No Constant but Change
Harun had been found collapsed on his bedroom floor by his valet. On the dresser was a ragged pile of Lamentia, a used piece of card rolled into a tube beside it. It was obvious what had caused his death.
By the time Sorrow arrived, still dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing the day before, he’d been moved to his bed to give him a little dignity, his eyes closed, his hands resting on his sunken chest. The curtains had been drawn, and the lamps at the wall lit, and it was by this dim light, eerily reminiscent of his rooms at the Winter Palace, that Sorrow approached the bed to see her father.
He too was still wearing the outfit he’d worn to the impromptu party, and against his waxy skin the colours were hideous, the tunic marked with dark stains. Though someone had been thoughtful enough to clean his face, she could see dark flakes of blood by one nostril, and a smear of something white and crusted, making a trail from his eye. She turned away, remembering Alyssa.
She’d been in the room for a few seconds before others began to arrive in exactly the same manner she had, rushing to the room and halting on the threshold as though an invisible door stopped them, until their eyes found the corpse. Then they filed in, one by one, taking a spot around the bed. Samad, Kaspira, Bayrum, Balthasar: the entire Jedenvat came. They made space for Charon’s chair when he arrived, but no one spoke, their heads bowed and hands clasped reflexively. The fact that no one was crying spoke volumes to Sorrow. The fact no one expected her to cry said the same thing.
She looked down at him, waiting to feel something – anything. Not grief, that would be asking too much. But some sadness, or at least pity? Even anger?
There was a trace, then, of regret. Not for him, but for who he could have been. Thanks to Charon, and her grandmother, she’d been parented. Loved, even. But Harun had given up eighteen years ago. He could have loved her. He could have chosen to live for her, and to build a better life for her. But he hadn’t. So it was relief that crawled through her. Never again would she have to wonder when, or if, this day would come. Never again would she look up at a knock at the door, and brace herself for this news.
How callous you are, she thought. Your only remaining parent dead, and you’re barely sorry.
He was a terrible parent, in fairness, Rasmus’s voice whispered in response. And if your roles here were reversed, he’d probably be doing a jig.
Then Mael arrived. His hair was wild around his head, as though he’d dragged his hands through it a hundred times. His eyes were wide, and when they found Harun he let out an anguished cry that pierced Sorrow. The Jedenvat fell back as he approached, and Sorrow saw Vespus appear in the doorway behind him, paler than usual.
“But he promised.” Mael’s voice cracked. “He promised he’d stop.”
He looked at Sorrow, as if asking her to confirm it.
Here was the grief that was missing from the room. In a boy who never knew the dead man.
Before she could stop him, Mael gathered Sorrow into his arms, crying softly on to her shoulder. She could feel tears soaking into her tunic, his body racked with sobs. She patted him awkwardly, feeling almost embarrassed at his outburst, as though she was intruding on the grief of a stranger.
Which he was, she reminded herself. No matter what Harun had believed, this boy was still a stranger to her.
Over his shoulder she met Charon’s eyes, surprised by the flat expression in them as they stared at Harun. They softened when they met hers, and he raised his brows as though asking if she needed help. She shook her head once, keeping a loose grip on the bereft boy in her arms.
Seemingly deciding the scene was too much, Bayrum bowed to Sorrow before leaving. The rest of the Jedenvat quickly followed, murmuring soft condolences as they went. Finally, when only Charon and Vespus remained, Mael released her, and Sorrow found herself taking a deep breath, drawing air into her lungs as though starved of it.
“I’m sorry,” Mael said immediately, like a child.
“I, too, am sorry for your loss,” Vespus said before Sorrow could reply. “For both of your losses.”
“I don’t understand.” Mael’s voice was raw. “He said he’d never do it again; he sent orders to Istevar saying every trace of it was to be removed from the palace. He signed papers that said taking it – even having it on you – would land you in prison. I saw it! I saw him sign and seal them.”
Mael pushed his hands through his hair again, and Charon shot Sorrow an urgent look she couldn’t read. To cover her confusion she pulled a stool out and sat next to the bed.
“That’s the nature of addiction,” Vespus said softly, sounding in that moment so much like his son that Sorrow shivered. “It makes you a liar. I’m sure in that moment Harun believed he could stop taking it. Then later, back here…”
They all fell silent, their eyes moving to the dead chancellor.
“I know this is a terrible shock,” Charon said, his voice kind but firm as he turned to Sorrow. “But I’m afraid we have some decisions to make.”
“Decisions?” Mael asked, his voice bewildered. “Oh, I suppose – the funeral.”
Charon cleared his throat. “Well, yes. But, and I appreciate that it’s not a pleasant topic, the fact remains that we now have no sitting chancellor. The priority has to be our security during the transitional period, while we arrange an election.”
“Can’t that wait—” Mael began, but Vespus spoke over him.
“An election? And whose name will be on the ballot paper?”
“I would have thought that was patently obvious. Sorrow’s, of course.”
“Sorrow’s?” Vespus barked, looking her up and down. “Mael is the heir. Harun recognized him as his son. You were there. We all heard him say it.”
“You said you weren’t interested in the chancellorship.” Sorrow spoke directly to Mael, who was watching them all with startled eyes. “In Rhylla. You said you wanted to get to know your family.”
“That was then,” Vespus said coldly. “Things have changed since.”
“So now you want to govern?” Sorrow ignored him, still focusing on Mael. Her chest felt tight, her pulse hammering as though she’d run a great distance. “Do you?”
Mael opened his mouth as though to speak, but Vespus held up a hand, silencing him, before he continued. “Obviously nothing has been decided yet. No one could have known Harun was going to die. But you can’t suppose to deny what Harun said – the entire Jedenvat was there – so the fact remains he is the heir and if he wants to run for election, he may.”
“There is no doubt what Harun believed,” Charon said pointedly, as two red spots appeared high on Vespus’s pale cheeks. “But regardless of who he is – or isn’t – this boy doesn’t know anything about the practicalities of governing. He knows nothing of the intricacy of government, has no relationship with the Jedenvat or the wardens, and the people know nothing about him.”
“What do they need to know? He’s the eldest child of the most recent chancellor.”
“This isn’t Rhylla, Lord Vespus. We’re a democracy.”
“A democracy? Where there’s only ever one name on—”
The tightness in Sorrow’s chest had become a band that was burning her now, and she lashed out, snapping, “Stop arguing over the still-warm corpse of my father. We can wait a day before we decide anything. We have other things to think of.”
“She’s right.” Mael moved to stand behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Sorrow fought the sudden urge to shrug it off. “Surely this can wait?”
“It can,” Sorrow said without looking at him. “There is much to do. Notices need to be sent to all of the wardens, from their governing senator, to announce the death through their districts and counties. Today will be a national day of mourning.” She paused, realizing it already was, as the anniversary of Cerena’s death. “Full mourning. Schools and non-essential businesses should close and remain so until the day after tomorrow. Black armbands will need to be made; grant working dispensation to any tailors.”
She reeled off the list of commands she’d had to give four months earlier, when her grandmother had died. Back then Charon had coached her on them, forcing her through her grief to stand up and do what needed to be done. He’d been proud of her, though he’d not said it aloud, and she could see the same look in his eyes now as he watched her take charge.
Vespus, on the other hand, did not look pleased.
Sorrow didn’t care whether Vespus was pleased or not, and continued regardless. “The deacon of the North Marches will need to be summoned to bless my father’s body and dedicate it to the Grace of Death and Rebirth before we can move him – ask Bayrum Mizil to send for her. The body will lie in state in the temple here. I think that’s right – it’s where my mother was taken?” She looked to Charon for confirmation and he nodded. “Then I think it’s right he lies there too. Afterwards we’ll have him taken back to Istevar and interred in the family crypt.”
“And what do you plan to tell people was the cause of death?” Vespus asked, his voice quiet and dangerous.
Sorrow hesitated. “I… We’ll say his heart gave out,” she said after a moment. “That the events of the past two days were too much for him.”
“So you’ll blame Mael for it?” Vespus said.
“No, of course not,” Charon snapped before Sorrow could reply. “I’m surprised Lincel didn’t tell you that the official line on Harun’s absence from public life was that he had a weak heart – the result of his grief after the loss of his wife and son, made worse by the recent death of his mother. The Ventaxis family has a history of heart failure down the male line –” he glanced at Mael “– it’s what killed Reuben, if you recall. Sorrow’s suggestion is perfectly in line with the current message, and will save the face of the family without causing any more suspicion or fear in the people than is necessary.”
Vespus’s eyes darkened, but he said nothing.
Charon looked back at Sorrow. “I am sorry to ask this but if you’re ready, Miss Ventaxis, there are papers that you’ll need to sign to release funds for the funeral. You are the only living member of the Ventaxis family authorized to do so,” he added, earning himself a vicious glare from Vespus, and a surprised one from Mael, who again looked as though he might speak.
Charon spoke before he could. “Miss Ventaxis? The papers?” he said. “We need to send them to Istevar.”
Suddenly the message behind Charon’s pointed looks clicked in Sorrow’s mind.
Papers. Mael said Harun signed and sealed orders regarding Lamentia, but he hadn’t said if they’d been sent. Had there been other papers signed without their knowledge – papers declaring Mael his son and heir? And if so, were they still here? Was that what Charon was trying to tell her?
“I’d like a moment alone with my father,” she said.
Relief was evident on Charon’s face. She’d guessed right. “Yes. Of course. I’ll wait outside for you. Gentlemen.” He gestured for Vespus and Mael to leave before him.
As soon as she heard the latch fall into place, Sorrow rose from her stool, walked to the window and threw the curtains open, filling the room with light.
She went through his travelling cases first, ignoring how gruesome it was to be ransacking her father’s room while his body lay on the bed behind her. When nothing turned up there, she began to rifle through drawers, some of the clothes inside so old they disintegrated under her touch. She pulled the bottom drawers of the two chests out, to see if anything had been hidden under them. She explored the wardrobe, climbing up to search the top, and feeling underneath for anything that might have been taped to the bottom.
She got on her belly and crawled under the bed, searching every corner, and then, in an act that made her stomach turn, she plunged her hands beneath the mattress and felt the entire bed, trying to ignore the dead weight of her father resting above.
Nothing. If he’d signed anything declaring Mael was his son, it had already gone to Istevar.
Sorrow stood, and looked down at her father. She knew the rules of grief, knew that she ought to be crying. He’d demand it of her, if he could. Force a pipe into her hand and insist she martyred herself for him. She thought back to last night, to the last thing he’d said to her: Mael is here now. She’d wished him dead, she remembered. She hadn’t meant it. Not really. But now it had come to pass. The second time one of her wishes had come horribly true.
Sorrow gave the room a quick once-over before she allowed the drapes to fall back into place.
Charon, Vespus and Mael had remained in the passage outside, and they all turned to her as she left Harun’s room.
“Are you all right?” Charon asked.
“Yes.” She spared her father a final glance as she paused in the doorway. Already he seemed to be sinking in on himself; already there was a hint of decay in the room, something she hadn’t noticed until opening the door had allowed fresher air into the room. “I think we’ll need to move him, soon. It’s going to get warm in here.”
Charon’s mouth pursed and he nodded. “There are ice chambers in the cellars; we’ll have him taken there.”
“Can I see him too?” Mael said then, a bright edge to his voice. “I’d like to say goodbye.” When Sorrow nodded mutely, he strode past her, shutting himself in with Harun’s body. Sorrow met Vespus’s gaze.
And recoiled.
There was violence in his violet-coloured eyes, and in the faint curve of his mouth, horribly at odds with the situation.
“My condolences to you,” he said, the right words, the tone so very wrong. “To lose two parents, eighteen years apart, on the same day. What a tragedy.”
He bowed his head, then looked up suddenly, with the air of someone remembering something. It was so theatrical, so hammy, that Sorrow knew it was deliberate, and braced for whatever would follow. “And if memory serves me, today is your birthday too. Terrible. What are the chances? Still, at least you have your brother now.”
Sorrow was determined he wouldn’t get the last word.
“Yes, I do,” she said as she stalked past him, her legs shaking despite the lightness of her tone. “So save your pity for Mael. For he only has me.” She was barely aware of the hiss of Charon’s wheels following her as her heart thundered inside her.
She knew Vespus’s gaze followed her, and she was relieved when she turned the corner, out of his sight. She made her way back through the palace until she reached her own room.
The moment Charon closed the door behind him, Sorrow began to pace. “I couldn’t find any papers, but I think we can assume that at the same time he signed the Lamentia decree, he will have signed a declaration that recognizes Mael as his son. Which makes Mael the obvious candidate for the chancellorship. And we know that will serve Vespus.”
Charon nodded his agreement.
“Do you think…? Do you think it’s possible they killed my father? I mean, once the papers were signed, they wouldn’t need him any more…”
Charon looked thoughtful, and when he finally answered, his tone was measured. “I don’t know. And because your father died as he did, we can’t prove it. I don’t like that Vespus kept the boy under wraps for two years, only to thrust him forward as we were about to depose Harun. And I don’t like that Harun has died hours after declaring Mael his son. It – like all of this – is too sinister to be a coincidence. But your father is – was – an addict. We can never prove he didn’t kill himself, albeit accidentally. Especially because we don’t know where Lamentia came from in the first place.”
Sorrow stopped pacing and pulled out a stool, sitting down so she could look into his eyes. “So … what do we do? When Mael says he wants to run for election – which he will – Samad and Kaspira will almost certainly support him over me, and so will Balthasar. If Bayrum, Tuva and Irris back me, it’ll be a tie. You’ll have to choose who gets to be on the ballot.”
Charon paused. “No. You’ll both run. You’ll both be on it.”
The skin on Sorrow’s arms prickled. “There has never, ever been more than one name on the ballot.”
“There have never been two eligible bloodline candidates willing to campaign. And unless we can prove he’s not really a bloodline candidate, he’s entitled to do so. I can’t stop him. The rules are clear. And Vespus will fight to see that’s acknowledged, mark my words. So you have to run against him.”
Sorrow swallowed. Two candidates. One female, and newly eighteen. One unknown, and more Rhyllian than Rhannish. One reluctant competitor, and one likely imposter.
If only there was proof that he wasn’t Mael Ventaxis.
There had been the moment in the inn where she’d felt a spark of … something. When she’d wanted to believe that the mark and the clothes and the portrait were cold, hard evidence. But that need was selfish, she knew that. The portraits could have been painted to look like the boy, and not how the real Mael might have looked. The clothes were Rhyllian crafted, and that made them unreliable – Vespus could have bribed or threatened the maker into creating a duplicate set. And the mark might be a tattoo – they weren’t uncommon in other realms. None of it was true, unarguable proof.
For her own part, she was almost sure he wasn’t Mael. But her almost-surety wasn’t enough. Charon’s absolute certainty that he couldn’t be Mael wasn’t enough. Harun had declared he was, and the only way to discredit that was to admit that Harun had spent the last two years under the influence of a substance, and that that had killed him.
The Jedenvat would be ruined. She would be ruined.
Charon fixed his dark eyes on her. “You said you didn’t want to be chancellor. That you weren’t ready. This could be your only chance to escape that fate, if you want to. This boy could take your place.”
It was so close to what Rasmus had said to her: “if that boy is your brother, it looks a lot like you might have a choice.” It would mean freedom. She could travel to the lands she’d dreamed of: Svarta, Skae. Rhylla. She could take time to decide who she was, and what she wanted to do. Maybe even try again with Rasmus, give him the chance he’d wanted. For one glorious moment she allowed herself that possibility…
And in doing so she would leave Vespus in control of Rhannon, with an imposter acting as his mouthpiece.
Vespus, who was so desperate for power, for Rhannish land, he made a play for it time and again. Vespus, who’d wanted the war to continue to secure it. He had no regard for the customs or people of Rhannon.
No regard for Rhannon at all. She’d seen the people, two days ago. Cowed and broken, dead-eyed and hopeless. Vespus wouldn’t care about helping them. He’d watched with apathetic eyes as the Decorum Ward beat the crowd back. He wouldn’t rein them in; he’d use them to keep control, to help him move the people from the land he wanted so badly.
She could have freedom, but the price was Rhannon. Charon, Irris, Bayrum, Tuva. They’d all suffer. And the people… She thought of her grandmother, and how hard she’d worked to temper her son’s orders. And Irris, who’d set aside her own dreams to try to step up when she was needed.
And like Irris, she was the only person who could step forward now. The only person who might stop Mael, and therefore Vespus. It was her, or no one.
Sorrow walked to the window and drew back the drapes. Charon had kept them closed, as the vice chancellor ought to. His room had a different view from hers, another side to the garden, and she recognized the pond she and Irris had sat beside the day before.
It was another beautiful day, one she hadn’t known about, because the curtains were closed.
She remembered the plans she and Irris had made, lying on her bedroom floor, what felt like a lifetime ago. The growth, and the art, and the hope they’d scrawled across the paper. The connections she’d wanted to make with Meridea, and Skae, and Svarta. The return of colour, and music, and flowers. A land where windows were opened, and children laughed. Where people looked to the universities, and the guilds, and began to build hopes and dreams around them. The Rhannon she’d heard about in stories.
It was time to open the curtains. It was time to let the world back in.
She pushed the fabric aside and opened the window, filling the room with the sound of birdsong, as she walked back to Charon, who was watching her carefully.
“Rhannon can’t take another chancellor like your father,” he said. “I know it’s terrible to speak ill of the dead, but it’s the truth.”
“I’m not like my father,” Sorrow said. “I’m not weak. We need to find proof that Mael isn’t who he’s pretending to be. But I’m going to run against him regardless. Because I am a Ventaxis. And I will be the hundred and fifth chancellor of Rhannon.”
The vice chancellor held out his hand, and Sorrow shook it.