothing she’d seen before. It looked so cosy. So welcoming, as though it existed only to be inviting. And the colours everywhere. Sorrow was dizzy imagining what it might be like further inside the country.
Gentle fingers brushed the base of her spine, and she reached a hand behind her, squeezing Rasmus’s hand guiltily, before pulling away as they turned the corner to where Vespus waited.
Shadowed by the sunlight beaming through the window behind him, Vespus sat with his elbows on the table before him, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Lincel was on one side of him, her expression remorseless, the boy on his other. And beside the boy sat the unnamed Rhyllian woman.
“Please, sit.” Vespus gestured to the chairs opposite him, and immediately Sorrow’s heart began to beat rapidly. Trying to mask her strain with a show of confidence, she reached for a chair, only for Charon to stop her.
“Miss Ventaxis cannot sit with her back exposed to a room,” Charon said.
Vespus’s reply was smooth and immediate. Too smooth. “Forgive me, I thought it would be easier for you, Lord Day, to not have to navigate a small space with your chair.”
Sorrow was familiar enough with politics to know it for what it really was – another power play – and it seemed Charon agreed, for his jaw twitched and he replied, “Very thoughtful of you, but it remains that Miss Ventaxis cannot sit here, and that is my main concern. I assure you I’m more than capable of navigating any space before me.” His words were measured but loaded, and a silence bloomed between the men as they considered each other.
“Wait,” the boy said, breaking the stalemate. “Let me out?”
Vespus nodded, and the Rhyllian woman stood to allow the boy to step past her. Without warning he lifted the table and swung it around, moving it ninety degrees, leaving Vespus and Lincel now sitting at the head of the table.
“There,” he said, smiling at Sorrow. “Now no one has to have their back exposed, and Lord Day can easily fit his chair at the end of the table.”
It was a neat and swift solution. Without raising his voice the boy had taken command and, gently and easily, arranged things for everyone. He gestured to her to choose a side, and Charon chose for them, heading to the left. Sorrow followed, slipping behind his chair, to sit in the middle, Rasmus taking his place at her left. All of them placed their hands on the table, keeping them in sight. On the other side, Lincel, Vespus and the boy positioned their chairs opposite the Rhannish. The third Rhyllian slid her chair back beside the boy.
The moment they were all seated, a man appeared carrying a tray full of glasses and a carafe. They all remained silent as he filled each glass with a golden liquid, before melting away as quietly as he’d appeared.
The boy looked at his glass, then at Sorrow, and raised it towards her, a question in it.
Sorrow ignored the toast. “What can I call you?” she asked him.
“Mael,” Vespus said. “That’s his name.”
Sorrow bit her tongue to stop from snapping at him, though her narrowed eyes advertised her annoyance.
The boy – Mael, she supposed she’d better think of him as, at least for now – smiled apologetically at her and pushed his hair behind his ears.
She saw the mark on his neck, a darker patch of skin the shape of a crescent moon, and gasped without meaning to. He paused, his fingers twitching as though he’d tug his hair back over it. But then he gave a slight shake of his head and left it pinned back, leaving the mark on show.