State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(67)

Irris came first.

“I thought you’d still be in bed,” she said as she sat opposite Sorrow. “I went to your rooms. Did you sleep at all?”

Sorrow shrugged. “I used the last of the sleeping draught and got a few hours. But I woke early anyway.”

Irris looked at the pile of shredded bread on Sorrow’s plate. “I take it that’s representative of your thoughts on the Sons of Rhannon?”

Sorrow popped one of the pieces into her mouth theatrically, only to spit it straight back out into a napkin when it turned to mush, offering Irris an apologetic smile.

“How are you feeling?” Irris asked.

“Aside from the attempt on my life, and the knowledge my future people hate me?”

“The people don’t hate you. The Sons of Rhannon do.” Irris pulled the coffee pot towards her.

“The people agreed with them. They hate what I am. A Ventaxis,” Sorrow replied. “And I’m not sure I blame them. Not after what my father and grandfather did.”

“They’ll see you’re not like them.”

“Only if I show them I’m not.”

“And you will, when you win.” Irris poured herself some coffee, and topped off Sorrow’s cup. “I saw your bodyguard outside.”

Sorrow grunted as she sipped her drink.

“I hate to say it, but I’m glad the Decorum Ward were there last night.”

“I’m not – Meeren Vine ignored me during the attack.” Sorrow cut across her.

Irris paused in the act of lifting her cup to her mouth. “What?”

“I didn’t want to use the Ward, because I know the people hate them. I thought it would look better if I tried to handle it myself. But when the Sons of Rhannon threw those things, I raised my hand to call for him. He hesitated. He smirked, Irri. He did it on purpose. To prove a point.”

“What point?”

“That we need them. I need them. Last night proved it, and Vine knows that. But as long as they’re working for me, the people won’t like me. So I’m stuck – vulnerable without them, hated because of them. Having one as my personal guard is only going to look like approval, and that’s why Vine sent her.” Sorrow nodded to the closed door that Commander Dain stood behind.

Irris sipped her coffee. “I’ll write to my father and ask him if he can release one of the palace guards to take over once you return from Rhylla. You do need a guard, though, at least until the Sons of Rhannon are brought under control. You could have been hurt. Killed.”

“I know,” Sorrow said, a shiver breaking along her shoulders. “What was that they threw at me?” she asked.

“Quickfire,” Luvian said from the doorway. “It’s a powder that reacts with air after it’s been agitated in water. Add it to a bottle, seal it, shake it, and throw it. The bottle smashes, flames ensue.”

Sorrow and Irris turned to him, and Sorrow was stunned to see how unlike himself he appeared. His suit was crumpled, as though he’d slept in it, stubble shadowing his chin, the top of his hair an almost vertical shock of black.

“It’s Rhyllian,” he added, making his way to the table. “They use the dried version in their fireworks. You’ll no doubt see it in action at the Naming.”

“You’re not still going?” Irris said. “Is that wise?”

“It’s up to you,” Luvian said to Sorrow. “I’ll go along with whatever you say.”

Though she wanted to go, she didn’t relish the idea of being out in a carriage, easily attacked. She didn’t want the Sons of Rhannon to try to finish what they’d started the previous night, when she was miles from safety, with only Dain, Luvian and the coach drivers to protect her. But if she didn’t go, if she stayed in Rhannon…

“We’re going,” she said. “We’ll just have to take extra care. The worst thing I could do is hide away. Too reminiscent of my father. And I don’t want to lose the chance to see what we can find out about Mael.”

She wondered then if he’d got back to his lodgings all right, and if he’d still go to Rhylla. Yes, she decided. He would. So she had to.

Luvian sat down and poured a generous cupful of coffee, ignoring it when it sloshed over the rim and stained the tablecloth in a pattern that reminded Sorrow of the mark on the music hall ceiling.

“Wait a second,” Sorrow said, remembering something. “Did you just say quickfire is Rhyllian? So is this Vespus’s doing somehow? The Sons of Rhannon are in league with him?”

Luvian looked at her with tired, red eyes. “No,” he said firmly. Then, “It wouldn’t make sense. Mael was on that stage too. Very risky to have your own puppet in the literal firing line. The Sons of Rhannon are a problem, but a separate one from Vespus and Mael. You do seem to attract trouble.”

“I hardly do it on purpose,” Sorrow said, and took a deep breath. She was ready to speak her thoughts from the night before. “But, while we’re talking about Mael…”

“I thought we were talking about the Sons of Rhannon?” Luvian said.

Irris tutted at him, and turned to Sorrow.

“We know it’s unlikely he’s the real Mael,” Sorrow began. “But is it possible he doesn’t? That the way he behaves is because in his mind he is my brother?”