Gone by Sunrise
She opened every door, stepped into every room. She didn’t linger in her parents’ old quarters, barely sparing a glance for the portraits that hung on the walls. She closed the door to Mael’s old room the moment she realized what it was, deciding she’d had more than enough of him that day.
Every time she saw a guard, she did as she had done earlier, asking for their silence with a gesture, and it was granted, with a bow, or a nod, or sometimes no acknowledgement at all, as though they hadn’t seen her. Sorrow met no one else on her travels. The Summer Palace kept a minimal staff; those who did work there would be fast asleep by now. The palace was hers.
Thanks to the glass ceilings, the pale walls, and the bright light of the moon, she needed no lamp, perfectly able to see as she pushed open the doors to the rooms beneath her own. She found the breakfast room. Beyond it was a patio, and she realized what she’d thought were windows were glass doors, every panel able to open out so breakfast could be enjoyed beside the gardens. Further still she found small salons, candy-striped chairs and games tables hidden beneath dust sheets, an old harp with warped strings that sounded like tiny screams when she plucked them. A gentleman’s room, a pot-a-ball table at the centre, a small bar in the corner, which, when she opened it, still had bottles inside, sticky residue coating the bottoms.
Behind the grand hallway she found a ballroom with a huge floor for dancing, five chandeliers suspended above it, sconces at the wall to make it as bright or as dark as it needed to be. There were spiral staircases in each corner, leading to a balcony level with boxes where observers could sit and watch the dancing below, or secret themselves away for other pursuits. Sorrow’s stomach twisted, and she left the ballroom swiftly, heading for the part of the palace she did know; beneath the swallow wing, where the walking gallery, main drawing room, and library were.
Her feet carried her to the main drawing room, and the handle felt cool beneath her palm as she opened the door. The room was day-bright from the full moon, and, as if it had been planned, a shaft of moonlight fell directly on to the covered easel that contained the latest portrait of Mael, as he would have been at twenty-one.
Sorrow crossed the room in three steps and ripped the covering away, unable to stop herself from gasping at the picture. He’d been painted standing, dressed in black, as always, a large vase of white lilies in the background. It was him. It was the boy Vespus had brought to the bridge. He could have been the model for it, the likeness was so exact.
Even the small details, she saw, things she’d never noticed before. One side of his lip curled up a little more than the other, giving him a faint but permanent smirk. His nose wasn’t quite straight, listing a fraction to the left. The boy had been the same. Lacking in the symmetry that Rhyllians had – the thing that made them look so other, at first glance. Because they were perfect. Mael wasn’t perfect. She’d thought he was, but no. Not quite.
There was a signature scrawled in the corner, dark paint against a dark background, and she tried to make it out. Cr… No, Gr…
The sound of footsteps jolted her from her staring, and feeling suddenly guilty, she tried to cover the picture, managing to get the sheet half over as the owner of the tread paused in the doorway.
Rasmus looked at her. “I went to your rooms,” he said, a strange quality to his voice. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Sorrow was about to walk towards him, to throw herself into his arms, suddenly needing him, when she stopped, disturbed by the blank expression on his face. Had Vespus said something after she’d left? Did he know something about Mael?
“What is it?” she asked, trying to brace herself.
“There’s a balcony in my room,” Rasmus continued, his tone flat and deliberate. “If it were the Winter Palace I’d never have opened the doors, but here it felt different. Like they wanted to be open. Bayrum Mizil is in the rooms next to mine, and he must have thought the same, because he opened the windows when he got back from meeting with you and the Jedenvat. He and Tuva Marchant had a lot to discuss.” He stopped speaking and looked Sorrow straight in the eye. “When were you going to tell me you were deposing your father?”
Sorrow faltered, as though the floor beneath her had vanished. “I was going to tell you,” she began. “I meant to tell you…”
“Don’t,” he barked, and Sorrow fell silent.
For once there was colour in his cheeks; a hint of rose lit his face. The set of his jaw was hard, jutting, teeth clenched behind pursed lips. His breathing was slow, too slow, she realized. It was controlled. He wasn’t just angry, he was furious. And barely containing it. “When?” he ground out from between his teeth.
“As soon as I sign the papers,” Sorrow whispered.
“No. When was this decided? Because I seem to recall seeing you last night. Spending much of it with you. So I assume it was after that? Because otherwise, you would have told me, right? You wouldn’t have come to my room, to my bed, and not told me?”
Sorrow hung her head and spoke in a hushed monotone. “Last night, Charon told me it was going to happen. But it didn’t become official until this morning, before the bridge. The Jedenvat met at dawn and voted.”
“So when we … this was already in motion? By the time you came to me this was a done deal. And you said nothing.” His violet eyes were cold as they met hers. “So last night was, what? Something to remember you by?”
Guilt and shame burned in her veins. “Ras,” she began softly. “You’re right. I messed up, and I should have told you. You have to believe me, I don’t want this. You know I don’t. But I don’t have a choice.”
“Don’t you? Because if that boy is your brother, it looks a lot like you might have a choice.”
“It’s illegal between us.”
“It hasn’t stopped us before. It doesn’t have to stop us now.”
“Rasmus—”
“Stop saying my name. I’ve been begging you to talk to me for weeks. I knew – I knew – something was coming and I’ve spent every moment of every day trying to find a way to make it work. Trying to find a way of not losing you. I thought you felt the same. I thought…” He didn’t finish, instead turning and moving away.
“Rasmus, wait,” Sorrow called, fear making her voice high. It couldn’t end like this. She couldn’t lose him completely. She needed him.
He kept walking, and the shock of it rooted her to the spot. He was going to leave her there. But then he stopped, and turned back to her.
“What?”
“I don’t want…” She didn’t know how to finish. “You’re my best friend,” she pleaded.
“That’s just it, Row. That’s all I ever was. You never thought of me as more than that. And I was stupid enough to think that one day you might. To hope for it.”
Sorrow couldn’t breathe. As she looked into his desolate face, she realized she’d made a mistake – many mistakes. She’d told herself it was kinder to not talk about it, but all she’d done was lead him on. Every time she’d promised they’d talk, she’d made him believe there was something to talk about. When she knew there wasn’t. That there could never be. And if she lost him now, there was no one to blame but herself.
“We knew this couldn’t last for ever,” was all she dared to say, the words a whisper.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. When he spoke, his voice was hollow. “I wasn’t asking for forever. I wasn’t asking you to be my bride, or my one true love. I was asking for now. What I wanted was a chance to see if there was something more to us than sneaking to each other’s rooms, and being gone by sunrise. A chance. But I never had one, did I?”
He waited for her to respond. But Sorrow had nothing. His words beat against her skull until they made no sense, and all the while they stared at each other.
After a long time, when the silence between them had grown so much it might as well have been a wall, he turned and walked away, slowly, measured, his tread soft. She heard the faint click of the door as he closed, not slammed, it behind him.
Sorrow didn’t know how long she stood there, her mind frantically searching for a solution, a way to bridge the horrible chasm that had opened between them. They’d argued before, of course they had – they’d been in each other’s lives for the past ten years – but never, ever anything that felt this final.
When the door opened again, her heart leapt, only to plummet when Charon appeared, his wheels silent on the floor, fully dressed despite the hour. How long had he been out there?
“I was just…” Sorrow began, trailing off when he looked beyond her to the half-covered portrait of Mael.
Charon said nothing, moving into the room, his head canting to the side as he gazed at the picture.
“It’s uncanny,” he said, “in the true sense of the word, how much the boy they have looks like this.”
Sorrow could only nod.
“What have you done?” Charon tore his gaze from the painting and looked at Sorrow. “I heard you. Both of you.”
Sorrow’s blood ran cold. “Charon…”
“You lied to me. To my face.” The words were coated in ice, sharp like knives. “How could you be so stupid?”
“We never meant for anything to happen—”
“How long has this been going on?”
Sorrow paused. “Eighteen months,” she said finally.
“And you’ve been to bed with him, Sorrow? For the Grace’s sake, you’re seventeen.”
“So I’m old enough to be chancellor presumpt, but not to have sex?” Sorrow’s rage flared then, and she whirled on the vice chancellor. “But, of course, the Jedenvat will have a hand in the chancellorship until I’m twenty-one. I guess I’m old enough to be your puppet, but not to take a lover.”
Charon’s bronze skin turned grey, and Sorrow immediately felt remorse. “I didn’t mean it,” she said instantly. “I take it back; I’m sorry.”
Charon didn’t reply for a moment, and Sorrow dropped to her knees, meeting him at eye level. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
He reached out for her hand. “Sorrow…” He shook his head. “It’s treason,” he said softly. “It’s not that you’ve … formed an attachment. What you’ve both done is treason, in the eyes of your respective countries. A death sentence, in Rhylla. Life imprisonment here, at the very least.” He paused. “Do you understand the position you’ve put me in?”
Sorrow hung her head.
“I’m the vice chancellor of Rhannon. My job is to uphold all of our laws, to mediate the Jedenvat, and to counsel the chancellor. My job is to be impartial, and see that the good of Rhannon is served. Above all things. Above all people.”
The bones in her legs turned liquid then, and she sat back on her knees, her hand slipping from Charon’s grasp.
“But it’s over now. We both swore that once I had to become chancellor, we’d end it.” She could hear her voice becoming shriller and shriller. “Please don’t punish him. I’ve already hurt him so much. There’s no real harm done. No one knows. No one ever will. Charon, it’s over. If you heard us you know that. He can’t stand me now.” The words felt like a knife in her chest, twisting, as fresh tears threatened to fall. Sorrow’s eyes were wide, pleading, as she met the gaze of the vice chancellor.
“I have loved you as a daughter,” Charon said. “To my detriment, it seems. I’m not going to have you arrested. Either of you. The country finding out the chancellor’s daughter has been having an affair with the Rhyllian queen’s nephew would be the final straw.” He paused. “Rasmus is to go. Immediately. Back to Rhylla, and neither of you is to speak to, nor contact, the other again.”
He reached out, leaning forward to cup her cheek. “I should have paid more attention,” he said. “Does Irris know?”
“No.” This time the lie was instant. “No. She would have been furious. She would have told you.”
“That’s something, at least. And I don’t see that she needs to know. No one does. It will remain between us. I’ll go to the boy and send him away, and that will be the end of it. After tonight, we won’t speak of it again, and we will act as if it never happened. Get some rest.” Charon withdrew his hand from her face and placed it on his wheel, turning it sharply. “Tomorrow is going to be a long and hard day and I need you to be ready for it.”
Sorrow nodded, watching him as he glided across the floor.
“Cover the painting before you leave,” he called from the doorway. “We’re going to need it tomorrow. Oh, and Sorrow?” He kept his back to her. “Is there… Is there any possibility you’re with child?”
“No,” she replied, the skin on her face and chest burning. “We were careful.”
He paused, and Sorrow had the sense he might say something. But then he nodded, and wheeled himself away.
She covered the painting and made her way slowly back to the Goldcrest wing, her legs leaden, her heart a rock inside her chest.
When she reached her room her gaze fell on the balcony doors, still open, the curtains billowing gently. She crossed the room and shut the doors, closing them against the stars, the cool night air, and the possibility of a life that she could never have.
She was woken by a cool hand on her forehead, and opened her eyes to find Irris Day leaning over her. The room was still dark; Sorrow didn’t think she could have been asleep for more than an hour.
“Your father is here,” Irris said softly.
Sorrow struggled to sit up, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”
“It’s a little after four.”
Sorrow was right – she’d finally tumbled into bed at three. Her head muzzy; she stretched, shivering at the chill in the predawn air.
“And Rasmus has gone.”
She was fully awake then, her head whipping around to meet Irris’s concerned gaze.
“You didn’t know?” Irris read her friend’s expression.
Sorrow nodded slowly. “I knew he was going. Your father heard us. Arguing, late last night. About my becoming chancellor. He realized that we’d been…”
Irris sank on to the bed beside Sorrow, her mouth open.
“He’s not going to punish us,” Sorrow continued, surprised at how calm she sounded. “Or tell anyone. But Rasmus is banished and I’m never to see him again.” Her voice cracked as she finished.
Irris said nothing, gently rubbing small circles on Sorrow’s arm.
“I told him you didn’t know,” Sorrow said. “You’re safe.”
“I don’t care about that,” Irris replied hotly. “I care about you.”
Sorrow leant against her friend. “I really hurt him, Irri. He said I never let him in. And he was right.” Sorrow paused.
Irris lowered her forehead to Sorrow’s shoulder. “Oh, Row. I’m so sorry.”
Sorrow’s throat tightened, and she willed herself not to cry. What right did she have to be upset, when this was all her doing? She should have been honest from the start, the moment he’d started hinting at a future. She shouldn’t have slept with him last night; she should have told him what had been decided. She’d behaved like her father, burying her head in the sand and ignoring the issues at hand. This was her fault.
She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, screwing them shut, until the tears were driven back. Once she was sure they were gone, she cleared her throat. “Enough. We have Mael to deal with. Where is my father now?”
Irris straightened. “In his rooms, changing. And … Harun knows.”
“He knows?” Sorrow stared at Irris. “About Mael? How? I wanted to be the one to tell him.”
“He arrived with Balthasar. And Samad told Balthasar, who obviously told your father.”
Sorrow swore. “So what do we do?”
“My father wants to meet with the chancellor before he has chance to see Mael, or whoever he is. Hence the very rude awakening. He wants the whole Jedenvat, and you, there.”
“All right.” Sorrow pushed the sheets back and swung her legs from the bed. “Let’s get this over with.”
It was still dark when she and Irris returned to the chamber the Jedenvat had met in the night before.
Charon was sitting opposite the door, so his was the first face Sorrow saw. She nodded to him warily, unsure of the reception she’d receive. But he was as good as his word, and he bowed his head to her as he always had, his expression carefully blank. Beside him sat Tuva, then Bayrum. They all greeted her with small nods of their own, which she returned, as she and Irris moved to take the seats beside them. It was then that Sorrow saw the other occupants of the table.
On Harun’s right sat Balthasar, and he glared at her, hatred burning in his eyes as she took her seat. Samad and Kaspira sat further down along the same side, and it was opposite them that Sorrow and Irris sat.
Sorrow took the opportunity to look at her father.
It had been months since she’d seen him outside of his chambers in Istevar. Somehow, here in the Summer Palace, Harun looked even more ghoulish, his skin sallow and stretched like a corpse, the joints of his fingers pressing hard against the skin as he gripped the arms of his chair.
His nails were stained from Lamentia, lending them the appearance of rotting. His hair was thin, and combed over his skull, held in place with some kind of gel that made it look wet, arranged with a care that made Sorrow feel ill. He’d shaved, but whoever had done it had done a bad job; his beard was patchy and uneven.
Someone had dressed him in his ceremonial robes, and it was only when he stood that Sorrow saw how much her father had wasted away. Harun was a tall man, his shoulders broad; for all his hatred of war he had a warrior’s form. But his robes, robes that had fitted him well enough a few years ago, now hung from him limply, like a shroud. He looked like a child wearing a costume.
“Daughter,” Harun said in a thin, tired voice. “You’re staring.”
Sorrow blushed. “Father, forgive me. It’s good to see you.”
“Tell me about the boy,” Harun said abruptly.
Sorrow had a name then, for the sickly, sharp feeling that kept twisting and writhing inside her stomach.
Jealousy.
Every time she thought of the boy returning to Rhannon, being Mael, her brother, son of Harun, heir to the Ventaxis dynasty, she was jealous. Harun might look like the walking dead, but he’d roused himself, dressed himself, for the first time in months at the mere thought that his precious Mael might still be alive.
He couldn’t even look her in the eye.
“Tell me of him,” Harun repeated.
She swallowed the bile in her throat and glanced at Charon, waiting for his subtle signal before she spoke. “You remember Lord Vespus, Father?” Harun scowled at the name with what Sorrow assumed was recognition, so she continued. “He came to meet with me on the Humpback Bridge, during the ceremony. He claimed he’d found a boy. Found Mael,” she corrected herself.
Harun looked over her, his eyes feverishly bright.
“And had he?”
“I – I don’t know.”
“Show me the picture,” he said to Balthasar, and the councilman rose from his seat, walking over to where a covered portrait leant against the wall. Sorrow hadn’t noticed it before.
Balthasar lifted the picture, struggling against the weight and height of it as he carried it to a bureau at the end of the room. He grunted as he raised it, resting it against the wall. With a clumsy flourish he pulled away the sheet, revealing the painting.
“Did you see him?” Harun asked. “The boy?” He gestured at the painting. “Did he look like this boy?”
“I… There is a resemblance.” She remembered what Charon had said in the coach, about Vespus’s plans. And the boy’s own words about the plan changing. “But that’s hardly proof that—”
“And he is here, now? In the palace?” He spoke over her.
Sorrow lowered her head. “Yes.”
“Your Excellency, there’s no possible way this boy can be your son.” Charon spoke firmly.
Harun turned on Charon. “And why not?”
“A child could not have survived that fall.”
“You did.” At Harun’s words Samad shot Tuva a triumphant look.
“Barely. It shattered both of my legs. A child could not have survived it,” Charon repeated. “Now, I’m sure there is no malicious intent on the boy’s, or the Rhyllians’ part, but you mustn’t allow your love for Mael, and your grief, to cloud what you know to be the truth. I know you want it to be your son. But you have to face the very likely probability the boy is an imposter.”
Harun nodded, as though considering the words. “Bring him to me. Now,” he said. “I’ll know if he’s my son or not.”
Charon let out an exasperated sigh, as Balthasar rose. “I’ll fetch him, Your Excellency,” he said, and Harun waved a hand to agree. Balthasar spared a final malicious glance for Sorrow before he left them, closing the door behind him.
A pall fell over the room, silent and threatening, like a storm. Sorrow saw then that the table was split clearly, almost comically, into two factions: those who she knew would be loyal to her if she asked it of them; Irris, Charon – though he shouldn’t – Bayrum and Tuva, and those who would, for one reason or another, side with Harun. Despite their promises two night ago, she knew Kaspira and Samad were among that number. Two nights ago she’d been the best – the only – option. But now there was something new to consider.
Sorrow couldn’t believe what she was seeing. They must know what Vespus had done in the past. What he’d hoped to achieve. How could they trust his word now? Didn’t they care what that might mean for Rhannon if Charon was right, and this was all part of a new scheme?
There was a firm knock at the door.
“Enter,” Harun called, in a voice that shook Sorrow with its strength.