Blessings and Curses
But Sorrow had no time to try to understand why. Within moments of Charon leaving, Fain Darcia and Lady Skae returned, ruddy-cheeked and beaming from the morning’s ride.
Darcia sat beside Sorrow, who barely managed to get the papers out of the way as she did.
“Ah, Sorrow… It was magnificent.” Darcia took her drink from the butler’s hands and sat back. “Almost as good as the hunts back home.”
“Not quite, though,” Lady Skae agreed.
“No. Horses are not as good as alces for riding,” Darcia said.
“Alces?” Sorrow asked.
“Like a deer, but bigger. Much bigger. Faster,” Darcia said. “We use them to hunt wild rangifer, pinnipeds, alba bears, you name it.”
Sorrow allowed herself to be drawn into a conversation about how the northern women hunted, happy to let the two tell her about their traditions, the beasts they killed for food and skins and bones, trying to distract herself from what had happened with Charon. She didn’t want to doubt him, didn’t want to think of him as someone calculating, or with secrets. There were too many secrets going around these days, and too few people she could trust.
The distraction worked, though Sorrow only realized how well when Irris rushed into the room, apologizing for taking her time.
Sorrow squealed when she saw her – she’d missed her, despite last seeing her three days ago. Irris held her tightly, and the two hugged each other.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Sorrow said fiercely in her friend’s ear. “Are you all right? Charon said there was a break-in at the house, and you were there.”
“I’m fine. Totally fine. What about you? What news do you have?”
Sorrow knew Irris was not just asking about the Sons of Rhannon, and what had happened at the bridge, but about Rasmus too, and what she and Luvian had found in Ceridog.
“I’ll tell you everything. And you can tell me more about—”
Darcia cleared her throat in amusement.
“Sorry,” Sorrow said, releasing Irris, muttering, “Later,” again in her ear as she did.
Sorrow introduced her friend to the foreign women, and all three began to tell Irris what she’d missed, only stopping when Luvian appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a peacock-blue frock coat, frantically reminding them all they had to be ready to leave in half an hour for the Naming ceremony.
The Naming was being held on the outskirts of the complex, in a building that to Sorrow’s eye could have used a little cleaning, hypocritical as that made her. It looked like the wild and disobedient sister of every other building she’d seen in Rhylla, the grey stone worn and crumbling, ivy running rampant over it, instead of falling in manicured curtains. Parts of it were clearly falling down, roped off to keep people from climbing on them. It was only when they got closer that she realized what it was, and why it was significant.
“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 break-in. 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.
“It’s about to begin,” he said, by way of explanation, and no sooner had he said it than Vespus, again with Aphora by his side, followed by Rasmus and Eirlys, swept down the aisle and took their seats at the front. Sorrow looked away as Rasmus passed, annoyed at how her skin flamed with embarrassment.
Then, at some signal Sorrow missed, everyone turned to the doors as Melisia and Caspar entered the room. Both wore white, and the babe in Melisia’s arms wore gold. They made their way slowly up the makeshift aisle to where a priestess of some kind had appeared, clad in a blue shift, beside the altar. Melisia handed the baby to the priestess, who began to speak in rapid Rhyllian. Sorrow didn’t even try to follow the words, instead focusing on the feeling and the beauty of the ceremony.
She was surprised when envy gripped her as she saw how carefully they all handled the child; as though she was the most precious thing in the world. She wondered if her mother would have held her so tenderly if she’d survived. Perhaps she might have grown to love her daughter once the pain of childbirth faded, regretted naming her Sorrow.
The priestess anointed the child with clear water from the bowl, and then spoke one final time, before saying, “Aralie.”
Almost everyone in the room replied, “Arventis, Aralie.”
“Welcome, Aralie,” Harcel leant over and translated.
Sorrow didn’t tell him it was one of the few Rhyllian words she knew. “Beautiful name,” she murmured instead.
“It is. In Rhannish it would mean something like ‘she who flies the highest and sings the sweetest’.”
“Like a kind of bird?”
“Perhaps.” The red-haired baron shrugged.
They all rose as Melisia and Caspar returned down the aisle with their newly named daughter, followed by Eirlys, Vespus, Aphora and Rasmus. Sorrow kept her eyes fixed on the tiny hand waving from the blankets in Melisia’s arms, turning back to Harcel when Rasmus drew level with them.
“What happens now?” Sorrow asked the baron.
“Now baby Aralie will receive her blessings from those Her Majesty and the prince consort have chosen to bless her.”
“Blessings?” Sorrow had spoken to him to give her something to do while Rasmus passed, but her curiosity was piqued. She didn’t know what blessings were.
The room began to empty, those not invited to the private part of the ceremony eager to find the wine and toast Aralie’s health, and Harcel gestured for her to follow the crowd outside.
“Yes. You know that some Rhyllians have abilities?” he asked, steering her to where a table had been set up beneath a large tree and glasses were being filled. Sorrow picked up a glass and handed it to him, taking one for Luvian until she saw he’d been waylaid by Fain Darcia, so she kept it for herself and allowed Harcel to find a space for them, away from the main throng hovering near the door.
“I do, of course.”
“Well, it’s tradition in Rhylla to ask those whose abilities you find particularly admirable, or worthy, to bless your child, in the hope it will foster a good ability in them.” He took a sip of his wine, and Sorrow did the same. “Of course, that’s not how it works. These days only one in seven Rhyllians has an ability, and it doesn’t follow a logic. Fathers without an ability can have children with one, a pair of twins might find one has an ability, one does not.” He turned and looked around the room. “There, see.”
Sorrow followed the gesture of his glass to where Aphora now stood with Vespus, and the man who’d been with them at the bridge all those months ago. Her brother, Melakis.
“Twins,” Harcel continued. “The girl has a gift, but her brother doesn’t. And yet they were both blessed by the same people, born to the same parents. We’re not a naturally discriminatory race, and yet the abilities do mark differences that sometimes have an impact. Melisia would tell you otherwise, but then who discriminates against a queen? No, she’s fine. But some of us are less valued, in some circles, for our lack of ability.”
He looked across the room to where Eirlys was standing with Rasmus, the pair doing their best to be subtle as they poured something from a flask subtly into their drinks. Starwater, she assumed. They toasted each other and drank, Eirlys sucking an ice cube into her mouth, grinning at her cousin, whose lips curved in response.
As Sorrow watched, Eirlys trailed a hand over the back of a chair, leaving a patina of ice crystals in its wake. So she could wield coldness, Sorrow deduced. Not really useful in a land that bordered the Svartan sea at the north, but probably in demand over high summer.
When Sorrow looked back at Harcel, there was a wistfulness on his face, and Sorrow wondered whether it was for the girl, or her ability – she noticed he had mentioned no ability of his own.
“I’m surprised Her Majesty didn’t choose Lord Corrigan and his son to bless Aralie, given that they’re family,” Sorrow said carefully.
Harcel frowned. “Well, healing isn’t one of the most sought-after gifts. There are pills and potions that can alleviate pain as well as what Rasmus can do.”
He was jealous, Sorrow realized. So it was the princess Eirlys he liked.
“No,” Harcel continued. “Her Majesty and the prince consort will have chosen carefully who gives the blessings, and it would never have been Rasmus or his father.”
Sorrow kept her voice light and level as she replied. “Really? I suppose because Lord Vespus is only Melisia’s half-brother? And so Rasmus is only a half-cousin?”
“It’s nothing to do with that,” Harcel was dismissive. “None of the blessers are related to Aralie. It’s political, Miss Ventaxis – something you must understand given your new situation. It’s all about appearance and meaning. Who they’ve chosen sends a message about who’s in favour, and also what qualities they have decided are to be celebrated. Rasmus resigned his role in your country and left without warning. The queen isn’t happy with him.”
Sorrow’s chest tightened guiltily. It was her fault Rasmus wasn’t in favour right now. But, she realized, Harcel had said Vespus wasn’t in favour either. Was this because of the Alvus farm, or something more? Did Melisia suspect what her brother was trying to accomplish with Mael in Rhannon?
“True,” she replied. “But what has Lord Vespus done?”
Harcel gave her a sharp look, though whatever response he’d been about to make was lost to the fanfare as Melisia, Caspar, the baby and three other Rhyllians left the ruins and joined them in the courtyard. The guests broke into applause, and Sorrow looked at the three Blessers: a Rhyllian woman with the white hair of old age, a younger woman who stood proudly, meeting the eye of anyone who looked at her, and a young man who looked both thrilled and terrified simultaneously, his pale skin alternately flushing pink and then blanching white as he gazed at the queen and then the clapping crowd.
When the cheering had died away, Melisia spoke, first in Rhyllian, then again in the languages of those gathered.
“We will now adjourn back to our rooms to rest, relax and celebrate in private before the ball tonight. We look forward to seeing you there,” Melisia finally said, working her way through the spectrum of languages her guests spoke.
When the royal party, including Eirlys, left, Harcel visibly slumped.
“I’ll see you at the ball,” he said, sloping off after them, joining a group of laughing Rhyllians.
Sorrow looked around for Irris, but couldn’t see her. Then Luvian appeared by her side, an odd look on his face.
“Have you seen Irris?” Sorrow asked.
“She was talking to Rasmus earlier. Maybe she went to start getting ready for tonight.”
Sorrow blinked. Surely Irris wouldn’t have left without her? What was wrong with the Days today? “Oh. Well where have you been?” she asked. “More breaking and entering?”
“How dare you besmirch my good name?” Luvian replied. “And, no, actually I was getting told off by Charon Day. I had to go to the bathroom, and when I came back it had started, so I sat next to him and he collared me afterwards. He’s not happy with me. I’d go as far as to say he’s outright furious with me. Apparently I’m not being paid to waste your time on a wild-goose chase.”
Sorrow swore. She’d meant to warn him Charon planned to speak to him but had forgotten.
“Sorry,” she said.
Luvian looked at her. “He’s wrong, you know. I mean, not totally. Obviously finding out who Mael really is isn’t enough on its own, and we know that. But that, combined with finding Beliss and getting her to admit she raised a stolen child given to her by Vespus, will be enough. And it will give him somewhere to return to afterwards. If we can match him to a missing child, and have Beliss’s confession, that’s enough.”
“So you think we should continue looking through the reports?”
Luvian nodded. “But Lord Day doesn’t need to know,” he added. “He made it very clear we were to stop.”
Suspicion made her narrow her eyes.
Why? she asked herself. His reason, his insistence, didn’t make sense. So what if she whiled away a morning reading an old list? There was nothing else she could have been doing. Why did he want them to stop looking into it?
“I think Darcia and Skae plan to start the party early,” Luvian said as they made their way back to the carriage. “Shall we join them? Do a little more for diplomatic relations?”
“You go,” Sorrow said, a plan forming. “I have a headache.”
Luvian shrugged. “Are you sure?”
Sorrow nodded.
They parted, Luvian joining Lady Skae and Darcia in their carriage, and Sorrow taking her own, alone, back to her quarters. Dain, who had been dozing in the Rhannish party’s private parlour, looked up when she entered, but Sorrow repeated her lie about having a headache and retreated to her rooms, where she picked up the reports she’d left there earlier.
She never had been very good at following rules.