State of Sorrow (Sorrow #1)(94)
Unlike Luvian, who’d pulled her to the walls to run long fingers through the fronds, shaking his head, his smile childlike and wide, as the Starflies danced around his hands.
“This must have been Vespus,” he murmured to Sorrow, snagging them both a drink from a passing waiter. “He must have used his ability to do this. I know we said it was pretty useless, but we might have been wrong. This is amazing.”
Sorrow took the glass he offered and drained it in one.
“Steady,” Luvian said, though he took the empty one from her and gave her his. “What do you want to do? Circle around, say hello? Find Irris and Charon? Sit and eat, and then go chatting? Or we could dance?” He gestured to where the Duke of Meridea and his consort were already moving gently to the music.
“Sit,” Sorrow said. Definitely no Charon. And she didn’t know what she was going to say to Irris – Irris knew her too well to believe a headache could be behind Sorrow’s expression. Despite the make-up, she looked as though she hadn’t slept for days. Sorrow wondered how Charon had explained their fight, and also whether he’d told Irris to leave her alone, and that was why she hadn’t come to get ready with her.
Luvian took Sorrow’s elbow, guiding her to one of the tables partly shielded by a wall of tall grass. He sat beside her on the log, watching as she drained the second glass.
“Sorrow, unlike our fine Rhyllian friends I’m not gifted with either an ability, or the skill of mind reading, so you’re going to have to spit it out,” he said. “Something’s wrong. Don’t lie. Tell me.”
“I’m fine. I told you already, it’s a headache.”
“Still? Can’t you take something? What if I find Rasmus; he can heal, right?”
“No,” Sorrow barked. “Just … forget it, Luvian. I’ll be fine. As soon as you stop coddling me.”
His mouth pursed, his brows drew into a frown as he looked at her, before giving a carefully uncaring shrug.
“I’ll leave you in peace,” he said stiffly, and rose, striding out towards where Fain Darcia was standing with a circle of Rhyllians. Sorrow watched as they made room for Luvian, as he slotted easily into the group, and the conversation. Fain Darcia leant towards him and spoke, and Luvian gestured to her. Sorrow looked away.
A waiter passed and she took another drink, cupping it in both hands. She scanned the room for Charon, wondering if he’d managed to navigate it in his chair. Thoughtless of Vespus, really, she realized, to create an environment the Rhannish vice chancellor couldn’t manoeuvre with ease. Knowing Vespus, it was deliberate.
Lord Vespus was standing beside his half-sister and Prince Caspar, hands behind his back, seemingly enjoying a conversation with them. Prince Caspar held Aralie in a sling across his chest, leaving his hands free to gesture as he told his wife and Vespus some story. There was no sign of any tension between them, and Sorrow wondered what the red-haired baron, Harcel, might have said about his seeming lack of favour, if they hadn’t been interrupted.
“Hello.” She turned to see Mael peering around the side of the screen. “May I join you?”
Sorrow shrugged, and Mael sat where Luvian had before.
“I saw your advisor go over there, and Arta is at the buffet, so I thought I’d come and see how you were before someone insists we don’t talk.”
“I’m fine,” Sorrow said without looking at him.
“Isn’t this brilliant?” Mael continued. “Lord Vespus did it, as a Naming gift for Aralie.”
“It’s not so brilliant for Lord Day. He’s in a wheeled chair. I can’t imagine the ground is easy for him to travel.”
“Oh, no, the plants withdraw when he moves, look.” Mael pointed to where Charon had steered into view, Irris beside him. As Sorrow watched, the moss seemed to part in the path of his chair, allowing him to pass.
He turned to see Sorrow and Mael sitting together, and frowned, but Sorrow returned his gaze levelly, giving nothing away, until he gripped his wheels and moved deeper into the room. Irris looked between them both, and raised questioning brows. So Charon hadn’t explained their fight, then.
For a moment Sorrow wanted nothing more than to cross the room and pull Irris aside. Irris loved Sorrow enough to tell her the truth; Irris always cut to the heart of an issue like a knife through butter. Irris pulled no punches, never balked, never quavered. Irris would soothe her, rally her, as she always did.
But what could Sorrow say to her? Irris couldn’t know the truth; Charon had been explicit in that. And Sorrow didn’t think she could lie to Irris’s face. So she shrugged, and saw hurt flicker over Irris’s face. Her mood darkening further as her friend hurried after Charon, she tuned back in to what Mael was saying.
“… so Lord Vespus instructed them to do it,” Mael said, and as Sorrow watched the moss moved seamlessly back into place in Charon’s wake.
“How very good of him.”
“You really don’t like him, do you?”
Sorrow’s tone was bored as she replied, “What on Laethea gave you that impression?”
“And you hate me too,” Mael said suddenly.
Sorrow turned to him. “No,” she said honestly. “I don’t hate you.”
She had, for a while. Well, she’d hated the brother who’d died, and was therefore always perfect in her father’s eyes. And she’d hated the boy at the bridge, and the boy who’d stood beside Harun the night he’d died. She didn’t hate this boy. Whoever – whatever – he was.