State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(87)

“Adavere’s castle,” she murmured, more to herself than to Irris or Luvian as they’d stepped out of their carriage.

It was the ruins of the first king’s home, the place he’d shared with his Rhannish wife, until she ran away. All that remained now of the massive former castle was the keep, and even that was missing part of the roof.

“Why don’t they try to repair it?” Sorrow asked Luvian.

“All things must crumble,” a voice remarked, and Sorrow turned to see the red-haired Rhyllian man who’d been drinking Starwater with Rasmus and Eirlys at the welcome feast. “It’s natural. And good to remember it, sometimes. Harcel Argus.” He held out a hand. “Or Baron Argus, if you want to be formal. Which I don’t. I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself to you yet. You’re Sorrow Ventaxis, are you not?”

“I am,” Sorrow replied, taking his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He turned to Irris. “I don’t believe I saw you at either dinner – am I wrong? Or just a drunk?”

“No, I arrived this morning.” She smiled. “I’m Irris Day. I used to sit on the Jedenvat for the East Marches.”

“Of course. You must call me Harcel, Miss Day.”

“Then you must call me Irris,” she smiled, and Harcel raised her hand, as though to his lips.

Irris was having none of it, though, and gently but firmly twisted her wrist, forcing him to shake her hand instead.

The baron, to his credit, easily went along with it. He greeted Luvian then, and Sorrow decided to leave them to it, linking her arm through Irris’s.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s find somewhere good.”

“Actually, I’d better wait for my father,” Irris said apologetically. “He was a bit strange when he got back from visiting you and Mael. Was he all right when you saw him?”

She didn’t know what made her do it, but Sorrow nodded, and Irris shrugged.

“Maybe it was the travel. It was a horribly long way; he’s stuck at the mercy of helpers to get in and out of the carriages. I’ll come find you afterwards. Oh, and we should get ready for tonight together,” Irris promised, and Sorrow left her, hurrying to catch up with Luvian and Harcel, who were still talking.

Sorrow expected Harcel to go and sit with his own people. But he seemed quite happy to remain with her and Luvian. She saw Mael and Arta sitting on the right-hand side, and Fain Darcia and Lady Skae two rows behind them, so she turned the same way, sitting behind a man with skin a few shades darker than her own: the Duke of Meridea.

He turned the moment she was seated and offered a hand. “Miss Ventaxis, how nice to finally meet you.”

His Rhannish was flawless, and again she was ashamed of her own lacking language skills, even more so when Luvian smiled easily and said, “Dirnisha sula rallia meter. So good to meet you.”

He turned to Sorrow, smiling pointedly, and she repeated the phrase he’d said, much to the delight of the Duke of Meridea.

“Ah, you speak Merish,” he beamed.

“Sadly not,” Sorrow said. “I’m afraid I copied what my friend said. But I’m hoping to learn much more soon.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Luvian give a small, satisfied nod.

The woman beside the duke, her close-cropped hair not unlike Dain’s, and elaborate jadis earrings cuffing her ears, turned then, and Sorrow greeted her the same way, earning herself a large grin from the Merish woman.

“My consort, the Lady Iola,” the duke introduced his companion. “This is Miss Ventaxis.”

“Please, call me Sorrow.”

“Of course, Sorrow. I’m hopeful I’ll have the chance to talk more to you at the feast tonight,” she said, before turning back to her husband and lapsing into rapid Merish.

Relations between Rhannon and Meridea had been tense since Meridea’s refusal to side with their nearest neighbours during the Eternal War. Sorrow knew from her grandmother that Reuben had blasted them for it, and of course Harun had made no attempt to heal any wounds. But it seemed the duke and his consort had no interest in maintaining grudges, and Sorrow made a note to definitely seek them out that night.

Luvian excused himself, and Harcel followed him, leaving her alone, and Sorrow took the opportunity to examine the room. The walls were bare, patched with moss, and the flagstone floor was peppered with shoots and leaves, as though nature was trying to claim the building for its own. It was as sparse inside as out, set up with rows of wooden benches, creating a wide aisle between them. She found she recognized a lot of the faces already seated, nodding and smiling at those she made eye contact with. At the front was a small altar, bare of anything except a silver or pewter jug, and a large stone bowl. Mael turned around, pulling her gaze to his. They exchanged smiles, and Sorrow remembered the breakin. She’d have to make sure he was told, it was only fair. She was certain if their positions were reversed, he’d tell her.

She searched then for the Rhannish vice chancellor, spying him near the back in a space that had been cleared for his chair; Irris was beside him, talking to a tall man in the stark costume of the Astrians. Charon stared rigidly ahead, and Sorrow got the impression he was deliberately avoiding her gaze. She frowned, trying to catch his eye. He was scaring her a little.

Movement to her side made her turn, but instead of Luvian she found that Harcel, the red-headed Rhyllian, had hastily taken his spot.