Adavaria
Adavaria was a maze of dense stone streets and cobbled pavements, so different to Rhannon, and Sorrow drank it all in. Where Rhannish houses and shops were usually squat, white buildings, spaced apart to help the heat escape, Rhyllian buildings were tall, at least two storeys, pressed together in rows with only the occasional alley to separate them. Chimneys emerged from the slate roofs, perches for the maglings – dark, small birds that were considered pests by the Rhyllians, but that Sorrow, who’d never seen them before, found oddly sweet.
It was a pretty town, Sorrow realized, as they moved slowly along, progress hampered by pedestrians and other carriages. Doorsteps were scrubbed clean, lined with mats decorated with Rhyllian script. Outside one door a fat orange cat lazed, watching the carriage with an unimpressed look on its squashed face. The doors themselves were painted brightly; cheerful curtains framed windows that housed window boxes full of flowers Sorrow didn’t know the names of. There were wreaths of flowers on every door too, and Luvian told her they’d been made especially for the Naming, and would be tossed down to carpet the streets when the queen and her husband took baby Aralie on her first tour of the country.
Sorrow admired it all. It would be easy to make Rhannish towns look as lovely as these, and she asked Luvian to add it to her plans.
People turned curiously as the carriage made its way along the wide streets, pointing it out to each other, some even waving. At Luvian’s quiet command Sorrow waved back, surprised when the people responded, more of them turning, coming out of their homes and from shops to see what the fuss was about.
“I wonder if we could do the same thing on the way home,” Luvian said, pulling out his ever-present notebook.
“Here? Or in Rhannon?” Sorrow remembered the Sons of Rhannon, and thought of all the things that could be thrown at her, or fired at her, as she leant out of a carriage.
He looked thoughtful. “Yes, in Rhannon too. Dain will be there, and it’ll make you look confident and unafraid. Good leadership qualities.”
“Great,” Sorrow said through her teeth as she smiled out at the rows of Rhyllians.
By the time they arrived at the castle, both of Sorrow’s arms ached from waving. They drew up to the gates, and Luvian gave their names to the forbidding-looking guard who approached the carriage with a slim folder in his hands, crossing them off as he found their names on the list within.
“Who’s that?” He nodded to Dain.
“My bodyguard, Dain…” Sorrow realized she had no idea if Dain was a first name, a surname, or even a nickname.
“Dain Waters, sir,” Dain offered. “Commander Dain Waters.”
The man looked at his list. “We weren’t expecting a third member of the second Rhannish party.”
“Surely we’re not the first to bring staff?” Luvian said.
“You’re the first not to tell us,” the Rhyllian said, deadpan.
“She’s a new addition,” Sorrow said. “I don’t know if news reached you of the incident in Prekara two nights ago, but I was attacked. Commander Dain was assigned to me for my protection that night.”
The guard gave her a long look, and then silently passed the list, and a pen, through the window.
Sorrow wrote Dain’s name, and role, and where she was from, beneath her own details, and handed the folder back to the man, who read it, and then raised his hand to open the gates.
“Enjoy your stay, Miss Ventaxis.” The man’s voice was a fraction warmer as the carriage lurched to life and they entered the castle complex. “Welcome to Castle Adavaria.”
Castle Adavaria was situated on an island, at the end of a long, narrow drive over the water. Luvian leant out of the window, peering into the huge lake that surrounded the castle.
“What are you doing?” Sorrow asked.
“Legend has it there are merrow in there. Merpeople. They help guard the castle by sinking any boats that try to reach it and eating the sailors.”
“That’s not true.”
“Only one way to find out,” he grinned.
She didn’t believe him – surely Rasmus would have told her about it – but that didn’t stop Sorrow gazing out of the window too. She did feel safer here, though, she realized. No one could get to the castle over land without dealing with guards, and even if someone did manage to row across the lake, the fifteen-foot walls that bordered the island would deter anyone from trying to get into the castle, where they would only face more guards anyway.
Though the entire complex was referred to as “the castle”, it was actually multiple buildings acting as satellites around the main keep, which was home to the royal family. The keep was the oldest liveable part of Castle Adavaria, built as a replica of King Adavere’s castle, which had long since fallen victim to the weather. The rest of the complex was a hotchpotch of buildings: working spaces and chambers, guest quarters, the palaces of nobles who lived at court, servants’ housing, a theatre, and even a small market square, all showcasing centuries of Rhyllian architectural trends: pastel walls, soaring columns, exposed beams.
“All of the buildings are connected by those paths,” Luvian told her with a tour guide’s certainty as she stared at the covered walkways that stretched between the buildings. “Adavaria has the second highest annual rainfall in Rhylla, so it makes sense. There’s even a kind of awning that rolls down to cover it completely, in case the rain falls at an angle. It has windows cut in and everything.”
“Fascinating,” Sorrow said, more sharply than she meant to as she spotted a tall Rhyllian emerging from the main keep. A heartbeat later she saw it wasn’t Rasmus and relaxed slightly. “Sorry,” she said to Luvian when she saw his wounded expression. “I’m anxious to finally get out of this carriage.”
As she said it, the carriage rumbled to a stop alongside a flight of stone steps leading to a small, pastel-blue palace. The doors at the top of the stairs opened at once, and a Rhyllian woman with pale gold hair appeared, resplendent in a purple long coat and carrying a slim folder, tripping down the stairs and opening Sorrow’s door.
“Arventis li Rhylla, Miss Ventaxis. Welcome to Rhylla,” she said in Rhyllian, then Rhannish. “We’re delighted to have you here. My name is Deryn. And you must be Luvian Fen,” Deryn said as Luvian climbed out. “Arventis li Adavaria. Be welcome in our land and home.”
She paused as Dain climbed out. “We weren’t expecting a third person…”
“No, this is Commander Dain, my bodyguard. After an incident in Rhannon we thought it prudent,” Sorrow said.
“I’m not sure we have room…”
“I can sleep on the floor of Miss Ventaxis’s quarters,” Dain said.
“You cannot.” Deryn looked outraged at the mere idea of it. “We won’t have guests on the floors like animals. I’ll see what I can do.”
“You are kind,” Luvian said in Rhyllian.
Deryn appeared slightly mollified by his use of her language. “Yes, well. Shall we?” She led them up the stairs, Dain following silently, into the hallway of the castle. To the right Sorrow could see a cosy parlour, the walls covered in rose-patterned paper, tall vases of the same bloom on the tables dotted between damask-covered chairs and love seats. In the corner stood a small bar, complete with attentive-looking Rhyllian butler, who nodded at them as they passed.
“We call this building the small palace,” Deryn said as she opened a door on the left to reveal a small but well-stocked library, before leading them to a short passageway lined with abstract prints, and up a well-worn staircase to the second floor. “Long ago it was used as the home of the royal children, but Her Majesty’s great-grandmother changed the practice and kept her children with her at the royal palace. It’s been used as guest quarters since, though this is the first time it’s been full.” She gave Dain a concerned look.
The jab was not lost on Sorrow, but she ignored it.
“Who else is here?” Luvian asked.
“Miss Ventaxis’s brother, of course. We have, due to the political situation in Rhannon, allocated Mr Ventaxis and his party rooms in a different part of the castle complex. We thought it best.”
Sorrow wondered whether those quarters were in Vespus’s private palace.
Deryn continued. “The Duke of Meridea and his consort will join us for the Naming and the ball. The Astrian and Nyrssean ambassadors are representing their leaders – sadly the leaders themselves could not attend – and so are staying in their usual accommodations and are, of course, already here.”
“What of Svarta?” Sorrow asked.
“Fain Darcia herself is due to arrive later today, as is the Lady of Skae.” Deryn paused outside a door, then opened it, ushering them in. “As you can see, you have your own sitting room, and your bedrooms are marked for you.” She nodded to the doors on each side of the room. “We hope it’s not an imposition, but – as I said – space is limited so we had hoped to house Fain Darcia in the small palace too. She’s travelling alone, and will have separate quarters.”
Sorrow nodded her acceptance eagerly. She’d never met the Svartan leader, but she’d liked their ambassador very much, and she’d spoken highly of the Svartan fain. Svarta had always intrigued her.
Deryn appeared relieved, and continued. “And Lord Day will be the guest of Ambassador Mira, of course.”
“Charon is coming?” Sorrow’s heart lifted at the idea of seeing him.
“Indeed, though sadly only for the Naming and the ball. Again, the climate in Rhannon made Her Majesty believe it prudent to have a neutral Rhannish presence. Actually –” she turned to Dain “– that gives me an idea. We’ve had to make special arrangements for Lord Day, on account of his chair. Perhaps we can create a similar setup for you.”
Dain shrugged, and Deryn frowned.
“Of course, we heard of the incident two nights ago. Her Majesty wants you to know that the palace compound is very secure,” Deryn said, glancing at Dain from the corner of her eye. “You’ll notice that neither Her Majesty nor the prince consort or princess have bodyguards. That’s how much faith we have in the palace guards, and our other security systems. Castle Adavaria has never been breached, by land nor water.”
Luvian gave Sorrow a knowing look, and she had to refrain from rolling her eyes. There weren’t merrow in the lake.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Sorrow said. “And I have Dain.” Sorrow smiled at the Ward, and her cheeks turned dusky.
“I rather hope you won’t need her,” Deryn replied, and it was Sorrow’s turn to flush as she wondered if she’d insulted her hostess.
“No, of course not. While we’re here Dain can relax.”
“Very good,” Deryn replied. “Though it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to attend the festivities, you must feel welcome to use the parlours downstairs.” She addressed Dain directly before speaking to them all. “Her Majesty says you’re free to use the grounds, but she asks that you respect the privacy of the castle residents and remain on the paths. The guards won’t take kindly to people being where they’re not expected. Dinner is at seven; if you could please meet downstairs in the hall, someone will come to escort you to the main keep. I think that’s all… Unless you have any questions?”
“None. Luvian?”
“I’m good.”
“If you’d like to follow me, I’ll see what I can do about rooms for you.” Deryn spoke to Dain, who turned to Sorrow with a questioning look.
Sorrow nodded, and the Rhannish and Rhyllian women left.
“I don’t think Deryn has a good grasp of what bodyguard means,” Sorrow said.
“I think she was insulted you thought you’d need one here,” Luvian replied.
“What should I do? I mean, the point of her being here is to guard me.”
“Hard to argue that when you left her on a bench in Ceridog because it suited you,” Luvian said. “And Deryn is right. The castle complex – Rhylla in general – is the safest place in the whole of Laethea. Historically there has never been a breach of the walls, never an attack here.”
Sorrow narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you actually read some kind of guidebook before we came?”
“Yes. Because I like to know about the places I’m going. Ignorance is nothing to be proud of, Sorrow dearest. Now, I think I’ll go and investigate my room.” He smiled winningly and left her.
Sorrow rolled her eyes, and turned to the door labelled for her in beautiful script. It was small but elegant, a carved bed with a headboard that looked like a scroll in the centre, a wardrobe and dressing screen made with the same golden wood. Alvus, she expected. She crossed to the window to see what view she had.
She regretted it instantly. Rasmus – there was no mistaking him this time – was walking away from the guest quarters, heading towards the main keep. Beside him was a young Rhyllian woman, fair-haired as he was. Longing tugged at Sorrow. Though she’d tried to prepare herself to see him, she hadn’t realized just how strange it would be. Nor how sad it would make her.
As though he sensed her gaze, Rasmus turned, looking directly at her, and Sorrow ducked back, pressing herself against the wall, her heart slamming against her ribs as though she’d been running. Luvian chose that moment to appear in the doorway, a steaming earthenware cup in his hand.
“Coffee?” he began, then frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Her voice was high and tight, like a violin string.
Luvian wasn’t convinced. “Right… Just casually standing pressed against the wall?”
“Yes. No. No, thanks, to coffee.” Sorrow stepped away from the wall and tried to calm herself. “I think I might lie down for a bit.”
Luvian shrugged, but his eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. “Do you want me to come and get you when it’s time to go?” he said finally.
“Thanks, yes.”
He stayed there for a moment, and Sorrow waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t, merely turning and closing the door as he left.
Sorrow turned immediately back to the window and peered out, but Rasmus was gone.
Instead of resting, she’d locked herself in the bathroom and tried to groom herself into calmness.
With painstaking care, she lined her upper eyelid, keeping the wings small and sharp, only having to start again three times, which felt like an achievement. She’d already decided there was no point in lipstick if they were eating, but once her eyes were done, she thought her face looked out of balance, the drama of her eyes versus the normality of her mouth. So she smeared on a rich red, only to wipe it off a moment later. Too much. Unless she added more eyeliner…
No. She forced herself away from the mirror. Her make-up was fine.
Rasmus had never seen her with make-up on – not that he was the reason she was doing it, she told herself. Putting on make-up was like putting on armour – a mask to hide her worries about seeing him, and also Mael, the election, and the Sons of Rhannon. How could anyone with kohl-lined eyes, or bright red lips, be thought of as afraid?
And it wouldn’t hurt for him to see her looking good, so he’d know she was all right.
She released her hair from the braid she’d worn to travel in, running her fingers through the soft waves, allowing them fall naturally down her back, though she slipped a hair tie over her wrist.
Ines had fashioned a soft teal gown for this first supper, as it was known to be one of Melisia’s favourite colours. The gown was simple, a sleeveless column with a modest V-shaped neckline in front and back, falling into soft folds to her ankles, a braided gold rope around the waist. Mercifully, Irris had paired it with flat gold slippers, and Sorrow was grateful to slip her feet into them. She found the shawl her friend had included, and was mulling over whether to put it on, or wait, when Luvian knocked on her door.
“Coming,” she said, turning as he opened it.
“Are you—Wow.”
“Am I wow?”
“You look…” He waved his hands at her as though that said it all. “Your eyes…” He gestured again.
“Does it look bad?” Sorrow asked, suddenly worried by his reaction. “I tried to do it how Irris did it for the presentation, but I embellished a bit. Because it’s a party…”
“No,” he said slowly. “It looks good.”
Mollified, she took his arm when he offered it and they made their way down to the rose parlour. They were the first there, save for a manservant serving drinks and Dain, a glass of amber liquid in one hand and a book in the other, looking for all the world as though she belonged there. She stood guiltily when they entered, but Sorrow waved her down, moving to stand beside her as Luvian went to the bar.
“What are you reading?” she asked.
She held it up so Sorrow could see the cover. “Adavere and Namyra. I love that story.”
“It’s all they had in Rhannish,” Dain said. “Miss Ventaxis, if you need me to come—”
“It’s fine. I’d prefer not to insult the queen by implying I don’t think her castle is safe.”
“I don’t want to be accused of neglecting my duties,” Dain said, a faint edge to the words.
Sorrow understood. “I have no plans to mention this to Meeren Vine,” she told her. From the way the tension in her jaw loosened, she knew she was right. “Enjoy it,” she added with a smile.
“I will, Miss Ventaxis.”
“Where are you sleeping?”
“The library.” The woman’s eyes lit up at the word, and Sorrow gave in fully to liking her. As soon as they got back to Rhannon, she’d ask her to leave the Ward, and become her personal guard permanently.
Luvian joined them, with a small glass of wine for her, and she was grateful. She’d thought she’d mastered her fears, locked them behind layers of eyeliner and chiffon, but now, with only a short walk between her and seeing Rasmus, she found she wasn’t steady at all.
When Luvian handed her the glass, he noticed her shaking hands.
“Nervous?” he asked.
There was little point in denying it, so she nodded.
“Just remember…” he began, but then fell silent as Fain Darcia – for the tall, slender woman with bone-white skin and silver fur at her throat could be no one else – glided into the room, coal-black eyes settling immediately on Sorrow. She smiled and crossed at once to her, and Sorrow and Luvian bent deeply at the waist in greeting.
“Miss Ventaxis,” the northern woman said in Rhannish, once again shaming Sorrow for her own lack of language skills. “I am happy to meet with you.”
“And I you.” Sorrow took the hand she offered in hers. “I heard so many good things about you and your country from Ambassador Stile.”
“She spoke of you too. With much fondness. She was sad to leave you, but … you know, these things.” She turned then to Luvian. “And this must be…” She paused. “No, I don’t know. Who are you?”
“Luvian Fen, my lady.” He bowed again, rising when she offered her hand.
“You may call me Darcia,” the Svartan said. “Both of you may; we are friends.” Darcia gave her drink order to the manservant and waited while he prepared it. When he handed it over, it was a thick, black liquid that smelled like aniseed. Darcia took a hearty swig and wrinkled her nose.
“Bah, not like at home,” she said, offering the glass to Sorrow.
Sorrow took a tentative sip and coughed, her cheeks turning scarlet, eyes watering, as the liquid blazed a fiery trail of lava down her into her stomach.
“Too mild,” Darcia said. “Weak, southern stuff. When you come to my home as the chancellor I’ll give you the real thing. It’ll keep you warm through our cold nights.”
Sorrow, her voice burned clean away, could only nod. She was saved from replying at all when a liveried woman appeared in the doorway.
“If you’d like to follow me, your carriage is here.”