State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(7)

“Headache?” he guessed.

Sorrow nodded. “I thought I could smell Lamentia earlier.”

He lifted his head, and inhaled. “I can’t smell anything.”

“No. It’s gone now. Or it was never there, and I’m losing my mind.”

“We can’t have that.” He pressed his fingertips lightly against her temples, and the pain faded. “Is that better?”

His touch made her feel lighter, less substantial. “You’re good to me,” she said quietly.

He traced along her brow bone to the top of her nose, then across her cheek, until his index finger brushed her ear. “What’s the point in being able to take away pain if I don’t use it?”

She’d joked once that if she’d had an ability it would be the opposite of his – destroying things, causing pain – and he’d grown quiet, brows drawn together.

“That’s not how it works, and you know it,” he’d said.

She’d tried to explain it was a joke, of sorts, but he’d shaken his head.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.” He’d been upset; he wouldn’t let her touch him, keeping her at arm’s length while he spoke. “You know that’s part of how the war began. Because there were stories that my people could use their abilities to hurt.”

“Ras, I know—”

“Then don’t say it, not even in jest. They’re a good thing. They’re only used for good. Besides –” his voice had softened then “– you could never hurt anyone.”

She’d been too ashamed to argue.

Sorrow was shaken from the memory as his hand moved into her hair, pushing it back, stroking gently. “So, why the need to clear the room? What news did Irris bring?”

“My father…” she said, not needing to explain further. Though Charon would have been furious if he’d known just how informed Rasmus was about the chancellor’s problems, Sorrow couldn’t keep it from him. “And Senator Balthasar has joined the party.”

Rasmus gave her a sympathetic look. “Does Lord Day know?”

Sorrow nodded. “Charon thinks I should deal with them. Like Charon thought I should be the one to speak to the people here, despite the fact I have no power, or authority.” She leant back and then forward again, resting her forehead on his chest. “Stars, I miss Grandmama. She’d know what to do.”

Rasmus reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers and bringing her palm to his lips. “I know. Everyone misses her.”

Not quite everyone, Sorrow suspected. In the months before the dowager had died, Sorrow had realized the vice chancellor would never quite meet her grandmother’s gaze, and his mouth would pucker sourly when he looked over at her in the dining room. Charon never said a bad word about her, as far as Sorrow knew, but once she saw it, it was clear he didn’t like her. Not that it mattered; Sorrow had loved her enough for the whole country.

Absently, Sorrow pressed a hand to her chest. It was the only pain Rasmus had never been able to heal, in a place she hadn’t known existed until she lost the only mother figure she’d ever known. And now, she realized, she’d lost so much more than that. She’d lost a teacher and a guide too – someone who both knew what had gone before, and how to govern. If only they’d had more time… More time for everything.

“It should be her here, doing this. No, actually, it should be my father,” Sorrow corrected herself. “He should be the one listening to the stewards, and dealing with Meeren Vine. He should be the one making decisions. Not me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” She leant into his chest, and sighed.

“Right now, you should take a break. Let’s run away.” Rasmus rested his chin against her forehead as he murmured into her hair. “Irris will help cover for us, I’m sure. We’ll pretend your headache has forced you to your sickbed, then we’ll sneak out. Dress as servants and steal down to the lake. No one will be around; they’ll all be preparing for the memorial tomorrow. We’ll avoid the Decorum Ward and relax. We could talk. We should talk, Row. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I have not.”

“Don’t lie,” he said gently. “You’re not as subtle as you think. So, make it up to me. Let’s escape for a while. We could spend the rest of the afternoon swimming, or fishing. And we can finally talk.” He slipped his arms around her.

Stars, it was tempting. To be outside would be such a luxury. Yes, it would be hot there too, but the dry, natural heat of the summer sun. Not the fetid heat of grief and madness, incubated in a palace that hadn’t changed at all in almost eighteen years. She imagined sinking into a pool of clear water, pushing her head beneath it and watching her hair float around her. She shivered despite herself, so vivid was the thought of it.

But then he’d talk, and she’d have to listen. Have to hear his futile arguments, have to watch his face fall when she told him he was wrong. Have to hurt him. It was inevitable they’d both get hurt, but there was a difference between her finally telling him they would never, could never be properly together, and circumstances forcing them apart. One was a kinder sort of cruelty.

She shook the thought away.

“I can’t, Ras,” Sorrow said finally. “You know I can’t.”