The Sons of Rhannon
Ten minutes later, they filed along a passageway, through a heavy door, and instantly the sound of a crowd assaulted Sorrow’s ears.
“How many people are out there?” she whispered.
“Around a thousand,” Irris replied.
“A thousand?” Sorrow choked on the words, her mouth dry as dust as her nerves returned.
“They took out the seats – it’s standing room only. This is history in the making,” Luvian replied, sounding far too chipper for Sorrow’s liking.
She whipped around to face him, but he shook his head and pushed her towards a set of steps, up and into the wings, and her entire body was instantly bathed in a cold sweat, her stomach churning.
She peeped through a gap in the curtain, taking in the crowd. Despite the relaxing of the laws, they still wore the same old, dark colours, though they looked a little more animated than the people who’d been at the bridge the day Mael returned. They turned to their neighbours and spoke softly to them, exchanging quicksilver smiles and embraces, as though still frightened to do so. It seemed Rhannon was finally returning to life, albeit fearfully.
Behind the crowd the Decorum Ward stood watch, Meeren Vine and fifty of his men and women lining the walls. Luvian had insisted on it after the package, and for once Sorrow hadn’t felt like arguing. It didn’t mean she disliked Vine, or what the Ward stood for, any less, but until they found out who had sent a dead animal to her, she would feel a little easier knowing there was some security nearby.
Even so, it turned her stomach to watch Vine caressing the leather baton at his waist as he spoke to one of his men.
“Ready?” Irris whispered in her ear.
Sorrow nodded, too afraid to open her mouth in case she threw up.
“You’ve got this,” Luvian murmured on her other side. “Show them who Sorrow Ventaxis is.”
Before Sorrow could reply, Ellyra called her name, then Mael’s, and Luvian was shoving her out on to the stage to the sound of polite applause.
Mael walked out with a hand raised, waving to the crowd, and Sorrow remembered she was supposed to do the same. He was wearing dark blue trousers, and a long fitted blue coat – he looked like Luvian, she realized, the same precise tailoring and fitted, almost militaristic cut. As he neared the front of the stage, the row of gas lamps along the front lit his face, and she saw that he looked thinner, shadows under his eyes, his smile a little strained. He wasn’t finding it easy, she thought. He was probably up half of the night learning the intricacies of governing a country he was a stranger to.
At that moment, Mael turned to her, and his smile widened. He looked genuinely happy to see her, despite the fact they were competing against each other. He mouthed, “How are you?” and she replied, “Fine,” in kind, aware they were being watched. Most of the time, she thought his niceness was an act. But sometimes… She shook the thought away.
She focused on Luvian and Irris moving through the crowd, gently pushing past people, until they were in her sight line, both of them nodding at her, silently telling her she could do this.
Ellyra Bird stepped forward.
“Welcome, all of you. Tonight, history will be made in Rhannon. For the very first time, we have two eligible candidates for the chancellorship: Mael Ventaxis, son of the late chancellor, returned to us from the dead…” She paused to allow the audience to clap, before continuing.
“… and his younger sister –” Sorrow tried to keep her face neutral “– Sorrow Ventaxis. Tonight gives both candidates the chance to address the people, and present their vision for Rhannon. So without further ado, let us begin. Sorrow Ventaxis will speak first.”
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Sorrow.
She cleared her throat.
“Thank you for coming today. My name is Sorrow Ventaxis, and I believe I am the right choice to lead Rhannon forward as your next chancellor. The past eighteen years, and before, have been some of the most challenging in Rhannish history. I’ve been here with the people, living alongside them, under the same rules and laws. In fact, they’re all I’ve known. But not all I believe. My beloved grandmother, the Dowager First Lady, told me how it was when Rhannon prospered. When we were at the forefront of science and medicine on Laethea. When we celebrated the Greening, and the Gathering festivals, when we came together for midsummer and midwinter. But you, the people, have taught me that the Rhannish are some of the strongest – if not the strongest – in the world. I have seen you weather the many, many storms that have battered you over the past eighteen years, and not break. We are a resilient and adaptable people; there is no trial we cannot overcome, there is no burden we cannot bear. I am one of you.” Sorrow turned to the crowd. “I am bound to you, by history, and by blood. Now, I ask you to allow me to lead you into something better. Something more than the darkness of the past. A new Rhannon. For everyone.”
“Lies,” a male voice called from somewhere in the back.
Sorrow peered out into the crowd as they all turned, some murmuring, towards the speaker. At first Sorrow couldn’t see who it was; then the crowd began to move, parting, until there, in the centre of the hall, three people stood isolated. They were hooded, crude leather masks covering their faces, leaving only their mouths free. One stood to the fore, a huge mountain of a man, the other two only slightly smaller, flanking him like sentinals. Not that it looked as though he needed them.
“Lies,” the apparent leader of the trio said again.
The hair on the back of her neck rose, and Sorrow’s gaze flicked to Luvian, who was craning to see what was happening. When he met her eyes he looked almost frightened, which worried Sorrow more than the men did. Luvian wasn’t the type to scare easily.
The hooded men stepped forward, the crowd backing away from them as they did. They stopped six feet from the front of the stage.
“Can we help you?” Mael moved to Sorrow’s side.
“Yeah. You can piss off back to Rhylla, and take your sister with you,” the man said.
“Excuse me?” Sorrow’s mouth fell open with shock.
“You heard.” The man’s attention returned to her. “We’re done with the Ventaxis family. All of you.” His voice rang through the hall.
Luvian waved at her, eyes blazing a warning, but Sorrow shook her head and focused on the ringleader.
“Who’s ‘we’? Who are you?”
“The Sons of Rhannon,” the man replied, his chin rising with pride. “Your reckoning.”
So these were the vigilantes who’d targeted the Decorum Ward? Sorrow looked at Vine, and watched him whisper to the man beside him. Then that man turned to his neighbour, mouth to ear as he passed on Vine’s message. Though she hadn’t thought it possible, in that moment Sorrow was grateful for him, grateful for the Ward. But she didn’t understand why the Sons of Rhannon were shouting at her and Mael. They’d done nothing wrong.
Sorrow decided to try to reason with them. “I know you suffered under my father, but I’m not—”
“You know nothing,” he shouted. “You hid in your palace while our children starved. For eighteen years you’ve stayed locked away, coming out once a year to throw a doll that costs more than some of us earn in a year into the river. No new jobs. No chances to better ourselves. Nothing to hope for or live for. Your dogs beating our kids when they smile. Look at you –” he thrust an accusing finger up at her “– in your red, standing up there, deigning to meet us. Telling us things will be better. Well, maybe they will. But not while a Ventaxis is in power.”
“My father—”
“It’s not about your father,” the man bellowed over her again. “It’s your grandfather, and his father, and his father before him. All of you Ventaxises. Sending us off to fight a war we didn’t want. You make decisions and we suffer for them. And now you have the gall to stand here and tell us things will be different? How will they? Because the only change we see is there’s two of you this time. What a choice.”
There were more murmurs from the crowd, still standing watching the scene, but this time the shock was absent. Sorrow could see people nodding, and her stomach dropped.
They agreed with the Sons of Rhannon, she realized.
And she couldn’t think of a single argument against them. So far, she’d done nothing to prove them wrong.
But Mael still had things to say. “The law of the land states that only a Ventaxis can govern…”
“Laws the Ventaxis family made,” the man shouted. “Crooked, like all of your laws. You come in telling us you’re better than kings, and then you behave just like them. We’re tired of it. We’re tired of you. We want a new Rhannon.”
The atmosphere thickened as rumbles of support came from the crowd, who’d drifted back towards the hooded men, surrounding them, all of them watching her, just like at the bridge. Though this time, there was fire in their eyes. Burning low but steady as they waited to see what she’d do next.
Sensing this was her last chance to disarm the hooded men, unwind the coiled spring the room had become, she took a deep breath. “And you will have a new Rhannon,” she said, pushing her voice out into the far corners of the room, continuing the speech she’d so carefully worked on. “One with colours, and light, and music. One with art, and growth. One with—”
“One without you,” the man roared, and then, in a swift, synchronized movement, all three men reached beneath their cloaks and withdrew something, hauling their arms back, as the crowd recoiled from them.
Sorrow saw a flash of something clear and bright arching towards her, and then the stage before her burst into flame.
Both she and Mael staggered back, falling, as the hall erupted into screams of panic, the crowd suddenly realizing they might be hurt too.
Scrambling to her feet, she peered through the wall of fire to see that the three men had remained in the centre of the room, even as the rest of the people ran for the exits.
They watched her through the flickering flames, their eyes red beneath their hoods in the reflected firelight.
Then they moved. Towards the stage.
In shock, Sorrow searched for Meeren Vine. She spotted him by the wall, where he’d been all night. He was watching her. Sorrow was aghast. Surely he wasn’t waiting for a signal? Why wasn’t he—? She half raised her hand, and stopped.
She understood as he met her gaze with those merciless shark eyes that he wasn’t going to help. This was his revenge for her behaviour in the Winter Palace, all those weeks ago.
The last of her courage seeped from her as panic took over. Her knees locked, her body froze, the Sons of Rhannon getting closer every moment, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything except stare at the man who’d betrayed her.
“We have to go.” Mael tugged on her arm, as she stared at the captain of the Decorum Ward in horror. “Sorrow…”
The hooded men turned to the left, making their way to a small set of stairs at the base of the stage. There was something in their hands, something long and glinting.
Curved swords, she saw, as the leader pointed his at her and it flashed.
“Sorrow…” Mael pleaded.
A gout of flame licked the edge of her shoe, and she grabbed Mael’s hand, instinct finally kicking in, and dragged him from the stage.
She led blindly, listening for footsteps chasing them. Her heart beat triple time, her body screaming at her to get away.
They found themselves in a dead-end passage, four closed doors along one side. Sorrow turned, pulling Mael back the way they’d come, freezing when she heard voices shouting.
Mael opened the nearest door and pushed Sorrow through it, following her and closing it behind them. Sorrow backed away until she reached the far wall, hand pressed to her chest, eyes fixed on the door. They were in some kind of empty closet or storage room, the walls bare save for scuffs and chipped paint, a small, dirty window high up allowing a little light into the room. There was no lock on the door, and so Mael braced himself against it, pushing the handle up and pressing a finger to his lips. After a moment, Sorrow moved to his side, leaning against it too.
“The door won’t hold them if they find us.” Mael spoke in a low voice.
“We have to find a way out. The fire…”
“You’ll fit through the window. I’ll help you.”
Sorrow looked again at the window. She might get through it, but he wouldn’t. “And what about you?”
He didn’t reply.
She hesitated, debating furiously whether she should go.
Leaving him to face them alone...
No, she decided. Two against three were better odds. Even if they did have swords.
“Do you think they actually want to kill us?” Sorrow asked. “Or is this all to scare us?”
Deep down she knew it was a stupid question – people didn’t throw fire and point swords unless they meant it – but she was desperate for some kind of reassurance.
Mael was silent for a moment. “I don’t know.”
They both fell quiet then, and Sorrow realized that they were pressed shoulder to shoulder, and for the first time she didn’t want to recoil from his touch. He might not be her brother, but right then she was grateful not to be alone. Because she’d loathed her father, she had no difficulty understanding that the people would. Stars, if they’d risen up against him while he was alive she might have been tempted to join them.
But she’d never imagined it might have transferred to her. She’d spent so long crafting a speech she’d thought would please them, reassure them. She didn’t know them at all. And now she might die here. Murdered by masked men, who despised her because of her name.
She leant harder against Mael, comforted when he pressed back.
Minutes passed, with no sound from outside, and Sorrow shifted her weight. Beside her, Mael did the same.
“Maybe we should go?” Sorrow said.
Mael shook his head. “We’re safer in here for now. It’s us they want.”
She suppressed a shiver. Maybe it was the Sons of Rhannon who’d sent the dead kitten. It seemed likely.
“Have you heard of these people before?” she asked haltingly. “Or has anything happened to you?”
“No. Nothing.”
Sorrow blew out a long breath. “It sounds quiet. I’m going to—” she began, but no sooner had she said it than they heard footsteps and shouts. Someone rattled the door and Mael pushed Sorrow back, covering her as he gripped the handle.
“The window…” Mael hissed. “Go…”
“Sorrow?” Luvian’s voice was tight with panic. “Sorrow?”
“In here!” she cried, forcing Mael out of the way and throwing the door open.
Luvian was alone.
“Where’s Irris?” Sorrow asked, looking around for her friend.
“Safe. Don’t worry,” Luvian said. “Are you all right?” He moved as though to embrace her, stilling when Mael stepped out of the room.
Before Sorrow could explain, an older man, tall and reed thin, with thick sideburns, rounded the corner and stopped when he saw them.
“You’re all right?” he asked Mael, who nodded, then moved to the man’s side, a slight tremor to his hands the only sign he was still shaken. Sorrow’s own heart was still fluttering away inside her chest like a trapped bird, her knees locked to keep her from collapsing or running, her body torn between both.
“Captain Vine said he’d send someone to fetch us when it was safe to do so,” the man announced to the group. “The fire is mostly contained, but we can’t leave via the main hall. I’m Arta Boniface, Mael’s advisor. Glad to finally have the pleasure. I’m only sorry it’s under such strained circumstances.”
Sorrow took a halting step forward and gripped the hand Arta Boniface offered. “Sorrow Ventaxis,” she said. “This is Luvian Fen, my advisor.”
“I know Luvian,” Arta Boniface said. “In fact, I taught him at the East Marches Institute.”
Luvian’s face was carefully blank as he shook his former tutor’s hand. “Arta was the only professor to grade me less than ninety-five per cent on my final exams,” Luvian said. “Have you left the faculty now?” he asked the older man.
“A sabbatical.”
“Until after the election?”
Arta inclined his head. “Unless I’m needed afterwards.” His tone implied he didn’t expect to return to his old role.
They lapsed into silence. Sorrow wanted to ask Luvian what had happened after she’d run, wanted to tell him that Meeren Vine had stood by and watched it happen, but she didn’t want to say anything in front of Mael or his advisor, didn’t want them to think her weak. So instead they waited, until finally Meeren Vine himself and two other members of the Decorum Ward appeared. Sorrow’s fury mounted as she saw his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. She might have mistaken them for signs of exertion, if she didn’t know better.
He was excited.
“All clear,” he said, inclining his head towards Sorrow in a way that made her blood boil. How dare he pretend to care?
“And the men?” Luvian asked, before she could say anything. “The Sons of Rhannon? Did you catch them?”
“Got away,” Vine replied. He looked at Sorrow, and she could have sworn she saw his lip twitch, as though he was trying to master the urge to smile, or smirk.
She decided not to give him the satisfaction of her anger. He knew, and he knew she knew what he’d done. Let him wonder when her vengeance would come. Because it would.
“What about the people?” Sorrow asked, keeping her tone as pleasant as she was able. “Was anyone hurt?”
She knew she’d scored a point when he blinked rapidly before replying. “There was a crush, to escape.”
“Did anyone…? Is anyone…?” Mael asked.
“No one died,” Vine said.
Sorrow was careful to keep her own expression neutral as she replied. “Thank you for your service. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”
Again, that satisfying double blink of confusion, before he said, “Any time, Miss Ventaxis. I’ll send some people back with you to the North Marches –” he nodded to the man and woman with him “– in case any of them are still around. They’ll keep a close eye on you.”
Sorrow heard the threat in the words, but understood too late what it meant.
Meeren Vine didn’t like to lose.
“In fact,” Vine continued, “you ought to keep a guard with you at all times, seeing as the Sons of Rhannon have it in for you. Commander Dain, you wouldn’t mind sticking near Miss Ventaxis, would you?”
The female Decorum Ward shook her head wordlessly as Sorrow’s heart sank.
Sorrow looked at the female guard. She was tall, two heads taller than Sorrow, and broad, her muscular frame obvious even beneath her black tunic. Her dark hair was shorn close to her head, like all of the Ward, and her expression was theirs too: chin raised and jutted, eyes unforgiving.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Sorrow said.
“Oh, after what happened tonight, I think it is. And Commander Dain is one of my finest lieutenants,” Vine replied with a smile. “You’ll be in very safe hands.”
Clever bastard. The last thing she wanted after his display inside was to have one of his people with her, and he knew it. This was a warning not to say anything about what he’d done. And to remind her that he and his men were her only real protectors.
“What about Mael?” Sorrow said desperately. “He’ll need someone too.”
“It’s in hand,” Arta Boniface said, and Vine gave him a courteous nod.
Sorrow looked at Luvian, imploring him to do something, but he shrugged, an apology in his eyes. Traitor. “Let’s go,” she said tersely.
Vine inclined his head and turned, leading her, Luvian, Mael and Arta through the warren of corridors, Dain and the other Ward bringing up the rear. They finally arrived at a door leading out to a small side lane, where Irris was waiting with two more members of the Decorum Ward.
She moved to Sorrow’s side and hugged her before taking her by the hand and saying, “The carriage is this way, come on.”
Sorrow allowed herself to be led as the last of her adrenaline seeped away, leaving her shaking and cold.
“Sorrow,” Mael called.
She turned to see him standing in the light of a gas lamp on the wall.
He looked small, sad, and very tired. She was lucky to be going back to the North Marches with Irris and Luvian. Arta didn’t seem like much of a friend, and Vespus was in Rhylla. She didn’t know if he had anyone else. And she was surprised to find she hoped he did. Hoped he wasn’t alone. Not tonight, at least. She waited for him to say something more, but then Arta Boniface took his arm and guided him away.
Meeren Vine stepped forward then, standing in the light Mael had just left. And unlike Mael, he didn’t look sad or lost. He raised a hand to Sorrow, as though bidding her farewell. It was only once she was safely in her carriage, Luvian and Irris either side of her, that she realized his fist had been closed. Not a wave, but a gesture of victory.