Greetings from Rhannon
The dinner went smoothly enough, with Sorrow tactically delaying herself and Luvian so that everyone was already seated when they arrived, and leaving as soon as it was over, claiming she felt ill. It wasn’t even untrue; being in the same room as Rasmus, even though he didn’t so much as look in her direction, left her shaken and vulnerable.
So when Charon Day entered the ground floor parlour the following morning, Sorrow almost threw herself into his arms. She’d declined the offer to go on a celebratory hunt with the other guests, and had remained in her rooms, intent on brooding some more on the night before. But several birds had arrived for Luvian throughout the morning, turning their private parlour into part aviary, part office, and making it impossible for her to concentrate.
Luvian arranged the papers they’d brought into some order only recognizable to himself, and when Sorrow, deciding she might as well make herself useful, had tried to reach for one, he’d snatched it from her and told her to go away and let him do his job, only to call her back a moment later and shove his infernal missing child reports into her hands.
“You can carry on going through these,” he said, effectively dismissing her as he returned to his new tasks.
Miffed, she’d retreated to her room, only to be shooed out by Rhyllian maids armed with clean linen and dusters, muttering darkly as they began to tidy the room. And the main library was now Dain’s bedroom; she couldn’t exactly go and commandeer it to work in.
She’d eventually hidden herself away in the rose parlour with a pot of moonstar tea and the reports. She was going through them, her heart aching more and more with each child, when she heard the familiar whisper of wheels on the ground, and she looked up to see the vice chancellor of Rhannon.
“Charon,” she cried, putting the papers down with indecent haste, crossing the room in three steps and kneeling in front of his chair. Charon applied the brakes and took Sorrow’s face in his hands.
He didn’t speak at first, scanning her with practised eyes, nodding to himself as he took her in. Though it had only been little over a month since she’d last seen him at her father’s funeral, she did the same, checking him over for signs of strain or tiredness. She was pleased to see he looked well: bright-eyed, relaxed … and unmistakably happy to see her as his face broke into a grin. She drank the sight in, already feeling more settled, more capable, now he was here. Then a thought came to her, and she frowned.
“Are you allowed to be here?” she asked. “I mean, you can’t be seen to be supporting me. This might look bad.”
Charon raised a brow. “I hardly snuck in.” He glanced down pointedly at his chair. “Besides, I’ve already been to see Mael, so there can be no accusations of favouritism.”
“You went to him first?” Sorrow tried, and failed, to hide her hurt as petty envy needled her.
Charon’s expression was one Sorrow knew well from her childhood – one part infinite patience, one part exasperation – and his tone was long-suffering as he said, “If I’d come here first I’d have to leave you, to go to him…”
“Oh. Of course.” Reassured, Sorrow returned to her spot on the sofa, smiling as the butler discreetly slipped out of the room, giving them privacy. “So, I suppose we can’t talk about the election?” she said, and Charon nodded. “That narrows the field considerably,” Sorrow said as she tucked her legs beneath her.
“I’d very much like to hear exactly what happened in Prekara. Your note wasn’t terribly heavy on detail.”
“Stars, Charon, it was awful.” She relayed to him her version of events, starting with the appearance of the hooded men, the shouting, the fire, Meeren Vine’s pause before he came to her aid, ending with Commander Dain’s assignment at Vine’s insistence.
“Where is she now?” Charon asked. “Isn’t a bodyguard meant to do exactly that?”
“The library. Deryn – the Rhyllian who greeted us – was offended at the idea I’d brought a guard, but she was quick to accommodate her. She had the library set up as a makeshift bedroom. And Dain seems to love it. She’s quite the bookworm. And, as everyone keeps telling me, I’m perfectly safe here.”
Charon opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it.
“What?” Sorrow asked.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.” She knew him well enough to know he was lying.
He pressed his lips together, seemingly thinking, and then said, “There was a break-in, at the house you’ve been using in the North Marches. The night you left for Rhylla.”
Sorrow’s heart stopped. “What do you mean? Wait, Irris was still there; is she OK?”
“She’s fine, don’t worry. In fact, she’s here too; she came with me. She wanted to come straight to you, but I asked her to let me speak to you first. I’ve left her unpacking, so by my estimate she’ll be here in ten minutes and our belongings will remain in their trunks.” He smiled.
Sorrow’s mood lifted temporarily at the thought of her friend being here, but fell again almost immediately. “Who broke in? Do you know? And how?”
Charon paused. “They came through your room. Through the balcony door. And I suspect, after what happened in Prekara, that it was the Sons of Rhannon.”
His words picked at something in her memory then. Monkeys on the roof, metal hitting the tiles…
Charon continued, bringing her back to the present. “Irris was still awake, when it happened. She heard sounds coming from your room, and knowing you’d gone, took some of the servants and a large knife with her to investigate. By the time she arrived, there was no one there but the balcony door was open. The lock had been picked. I’ve ordered it repaired, and additional bolts added, but I think it best to move when you return to Rhannon. To somewhere more secure. Bayrum Mizil would offer his manse. Or there’s the Day seat in the East Marches.”
“Stars…” Sorrow said, as understanding chilled her to the bone. They’d come for her in the night, when they knew she’d be alone. And vulnerable. So they did mean her real harm; it wasn’t just public threats and graffiti. She shivered and crossed her arms.
“And I have a man ready to take over as your bodyguard once you return,” Charon continued.
“Actually… Assuming she’s not a spy for Vine, I think I’d like to keep Dain,” Sorrow said, as Charon’s thick eyebrows rose. “She stood up for me at the bridge, and she’d welcome it, I’m sure. Plus, it might go a long way to appeasing the Decorum Ward when the time comes if they see me employing their former colleagues—” Sorrow stopped as Charon held up a hand. “Too close to election talk?” she said, and he nodded. “Sorry. Should we tell Mael about the break-in?” Sorrow asked suddenly, ignoring the look of surprise on Charon’s face. “They’re probably after him too. I know he’s more or less an enemy of sorts right now, but I don’t want him murdered in his bed,” she added when he continued to stare at her.
Charon nodded. “I suppose we should. I’ll speak to Arta Boniface later. But for now, tell me about Rhylla. How are you enjoying it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Sorrow said. “I still can’t get over the food. I feel like I’m actually eating colours sometimes, everything is so tasty and vibrant. And I met Fain Darcia and the Lady of Skae. I think I made a good impression on them.”
Charon shot her a warning glance and Sorrow swallowed an impatient sigh. This was harder than she’d thought.
“Have you seen Rasmus?” Charon asked, watching her closely.
Sorrow nodded. “You needn’t worry. He hates me. He can’t even look at me.” She remembered his words from last night and felt her chest contract as sadness rose like a tide inside her.
“I never wanted that,” Charon said. “And for what it’s worth, I am sorry. Really,” he said, when her eyebrows quirked, betraying her scepticism. “So, any other news?”
“Oh,” she remembered. “We stopped on the way here in Ceridog, for … a reason. And we’re going to see some of the south before we return, for the same reason.” She didn’t know how much she could, or should, say about Mael here, so she gave Charon a deliberate look.
“That’s the last avenue you have?”
“Yes. No.” Sorrow’s gaze fell on Luvian’s reports. “Luvian pulled all the reports of children who went missing around the time—”
Charon jerked so violently Sorrow was afraid he’d tip out of his chair. Her words died in her mouth as she reached for him, but he shook his head, bracing his hands on the armrests, and took a deep breath.
“Are you all right?” Sorrow asked him.
He nodded, but Sorrow didn’t believe him. Though his expression hadn’t altered, he was noticeably paler, his temples and upper lip glistening as sweat bloomed there. His knuckles were white as he gripped the armrests.
“I’ll fetch someone.” Sorrow half rose, but the vice chancellor waved her down.
“No,” he said, then again in a stronger voice. “No. I’m all right. Just an odd moment. No doubt from travelling so far without a real rest. I’m fine. What were you saying?” he asked. “Something about missing children?”
“Let me get you some water, or maybe something to eat?”
“I’m fine, Sorrow. Please, carry on.”
She sat back slowly, pausing before she answered. “We think it’s probable that Mael doesn’t know he’s an imposter. In which case he would have been taken from Rhannon as a very little boy. Luvian thinks we might be able to find him. So we’re looking for a child who went missing from the North Marches, in the two years after the accident.”
Charon sat back in his chair, resting his hands in his lap. “How will it prove anything?”
“We’ll know where he came from,” Sorrow said. “We’ll know who his parents are and who he really is.”
I’ll know who he really is, Sorrow thought. I’ll know.
His eyes moved again to her reports. “And then what? What if you find a child in there, right place, right time? What will you do? Go to the parents and tell them you believe their son is alive but thinks he’s the son of the chancellor?”
Sorrow couldn’t understand why he seemed so angry. “Yes, of course. It might help us prove he’s an imposter. If he looks like one of them, or they recognize him…”
“Your father recognized him,” Charon said sharply. “Your father was convinced he was his child. What parent wouldn’t want to believe it? They’ll see what they want to, as Harun did. And you’ll be accused of trying to sabotage his attempts to win the election.”
“I’m doing this for the election. If I can find him—”
“You should be focusing on winning it,” Charon snapped.
They were Luvian’s words too, the same old message, but right now they sounded like an attack. An accusation. Sorrow couldn’t think of a response.
“Perhaps I should go,” Charon said.
Sorrow’s jaw dropped. “You’re leaving?”
“I’m tired, from the journey, and in some pain.” He nodded to his legs. “It’s making me ill-tempered.” He tried for a smile, but Sorrow couldn’t return it.
He snapped the brakes off and turned the chair. “I’ll rest for an hour or two and see you at the Naming this afternoon.”
Sorrow scrambled to stand, to walk him out, but he shook his head.
“No, you stay there. But I’d advise you to give up that foolishness.” He nodded to the abandoned reports. “And I’ll be having a word with Luvian Fen about it too. Focus on your campaign.”
With that he gripped the wheels of his chair and propelled himself out, leaving Sorrow staring after him.
She’d never seen him that flustered before, never seen him falter; not when her grandmother died, not when Alyssa overdosed. Not when Mael appeared, or even when Harun had passed. For the first time in her life, she doubted her mentor, the man who’d truly been a father to her, who’d raised her and taught her and protected her.
Because she didn’t believe him. He wasn’t in pain, or tired. Or if he was, that wasn’t what was behind his behaviour.
Sorrow wasn’t proud that she was an accomplished liar, but it had left her with the ability to know when others were being dishonest too.
In that moment, Sorrow was certain Charon was hiding something from her. And that he was afraid.