The Tower
Sorrow backed away.
“Wrong,” the man said, and Sorrow recognized his voice. He was the one who’d attacked her in Prekara. “Your friend is dead.”
“No…” The world seemed to shift on its axis as horror roared through Sorrow. Not Irris…
“Don’t worry, Miss Ventaxis, you’ll see her very soon, I promise.”
He began to move towards her, and Sorrow scanned the room for something, anything she could use as a weapon, all the while her mind chanting no, no, no at the thought of bright, brilliant Irris being dead. He was lying. It had to be a lie. She picked up a bar of soap and threw it at the man, but he dodged it easily, still advancing.
“Dain!” Sorrow screamed, praying the guard down in her library room would hear her. “Dain!”
“No one’s coming.”
She knew how to fight with a small sword, a foil and an épée, had been trained alongside Irris when they were children. She knew how to hit and punch and slap and kick. But when the man moved, vaulting over the bath in a fluid motion and grabbing her, moving far faster than she’d thought someone his size could, she realized none of the things she knew would help her. Not against someone who truly meant to harm her.
It didn’t stop her from trying, though, thrashing in his grip, driving her head back until it connected with his face, causing him to groan and punch the side of her head. She saw stars then, falling limp for a moment, which was all it took for him to sink his hands into her hair and drag her back towards the full bath.
She barely had time to close her mouth before he pushed her head under the water, straddling her so she couldn’t move. She beat his legs with her fists, tried to sink her nails into his calves, even as her lungs started to burn.
No. No.
Black spots appeared in her vision, bubbles streaming from her nose as her body demanded she release the air she was trying so desperately to hold, to take another breath. She tried once more to move, only for her attacker to push her head deeper into the water as she pounded the side of the bath uselessly. She opened her mouth and screamed at the hopelessness of it.
And then heard a shout, and the crushing pressure at her back and head was gone. She hauled herself out of the water, air flooding her lungs as she finally took a breath.
She collapsed, coughing, gasping, and looked up to see Luvian facing the masked man with a broken bottle in his hand, edging towards him.
“You don’t have the guts, Luvian,” the man said to her advisor, as Sorrow retched, bent double on the floor.
“Try me.” He feinted at the man, who dodged. As he did Luvian slashed for real, and the bottle tore the fabric on the masked man’s arm. Blood welled from it.
“I didn’t think you had it in you,” the man said. Sorrow missed his next words as her stomach emptied on to the bathroom floor, catching only, “… be proud.” When she looked up, wiping her mouth with a sleeve, both men had gone.
She pulled the robe around her where it had fallen loose, and moved to the door, only to scream hoarsely when she crashed into a figure.
Luvian wrapped his arms around her and held her.
“Are you all right?” His voice was muffled by her hair. “Sorrow?” He kept a soft grip on her arms and pushed her back so he could see her face. “He’s gone. He ran. Come on,” he said, guiding her out into the parlour, then into his bedroom.
He left her standing by the neatly made bed and peered under it. Then he went to his own bathroom and locked the door, opened his wardrobe and trunk, before pulling the curtains away from the windows.
“This room is clear,” he said, reaching under his pillow and pulling out a wicked-looking dagger. “I need to go and alert the castle guards that there’s an intruder. You stay in here, take this –” he pressed the dagger into her hand “– and lock the door behind me.”
His eyes were bright, fixed on hers, and she gave a short nod.
“He killed Irris,” she said, the words ashes in her mouth. “Luvian, he killed…” She couldn’t finish, disbelief stealing Irris’s name from her. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.
Luvian swallowed. Then again. “Lock the door,” he said finally. “I’ll send Dain up to stand outside it. Don’t open it until you hear my voice. Do you understand?”
Sorrow nodded, following him to the door and turning the key violently, before sinking to the ground. Her chest still felt tight, still ached, and she had a headache from where the man had hit her. She shuddered as she remembered the water rising up to meet her face, the feeling of submersion, the firm hand holding her there. And Irris… Irris… She gripped the dagger tighter, and waited, focusing on breathing, in and out.
Luvian was back within minutes, calling her name, and when she opened the door, her shaking fingers barely able to turn the key, he took the dagger from her and carefully led her to their small living room.
He sat her down as though she was a child, fussing with her robe, before pouring her a drink. The liquid was fiery, she didn’t recognize the taste, and it burned its way down her throat, at the same time clearing some of the fog from her mind, and she realized something, frowning up at Luvian.
They spoke at the same time.
“It wasn’t—”
“Do you—”
Before either could finish, five Rhyllians entered the room.
And then Irris followed.
Sorrow burst into fresh tears. Irris ran straight to her and pulled her into her arms, both girls shaking and crying.
“I thought you were dead,” Sorrow sobbed. “He said he’d killed you.”
“No, no, not me,” Irris said. “It wasn’t me.”
It took a moment to sink in.
“Who?” Sorrow pulled back. “Who did he kill?”
“I found Dain downstairs, in her room. It was Dain he killed,” Luvian said.
“No…”
“I’m sorry,” Luvian said.
Sorrow lowered her head to Irris’s shoulder again, as her relief at Irris being all right curdled into guilt, then misery. Poor, poor Dain.
A man cleared his throat delicately, and Sorrow looked up at the Rhyllians, surprised to see the prince consort, Caspar, among them. She made to move to kneel, but he held up a hand.
“There’s no need, Miss Ventaxis. Are you all right? Do you have the strength to answer some questions?”
She nodded, and Irris took her hand, sitting beside her as the prince consort continued.
“I’d like you to tell me what happened here tonight, as much as you can,” Caspar said gently.
Sorrow took another sip of her drink, the warmth of the liqueur making false courage in her belly, then spoke, her voice surprisingly level. “I left the ball, and came straight to my room. Luvian said Irris had come here, but she wasn’t here when I got back. I started to run a bath, and then I heard someone come in. I assumed it was Irris, but it wasn’t.”
“It was a masked man, Mr Fen said.”
Sorrow nodded. “It was one of the Sons of Rhannon. I recognized his voice, he was the same one who attacked me in Prekara, when Mael was there. He said he’d killed Irris.”
“And then he tried to drown you?”
Irris’s grip on her hand tightened when she replied. “Yes. Then I heard shouting, he let me go, and I could move again. I pulled myself out of the water and Luvian was there, with a bottle.”
“A bottle?” Caspar turned to Luvian.
“When I came back, Sorrow’s bedroom door was open and I could hear an odd thumping sound. I called out to her, and when she didn’t reply, I went to look. I saw her being held under the water, and grabbed the first thing that came to hand, which was a bottle. I smashed the end off and went to her aid.”
“And then what happened?”
“I fought, briefly, with her assailant, and I managed to slash his arm, then he ran. I followed but he was too fast. Then I brought Sorrow to my room, told her to lock the door, and came for you.”
“He spoke to you,” Sorrow said, and Luvian turned to her.
It’s what she’d been about to say when the Rhyllians, and Irris, arrived. The man had spoken to Luvian and there had been a familiarity to it. As though he knew Luvian, and Luvian knew him. And there was the final thing he’d said … the thing she hadn’t heard properly. Something something be proud…
If she hadn’t been looking for a sign something was amiss, she would not have noticed the lightning flash of worry that flickered over Luvian’s customarily calm face.
There was no sign of it when he spoke. “That’s right.” Luvian looked away from her, back to Caspar. “He told me I didn’t have the guts, to which I replied, ‘Try me,’ and that’s when I managed to cut him. Then he said, ‘I didn’t think you had it in you.’”
That was almost it. Almost. “‘Luvian’,” Sorrow said. “He called you by your name.”
“Yes,” Luvian said, meeting her eyes steadily. “He would have known who I am, of course. Almost everyone in Rhannon knows I’m your advisor.” He turned again to Caspar. “I expect that’s what he meant by saying I didn’t have the guts. I hope he’s learned now not to judge a book by its cover.”
It was smooth. Plausible. Yet Sorrow didn’t believe a word of it. If he knew who Luvian was from the campaign, then he’d know who Irris was too. He wouldn’t mistake Dain for her. What had the man said while she was vomiting? She desperately tried to remember… Proud… Someone would be proud…?
“Do you need a doctor, Miss Ventaxis?” Caspar broke across her thoughts.
“No, I’m fine.” She didn’t want a doctor; she was too worried they might try to sedate her. She wanted to stay focused and alert. She wanted to remember.
Caspar stood. “I’ve summoned all of the guards to search the entire palace complex. With luck, we’ll find your assailant.”
Sorrow doubted it. If the man had managed to get into the supposedly impenetrable complex undetected, he would have got out the same way. Maybe scrambled over the roof… She gasped as she remembered something. Something she’d almost remembered once before.
“Wait,” she said. She pressed her fingers to the sides of her head, as though it might help her recall. “Charon told me when he arrived that someone broke into the house in the North Marches where we’d been staying. They picked the lock on the balcony door to my room. And I don’t think it was the first time,” Sorrow said, as Irris inhaled sharply. “The night before the presentation I took a sleeping draught. I woke later – or dreamed I woke later – because I heard something on the roof, then at the doors of my balcony.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Irris began, but Caspar silenced her.
“Please go on,” he said.
“It’s all so blurry. I remember the chime of metal. I got out of bed and knocked a lamp over. It must have scared them away. I put the key back in the door, and then I must have fallen asleep. I’d forgotten it until now.” Sorrow didn’t miss the fact that Luvian had turned pale.
Irris nodded, gripping Sorrow’s hand so tightly it hurt.
“I don’t think we can rule out a possible connection,” Casper said.
“What should we do now?” Luvian asked.
“That is up to you. If you’d prefer to leave at once, we’ll make a carriage ready with haste. If you’d like to stay until morning, we’ll move you to new rooms, and post guards outside your doors.”
“I want to go…” She hesitated to say it.
“Home.” Irris finished her sentence when she did not. “I’ll take you home,” she said softly, squeezing her hand again.
“I’ll have a carriage ready to depart within the hour, and a contingent of guards to accompany you, all the way back to your home,” Caspar reassured them. “And I’ll have the body of the guard prepared to travel too.”
“Her name was Dain. Dain Waters,” Sorrow said. She remembered Dain’s kind eyes, her soft voice. Her hopes. He didn’t have to kill her. He could have left her. A small spark of anger lit in Sorrow then.
“Miss Waters will be accorded every respect,” Caspar said. “I’ll come back myself when the carriage is ready.”
Sorrow nodded, lowering her head. Dain had died because of Sorrow. And Sorrow had liked her, despite her being from the Decorum Ward. She’d liked learning that Dain loved to read, that the taste of sugar made her eyes sparkle. That she was more than a brute. Sorrow had liked being wrong about her.
“We need to write to her mother. We’ll tell her mother she can be proud of her,” Irris said, patting Sorrow’s hand.
Sorrow’s head snapped up, her eyes on Luvian. Now she remembered what the man had said.
Mother would be proud.
Luvian shook his head, his eyes pleading, begging with her not to say anything.
“Miss Ventaxis?” Caspar said.
Sorrow tore her gaze away from Luvian and made a decision, praying it was the right one. Praying she was wrong. She didn’t think she could stand to lose anything else that day.
“Forgive me,” she said to the prince consort. “What did you say?”
“I’ll leave guards outside for you,” Caspar repeated, his eyes kind.
“I appreciate it.”
“I’ll go and tell my father we’re leaving,” Irris said to Sorrow. “Then I’ll come straight back. Will you be all right?” Sorrow nodded.
Irris gave her hands one final squeeze as she followed the Rhyllians from the room.
She listened to their footsteps receding as she finished the last of her drink, borrowing strength from it. Though she didn’t think Luvian would hurt her himself – he had saved her, and had ample opportunity to hurt her if he’d wanted to – she was glad to know there were guards within shouting distance if she needed them. She hoped she wouldn’t. She hoped she was wrong.
Luvian barely waited for the door at the end of the corridor to close before he said, “Sorrow…”
“You know him, don’t you? That Son of Rhannon. You know each other.”
The fact he didn’t immediately deny it damned him.
“He said, ‘Mother would be proud’. Your mother.”
“It’s not what you think… It’s not my life any more. I left it…” Luvian held up his hands.
“What life? Who are you? We looked you up. We investigated you and we found nothing.”
“Sorrow, please trust me—”
“No! Stars, I wish people would stop saying that to me. Tell me who you are.”
“I can’t.”
“Then tell me who he is. Tell me how you know the Sons of Rhannon.”
“Sorrow, I can’t. I’m begging you to trust me.”
Sorrow looked at him. She had trusted him. With everything. Trusted him as much as she’d ever trusted Irris, and Rasmus, and Charon. And look where that had got her. Charon had lied to her for her whole life. She’d lied to herself about Rasmus, and she was lying to Irris now. It was all lies and all secrets and she’d had enough.
“Dain is dead,” Sorrow said. “And you know who killed her. You’re protecting them, working with them, for all I know.”
“I’m not—”
“Shut up, Luvian. You’re hiding the person who has now tried, at least four times, to kill me. One of the Sons of Rhannon. So, I’m asking you for the last time, who is it?”
Luvian shook his head, his mouth moving silently for a moment before he looked at her with large, pleading eyes.
“Fine. But remember, I gave you a chance to come clean. I gave you that chance and you refused it.”
“Sorrow, don’t…”
“Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”
Luvian turned, and ran.
The guards burst into the room a moment later, swords in their hands.
“What is it?”
“Didn’t you stop him?” She stared at them.
“Who? Mr Fen?”
Sorrow covered her face with her hands.
“He told us to get to you,” one of the men said. “We assumed he was going to fetch aid.”
“He knows the man who attacked me,” Sorrow said.
Without saying a word, one of the guards sprinted from the room, the other remaining with Sorrow.
She wasn’t surprised when a body of guards returned, their leader telling her Luvian hadn’t been found.
The journey back to Rhannon was long, but Charon wouldn’t allow them to stop for longer than it took to change horses and use the bathroom.
“I want you where you’re safe,” he said. “Until Fen is caught, and we know who he is and what his connection is to the Sons of Rhannon.”
She couldn’t bring herself to argue, couldn’t bring herself to do anything but slump in the corner of the carriage, pretending to sleep, all the while going over what had happened. She’d lost it all, she realized. Rasmus, Luvian. The possibility of a brother. Herself. As they moved through the North Marches she sat up, staring at every face they passed, looking for herself.
From the expression on Charon’s face he knew what she was doing, and it wounded him, but Sorrow couldn’t let that stop her. They headed to the port district of the East Marches, the seat of Arran Day, Charon’s son and Irris’s brother. They were to stay in the Days’ ancestral home until the election.
Looking back, she realized all the clues were there that she should never have trusted Luvian as much as she had. His desperation for the job, writing to beg for an interview. The casual way he spoke of breaking into official places, the way he stole information and the painting. The way he never talked about himself, or his family, or his past.
And he’d stayed very quiet about his connection to the Sons of Rhannon. Dain was dead because of it.
Over and over she regretted screaming for the guards instead of trying to coax the truth from him. Now she knew nothing, and was a mere five weeks from an election she had no business even running for.
“We’re here,” Charon said as the gates to the Days’ estate swung open.
And as they closed behind them, the iron ringing with finality, Sorrow gave in to the darkness that had been threatening to consume her.