State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(37)
The curlicue-patterned gates of the Summer Palace gleamed copper in the sunlight as they were pulled aside for them to enter, and both Sorrow and Charon fell silent as the carriage travelled the long path to the main palace building, preparing themselves for whoever would meet them.
Sorrow peered through the window at the palace, a three-storey building made of soft blue stone, though there were more windows than wall, at least on the facade. A sweeping staircase led up from the path to a set of azure-painted doors that always shocked Sorrow with their vibrancy. There was a large balcony above them, and higher still, a flagpole where the Ventaxis flag – now the Rhannish flag – sat permanently at half mast, the black heart surrounded by thorns, crowned with flames. Today it lay limp in the breezeless air.
They drew to a halt outside the stair, part of it covered with a smooth ramp for Charon’s chair, and as they did a smaller door set inside the large ones opened. A short man with thinning dark hair and a kind face hurried down the steps. The warden – Sorrow recognized him from previous years, though it seemed he had trouble placing her, doing a double take before bowing to her.
“We’ve had a message, my lord, Miss Ventaxis.” He handed a scroll of paper to Charon. “The bird arrived with it only a few moments ago.”
Charon took it and moved aside, Sorrow following him, ignoring the Jedenvat and other nobles who had appeared in the doorway.
Charon cursed.
“What is it?” Sorrow asked, and he handed her the scroll.
Sorrow scanned the words. It was from Harun’s steward, and it said that Harun was in much the same state he’d been in when Sorrow had left him earlier that day. There was no possible way he would make it to the Summer Palace tonight.
Sorrow repeated the word Charon had said, ignoring his raised eyebrows. “Vespus won’t like it.”
“Vespus has little choice in the matter.”
Sorrow read on. Harun would remain at the Winter Palace overnight, and his steward would make sure to keep him sober. In the morning he’d bring him north.
“Now what?” Sorrow said.
“We still need to address the Jedenvat before the Rhyllians arrive, let them know what happened in the inn. But first you need to tidy yourself.”
Sorrow looked down to find there were still leaves clinging to her, and she could only imagine the state of her hair. No wonder the warden had seemed surprised when he’d seen her; she must look a fright.
“I’ll send Irris when everyone is assembled,” Charon said, and she left him, feeling a little embarrassed as she entered the main foyer.
The Summer Palace was beautiful, the floor made of pink marble, the slivers of wall between the numerous wide windows washed a soft eggshell blue. Even the roof was partially glass, to allow inhabitants and their guests to dine and dance under starlight when the long summer days of Rhannon finally darkened. Like the Winter Palace, it was preserved exactly as it was the last time Mael had been there. But unlike the Winter Palace, it was clean.
Shame filled her then. She should have done more to keep things under control. She shouldn’t have let her father be an excuse. She caught herself resolving to do better when she returned and stopped, one hand mid-air as she reached for the banister, as she recalled she didn’t know what she’d be returning from. Nor who might be returning with her.
Something emerald and venomous roused itself inside her stomach at that thought.
“We beg your pardon, Miss Ventaxis.”
Sorrow turned, hand still outstretched, blinking, at two young women who stood watching her. Sorrow guessed they were a year or two younger than her, dark-eyed, brown hair drawn back in long braids that reached their hips, long grey aprons over their black tunics. The elder of the two continued. “Can we do anything for you?”
“I need to freshen up; can you show me where I can do that?” Sorrow said, as the serpentine feeling in her belly fell quietly dormant.
“I’ll show you to your rooms, Miss Ventaxis,” the younger said. “Please, this way.”
They passed through a set of ornate, thick doors into a wide corridor, a part of the palace she’d never been to before. The floor here was thickly carpeted, and Sorrow looked down to see her shoes were leaving orange dust stains in the cream pile. She paused, tugging the shoes off, ignoring the surprised look on the serving girl’s face, and then took a step, moaning with the unexpected pleasure of the softness beneath her feet. The Winter Palace was carpeted, but it had also been constantly used over the last eighteen years, and not replaced. The carpet here was surely as pristine as it had been the day it was laid.
They continued on, passing doors that tempted Sorrow to open them. As in the grand hallway, the ceiling was glass, open to the sunset that was finally beginning above them, casting an orange glow on the walls.
Finally, the serving girl stopped outside a set of doors and, with a small curtsy, opened them. Sorrow stepped inside.
The room was dark but airy, and Sorrow suspected that the window and curtains had only recently been closed. She imagined the girls racing from room to room when they discovered that this year people wouldn’t be coming to merely view the portrait but to stay overnight. Closing windows and curtains, trying to hide the evidence of their crimes.
The crime of wanting sunlight, and fresh air.
Sorrow liked the idea of a pocket of rebellion here in the Summer Palace, as she had her own in the Winter Palace. She liked the idea that the small staff here, forgotten most of the year, lived lives filled with secret pleasures behind the closed doors. Furniture upholstered in reds, blues, golds; windows and curtains thrown open. She hoped the girls had a Malice set, or other games and books they enjoyed secretly too. She made a note to send them some of her own personal games once she was back in Istevar.