It Falls the Way it Leans
Sorrow didn’t celebrate that night. Because the election was the following day, and the results would be announced in Istevar, they returned to the Winter Palace, but she declined Irris’s suggestion that they order a lavish meal to her rooms, and instead she went straight to bed. The image of Mael’s wretched, shattered expression wouldn’t leave her; every time she blinked she could see it, the wildness there. The fear. Of being alone. Of having no one. Of being no one.
She’d done that to him. She, who knew better than anyone what it was like to mean so little to the people who were supposed to love you. But she hadn’t done it alone. What had Vespus said to Mael to break him so completely?
How much of the misery all of Rhannon had suffered lay at Vespus’s door?
It made her furious he was there, in the palace right now, secure in his status as ambassador once more. Sleeping under her roof, in her country. Not for long, she thought viciously. At least, not outside of a jail cell. One more day. Then she could have her revenge.
A bird tapped her window and she got out of bed, opening it. The hawk remained still as she took the letter from the bag attached to its foot, and then vanished into the night.
She expected it to be from Luvian, congratulating her.
But it was from Vespus.
Come to my room, was all it said, signed with a neat V.
There were guards outside all of the wings, to prevent them from trying to get to each other. But she could use the passageway. And she wanted to. She wanted to lash out. She wanted to let Vespus know he wasn’t as clever, or a sly, as he thought. That he didn’t have all the aces.
She didn’t stop to think, quickly dressing in a tunic and trousers, and turning her lamp on. Then she disappeared into her wardrobe, opened the passage and vanished into it.
Sorrow realized as the bureau moved she didn’t know which room was Vespus’s, but a hunch saw her knocking lightly at the door of Rasmus’s old room.
When it swung open and his father stood there, smiling as though she’d pleased him, she knew she was right.
He held the door open for her and she entered.
“Hello, Sorrow,” he said once the door had closed.
“What do you want?” Sorrow wouldn’t be polite. Not to him. Not any more.
He said nothing, moving to sit at Rasmus’s desk, where he’d obviously been before she arrived. There was a single candle on the table, beside a crystal flask full of clear liquid and two tumblers. Vespus’s eyes glittered as he looked at her.
“Won’t you have a seat?” he said, his Rhannish as perfect as ever. “Can I get you a drink?”
Sorrow eyed the flask. “If it’s Starwater, no, thank you.” She didn’t bother to use the Rhyllian form. “I’m aware of the consequences of it.”
“Are you now?” Vespus smiled silkily.
“I’m not here to play games, Lord Vespus. I’m tired of games. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. So let’s please not waste either of our nights with wordplay and sport. What do you want?” She said each word slowly, deliberately, holding his gaze.
“I want to make a deal with you.”
Sorrow laughed. “Are you joking?”
“Not in the least.” He poured himself a little of the liquid and drank.
“All right. Why?” she asked.
“You know why. A little bird told me you know.” He smirked. “Land, Sorrow. I want land in the north of Rhannon. Specifically the North Marches. The soil there is of exceptional quality, the light is good, the weather fair, but not too hot, and it’s close to the river. Irrigation would be easy. In short, the conditions are perfect for raising Alvus trees. Even someone without my ability could, with the right amount of expertize, do it.”
“So this is all because you want to be a farmer?”
“You said no sport, Sorrow.” There was an edge to his voice. “Do you know anything about the Alvus tree?”
She wasn’t sure if she was meant to answer, so said nothing until he looked at her pointedly, then recited, “The wood makes exceptional musical instruments.” When his eyes flickered to the flask, she continued. “And if the sap is fermented, mixed with water, and then distilled, it creates a liquid called Starwater, which increases the effects of alcohol, at least in Rhyllians. In others, it’s intoxicating in a less pleasant way.” She didn’t tell him she knew about Lamentia. Not yet. She’d play that card only once she’d seen his hand.
“Very good. Well done, Sorrow. Well done.”
“I also know your half-sister hates it.”
“Because she knows what it can do. What it can really do, not what my idiot son and idiot niece achieve when they lace their champagne with it.”
Sorrow frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You were there, at the Naming. You saw the Blessers, feted, celebrated for their special gifts. And you know that not every Rhyllian is born with an ability. It’s down to fate, or nature. Or the will of the stars, if the old fairy tale is to be believed. Either way, there’s no predicting who will or won’t have one. Some families have no one with an ability; in some everyone has one.”
Sorrow nodded.
“Starwater heightens abilities,” Vespus said, picking up the flask. “Taken by anyone who has one, it enhances the power of it fivefold. It’s not the effect on other alcohol that makes Rasmus and Eirlys giddy. It’s power. They’re drunk on their own power.”
Sorrow remembered the party in Rhylla, the mania in Rasmus’s eyes and how it had scared her. She was scared now, she realized, as the magnitude of what Vespus was telling her sank in. Enhanced abilities. “How do you know?” she managed.
“How do you think?” Vespus looked at her.
“You’ve been testing on people?”
“Myself, first. Then others, when I realized what was happening. The same thing every time. That’s the true reason Melisia hates it. Why she’s not fond of me any more. Because it would be a political disaster for her if it got out. A race of people who not only have gifts beyond what their neighbours have, but who have the power to amplify them. You know the tale of Adavere and Namyra? Imagine that power, already strong, magnified. Or Eirlys’s power with ice?”
Sorrow saw exactly why it would be a problem. It would be tantamount to painting a target across the entire country; weaponizing the people would make Rhylla a potential threat to every land in Laethea. Every country would be forced to take action to get reassurances from them that they wouldn’t use it. Astria and Nyrssea would be in uproar if they found out. They wouldn’t settle for promises, or treaties. They’d want all sources of Starwater destroyed, perhaps even calling for the imprisonment of Rhyllians with abilities.
Unless they tried to harness them. Kidnapping them. Buying services from less scrupulous Rhyllians. Like Vespus.
Melisia had worked her whole life to bring peace to Rhylla, and had finally secured it, only for her own brother to discover a way to make it impossible for ever if word got out. And Vespus wanted to use Rhannon as the farm to make it happen.
Vespus waited for Sorrow to look back at him, her mouth an “O” as wave after wave of horror engulfed her, before he continued. “And there are other gifts as well. Gifts we don’t talk about. Gifts Melisia keeps hidden away, because it doesn’t suit her ideas of how Rhylla should be. She’s nice when she needs to be, my half-sister, but I didn’t get my determination from my father. Melisia has her fair share, she’s capable of making tough decisions too, when she has to.”
He paused, clearly waiting for Sorrow to ask what he meant, but she couldn’t, the air squeezed from her lungs, her terror a corset ever-tightening as his words and their meaning battered her.
When she remained silent, he gave a light shrug, and continued.
“As Rasmus can heal pain, there are those whose touch inflicts it. Rhyllians who can project visions into the mind. Imagine what that would mean, when amplified? My half-sister works so very hard to make sure the rest of Laethea doesn’t see us as a threat. Why? We are a threat. Stronger, faster, gifted. And we could be more, thanks to the sap of the Alvus tree. A tree that only I can grow with any real success.”
Sorrow finally saw then why the land was so valuable to him. Why he was willing to try for decades to get it. Why he couldn’t and wouldn’t ever stop. “If you have better land, you can grow more trees. Make more Starwater. Sell it.”
“More than that, Sorrow. Power. For every person like Melisia who thinks it’s an abomination, two others will want it. Fight for it. Fight for me to grow it for them. And that’s only the start. No one knows the full extent of what the Alvus tree is capable of,” Vespus said. “Or most plants, for that matter. Did you know all medicine comes from plants? All of it. Imagine how much there is to be discovered. What if Starwater is the secret to unlocking abilities in all Rhyllians? What if a daily dose of Starwater in a pregnant woman guarantees a child born with an ability? At present less than forty per cent of Rhyllians have one. Perhaps I could make that one hundred per cent.”
Sorrow knew then that she’d made a mistake. She should have ignored Charon’s warning when they first met Mael, and contacted the Rhyllian queen with her suspicions about Vespus. Melisia obviously had concerns about her half-brother’s ambitions all along, if Sorrow had only reached out…
She looked at the Rhyllian lord, the confident smile playing at his lips, and something else occurred to her.
“Why are you telling me this now?” Sorrow asked.
“Because you are going to give me the land I want after you win the election tomorrow.”
He said it with such certainty that Sorrow caught herself about to nod before she managed to stop herself. “You have no way of knowing I’m going to win. Mael might.”
“No, he won’t. We both know that now. And even if, by some miracle, he did, he’d hand it to you. All he wants is for you to love and accept him. He seems to think I’m the reason you hate him, and that’s why you have such a troubled relationship. He’s made it very clear that if he were to win, I wouldn’t be welcome here because of it. So I suppose it’s lucky for me now that he’s not going to.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you think I’d give you Rhannish land.”
“Firstly, because I know about you and my son.”
Sorrow’s skin flamed as her innards turned to liquid.
“Don’t bother denying it. I know.” His eyes turned to the bed, his brows raised, and Sorrow’s face burned brighter.
“He told you?” Sorrow said. There was no point in lying if that was the case.
“Stars, no. He’d sooner betray his entire country than harm you. No, he didn’t tell me.”
“Then how?”
Vespus took another sip of his drink. “You never did figure out who your spy was, did you?”
A shiver ran through her as some instinct woke inside her. Something slippery and loose: a warning. She’d walked into the room believing she had the upper hand, but right then she wondered what other cards Vespus held, that he was so willing to show her the ones he had.
“Who was the spy?” She fought to keep her voice level.
“Not who. What.” He looked at her. “Not even a guess?”
Sorrow shook her head.
“You remember Aphora? Her ability is an affinity with birds. She can summon them, ask them to do her bidding. It’s not all that uncommon, as abilities go. I bet you didn’t know the idea for training hawks as messengers originated in Rhylla, did you? Because of the ability. It sparked an idea. Except Aphora can speak to the birds. And they can speak to her. They can tell her everything they see, and hear…”
In her mind’s eye Sorrow saw her outside the inn in Rhylla, the very first time she’d met her. How the hummingbirds that had so enchanted her had gathered around the Rhyllian woman, like moons orbiting a planet.
Sorrow had another flash of memory then – the night at the ball, when she and Rasmus had so recklessly kissed right there in the Great Hall in Adavaria. The birds that had flown above them, jewel colours flashing through the vines.
“In the Rhyllian queen’s home… Shame on you both.” Vespus read her thoughts on her face.
But she was too busy sifting back through the last few weeks to rise to it. Every time they’d had the windows open in the North Marches. In Ceridog, when someone had somehow seen them holding hands – the swallows darting outside. Birds. Birds everywhere.
In the ambassador’s palace in the castle complex. The window was open; she remembered the smell of the roses… Charon had closed it, but what had they said before? She couldn’t remember.
Sorrow’s heart was beating so hard her chest hurt. “You have no proof,” Sorrow said. “The twittering of birds, and the word of a lackey.”
“I don’t need proof. The mere idea would be enough to damage you beyond repair. And Rasmus would be arrested. Melisia loves the boy but, as we’ve established, she’ll put her dream of some fictional, utopian Rhylla before anything else.” He paused to laugh. “You’ve rather reminded me of her, with your antics over this campaign. But, yes, she’d arrest him. It would kill her to, but she would do it rather than risk being seen to be making exceptions for her nephew. And even if no proof is found, he’d be ruined just by the gossip. No one would want him near them.”
“He’s your son…” Sorrow said.
“Ah, but not my only one. Come now, don’t look so shocked. You met Xalys. I could easily legitimize one of my bastards. After all, Harun legitimized Mael…” He raised his brows.
Was that it? Was this the truth, finally? Sorrow made a guess.
“He’s not Mael, is he? And you killed everyone who might have been able to prove it, prove that you’ve been raising him for this all his life, not just the last two years.”
“Please… Beliss was an old woman. She was my nanny, you know. That should tell you something of her age. Gralys was an artist. Who knows what she did in her recreational time? And as for Corius … well… Accidents happen. I’m sure anyone can fall down the stairs and break their neck.”
“I know he’s not the real Mael Ventaxis,” Sorrow snapped. “Stop playing games and tell the truth. Who is he?”
Vespus laughed. “And give up one of my great joys? Hearing about your attempts to uncover his true identity has been quite the tonic, Sorrow. So, no, I’m not going to tell you, either way. Think of it as a little insurance for me. I’m the only person on Laethea who knows the truth. Should anything happen to me, it’ll die with me. Could you live, not knowing?”
“I’m willing to find out,” Sorrow snarled.
He laughed, and Sorrow’s fury mounted.
“You’ll slip up,” she warned him. “Sooner or later.”
“Your grandmother didn’t.” Vespus smirked. “And I’m not as bad a liar as Lord Day.”
Sorrow froze.
Vespus leant forward. “Yes, I know. The girl who should have been Sorrow Ventaxis died before she ever took a breath. You really ought to close your windows a little more. It might be hard to prove you’ve been bedding my son, based on the twittering of birds and the word of a lackey, but if we dug up the First Lady’s grave, I would think the bones of the baby buried in there with her would speak loudly enough for everyone. I’ll dig her up myself if it comes to it.”