After the Storm
“Nothing,” Irris said as she put down the letters that had arrived earlier that morning. “It’s like he appeared from nowhere three years ago. How does no one know who this man is? It’s impossible.”
Irris had taken Luvian’s treachery very personally, and had dedicated herself to uncovering who he really was. She wrote again and again to his tutors and classmates, the same people she’d asked for references when they were interviewing him. And they all said exactly what they’d said in the first place: that he was arrogant and undoubtedly cunning – admirable qualities in a politician, some might say – but he was an undeniably hard worker, and guaranteed to see a task through, come what may. While he wasn’t considered unpopular, he hadn’t had any friends at university, had remained on campus during breaks, joined no clubs, and kept to himself. The staff who worked in the student housing said his rooms were always neat and tidy, and he never returned drunk, or tried to sneak anyone into his bed. He was a model tenant, a model student. Too good to be true, many of them commented.
They had no idea…
“We don’t even know what part of Rhannon he’s from,” Irris said. “If we did, we could go there and ask around. Maybe even offer some kind of incentive for information.”
“If that was going to work, someone would have already come forward to claim the official reward,” Sorrow said.
A statement had been released, saying Luvian was wanted in connection with the murder of a Decorum Ward commander by one of the Sons of Rhannon. Both the Rhannish and the Rhyllians had put up a significant amount of reward money, and Melisia had written to Sorrow directly to apologize for what had happened, offering any aid Sorrow might want in finding him.
But Sorrow was finding it harder and harder to care that he was still out there. Or about anything at all. The hollow feeling that had begun to consume her after Charon told her the truth about who she was had returned, and there was no sign of it fading or leaving. Save for the brief moments of respite when she’d been with Rasmus, it was there all the time, like a shadow, but inside her.
To avoid it she went to bed earlier, and slept later, sometimes managing as many as sixteen hours of blissful, ignorant sleep before Irris bullied her from her bed. When she did get up, all she did was lie on the fainting couch, staring at the ceiling, while Irris pored over the correspondence with as much rigour as Luvian had given to the reports of missing children. And every time Sorrow thought of those, she remembered who she was – or rather, wasn’t – and the darkness inside her deepened.
Irris had given up trying to entice Sorrow to help her, after Sorrow said she was still recovering from the attack.
It was a lie, another one. All she had was lies.
She ached for Rasmus, for his touch, knowing it would take the pain away, however temporarily. And she hated herself for it, for wanting him, and for using him, and for being weak. For being like Harun.
The only other person who might have been able to chivvy, or more likely annoy, her out of the black hole she found herself in had been a lie too. And that’s what hurt the most. For the first time in her life, she’d felt released from the curse of her name – if ambitious, bright, brilliant Luvian Fen thought she was something special, then maybe she was. His respect for her, his faith in her, gave her something she’d never had before, not from Rasmus, Charon, her grandmother, or even Irris. He hadn’t known her his whole life, hadn’t loved her or been her best friend. He was a stranger, and because of it his belief in her made her believe in herself.
But he must have had an agenda all along, she realized. Something more than launching his own career, or helping the people of Rhannon. Something so important to him it was worth trying to conceal the fact he knew who’d tried to kill her, and who’d killed Dain. He’d used her.
It had been easy to talk to Irris about losing Rasmus. But Sorrow couldn’t stand to hear Luvian’s name said aloud; every time Irris said it Sorrow felt ill, as misery and loss claimed her.
“We’re plagued by imposters,” Irris said, and Sorrow choked on thin air. “Mael, now Luvian. No wonder Luvian was so keen to be the one to look into Mael – he must have known all the tricks from his own dealings.”
Sorrow hummed noncommittally.
“I don’t suppose you want to do anything on finding out who Mael is?” Irris asked tentatively. “What about Luvian’s lists? Or perhaps we could hire someone to find Beliss.”
“No,” Sorrow said forcefully. She’d lost the taste for proving Mael wasn’t who he claimed to be since her own past had emerged. It didn’t matter who he was; he wasn’t her brother. She knew that for sure.
“Then what do you want to do?”
When Sorrow didn’t reply, Irris picked up a stack of papers and began to go through them, turning each one over violently.
The reports that used to come to Luvian now came to Irris, who’d taken over running the tattered remains of Sorrow’s campaign. Irris has issued a statement, saying Sorrow was taking a few days to recover from the attack, but then planned to return to campaigning. That was two weeks ago, and Sorrow hadn’t so much as got dressed in that time, let alone done any work.
By contrast Mael had returned from Rhylla with a new-found zeal, vowing to find and arrest the Sons of Rhannon, to make them pay for Dain’s murder and the attack on Sorrow. He wrote to her daily, and released a new statement almost as often. Irris read it out in the morning, while Sorrow ignored her breakfast and counted down the hours until she could go back to sleep.
“He’s suggesting the Decorum Ward be converted into something called Peacekeepers,” Irris had said that morning. “It sounds very much like your idea for Lawkeepers. Suspiciously so, don’t you think?”
Sorrow had shrugged, and Irris had put her cup down with more force than she needed to.
She was getting irritated with her, Sorrow knew that. But again, the knowledge had no impact. It was a fact, like the sky was blue, the ocean was salt water, and the Humpback Bridge was deadly. Irris was disappointed in her. So what?
Outside a storm raged, and Sorrow watched it, transfixed by the aggression of it. Storms were common in Rhannon during the late summer, but she’d never seen any like those that ravaged the coastal district of the East Marches. They came without warning, lasting only minutes, but during that time it was hard to imagine the weather being any other way. The thunder boomed relentlessly; the rain poured down in thick sheets that obscured everything outside the windows. Sorrow liked them, liked that the lightning scorched her eyes, so when she closed them she could see the forks in red against her eyelids.
As the storm died away, a shadow appeared in the distance, eventually revealing itself to be a hawk, slightly sodden from the dregs of the rain. Irris rose to let it in, carrying it to a perch where it shook itself as she retrieved the scroll it carried. Irris waited until it was finished, before reaching into a bag hanging from the perch and tossing a dead mouse to the bird, her other hand already busy unfurling the letter.
“Shit,” she said.
Irris wasn’t given to swearing, and it was enough to rouse Sorrow from her inertia briefly.
“What?”
“Rhylla have appointed a new ambassador to Rhannon. It’s Vespus.”
Sorrow sat up. “Vespus? Vespus Corrigan?”
Irris nodded, and held the letter out to Sorrow.
She scanned it briefly and then read it aloud. “We are delighted to welcome Lord Vespus Corrigan, half-brother of the queen of Rhylla, back to his post of ambassador to Rhannon. Lord Corrigan looks forward to a long-lasting relationship with the new chancellor, building on the foundations of trust, respect and admiration that already exist.” Sorrow paused. “Wow. They might as well come out and say he means Mael. Because it’s clear this isn’t about me. They’ve obviously decided I’m out of the running.”
Irris remained silent.
“Don’t you have anything to say about it?” Sorrow demanded.
Irris’s eyes blazed for a moment, then cooled. “Row, you’ve spent the last two weeks lying exactly where you are right now, in your pyjamas. You’ve decided you’re out of the running. They’re simply saying it out loud. Maybe it’s time someone did, so we can all move on.”
“I…” Sorrow blinked at her. It wasn’t the rallying comment she’d expected.
Irris offered a small smile. “I’m going to fetch tea. Do you want some?”
Sorrow nodded.
She looked again at the letter from Istevar. This was it, then. With three weeks until the election, Vespus was moving himself into position, establishing himself back in Rhannon. Once Mael was elected – and Sorrow understood that he probably would be, now – Vespus would already be there, waiting for him in Istevar. Whispering in his ear. And Mael would listen, at least at first, because Vespus had been like a father to him. Vespus was kind to him, when no one else had been.
She saw it all then, as though it was a game of Malice: where every piece would move to, and where it would be eliminated. Charon would be fired, Sorrow realized. Vespus wouldn’t allow him to keep his role. Bayrum Mizil, Tuva Marchant, Arran Day … they’d go too. Balthasar would go where the power was; he probably wouldn’t even care that Vespus was Rhyllian as long as he kept his seat on the Jedenvat and the perks that went with it. Samad would be happy a man was in charge – the sexist values of the Astrians who bordered with the district of Asha had clearly rubbed off on him – and Kaspira… She didn’t like Sorrow, but she did like her district, for all her grumbling about its crime-loving people. She’d likely go with the flow to keep her seat too.
There would be no one to oppose Vespus, save Mael. And while she believed Mael’s intentions towards the Rhannish people, the Jedenvat under him would be made up of lackeys who Vespus would choose because he could buy their loyalty.
Once Vespus had got rid of Bayrum he could take the land he’d long wanted in the North Marches. Take the whole of Rhannon, turn it all into a farm if he chose to. Mael alone wouldn’t be able to stop him, especially not against a Jedenvat Vespus had assembled. It would be easy for them to do what they’d done to Harun, and vote to depose him, leaving Vespus free to manoeuvre another puppet into place.
And now there was no one to stop him. It was too late.
Or was it? A cocky, traitorous voice whispered in the back of her mind. There were still three weeks until the election. If used correctly, there might be time to stop him. If an imposter was going to govern – surely it was better for it to be one who wasn’t under Vespus’s control? For her friends, and for her people. For her real family, who might still be out there. And for Dain, who’d wanted more. She could help them. Charon was right, she might never be able to go back, but she might be able to make their lives easier. Bring them some joy. She might be able to make something good out of the hideous situation she found herself in. She couldn’t bring back the dead Ventaxis child, but she could take her place. She alone could stop Vespus’s relentless march to the top of Rhannon. That was something, wasn’t it?
For the first time since her night with Rasmus, the darkness inside her receded as a spark inside her heart took hold. They were her people. She was one of them.
She stood up as Irris returned with a tea tray.
Irris paused in the doorway, frowning, as though the changes inside Sorrow were already manifest on her face. “Sorrow?”
“You’re off the hook. I did my own pep talk,” Sorrow said.
Irris looked around the room as though she expected to see someone else there. “What do you mean?”
“You’re right. Enough is enough. I have a job to do, and I know exactly where to start. I need to go out and meet the people. Forget what the Jedenvat said. I need to see where they live, and work. Get to know them, and what they need. What they want.”
Irris walked to the table and put the tray down. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, and I’m fine disobeying the Jedenvat, but … is it a good idea, after what happened in Rhylla? If you’re out in the open you’re vulnerable. Maybe you could start by releasing some statements?”
“No. No more statements. No more bits of paper. Mael can do that, but I’m not. If I stay hidden away I’m as bad as Harun,” Sorrow countered. “I’m going out there. We’re going out there.”
“Let’s write to my father,” Irris said. “I’ll make him see we have to. He can smooth things over with the Jedenvat.”
“You do that,” Sorrow said. “I’m going to take a bath. And put on some clothes.”
Irris finally smiled. “Thank the Graces. I didn’t know how to tell you, but you smell terrible.”
Sorrow threw a pillow at her as she passed.
Charon sent a bird back that afternoon, and the haste of it made Sorrow’s heart soar with hope until she saw the flicker of shock cross Irris’s face.
“He said no?” Sorrow guessed.
“He says it’s better for you to stay where you’re safe.”
Sorrow swallowed and looked away, tears pricking at her eyes. How could he deny her this?
“To hell with it.” Irris screwed up the piece of paper and dropped it to the floor, kicking it to Sorrow. It bumped against her foot, and she looked over at her friend.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re right. You need to get out there. It’s the only way. Besides, you’re eighteen. You’re not a child. And neither am I. So let’s do it.”
Sorrow stared at her, trying to contain the hope that had flared once more. “Irris, it’s one thing for me to rebel, but he’s your father…”
“And he’s wrong. This is your life, Row.” She paused. “For Rhannon?”
“For Rhannon.”
They spent the afternoon drawing up a list between them of all the places they could think of to meet the people: faculties at the universities, unions, guilds, schools and hospitals. Then they split the list, penning letter after letter to the heads and leaders, asking when would be a good time for Candidate Ventaxis to visit. They made sure never to say which candidate it was, relying on presumption to serve them.
And serve them it did.
The birds began to return the following morning, and kept coming. Invitations to address the law faculty at the Institute, the accounting faculty in Istevar, to visit the mason’s guild, the physician’s guild, and the miner’s union right there in the east, based at the stone mine.
“Where do we start?” Sorrow asked. “One of the guilds? They’re influential. Or the universities?”
“The miners,” Irris said. “Start with the people. Write to them now. We can go this afternoon, at the shift changeover.”
When the weather broke that afternoon and the storms paused, they took it as an excellent sign. Right up until the moment the guard stationed on the main door of the manse raised his spear as Sorrow and Irris approached.
“We need a coach,” Sorrow said. “Now, please.”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to leave, Miss Ventaxis. I’m sorry.” In his defence, the guard barring her way did look sorry, but Sorrow didn’t care.
“Can’t allow me?” She met his gaze with her own steady one. “Why not?”
“The vice chancellor’s orders, miss. For your safety.”
“So I’m a prisoner?”
“No, miss.”
“If I’m not a prisoner, I can leave.” Sorrow took another step and the guard raised his spear a little higher. “Get out of my—”
“Am I a prisoner too?” Irris moved forward, resting a hand on Sorrow’s shoulder in warning.
“No one is a prisoner, Lady Day. Miss Ventaxis is being guarded for her own safety.”
“And it’s you who is charged with keeping her safe?” Irris said.
“That’s right, my lady.”
“Then you can come with us. Bring some friends. There’s no point in arguing.” She held up a finger to silence any protest the guard had been about to make. “Your job is to guard Miss Ventaxis, and so you will. Wherever she goes. And you know Miss Ventaxis is running for the chancellorship. I would have thought remaining on her good side might be a priority.”
The guard swallowed.
“So I suggest you gather together four or five of your most trusted fellows, and meet us back here in ten minutes. I’ll order a coach.” Irris spoke with the authority of someone used to representing a district on the Jedenvat, of someone accustomed to being heard, and obeyed. The guard’s resistance crumbled, and he nodded, turning on his heel and walking away. He looked back twice, and Sorrow didn’t know if it was to check they were truly waiting, or because he was preparing to disobey, but in the end he disappeared around a corner. They waited in silence, and after ten minutes he returned with four other soldiers, all of whom seemed bewildered.
“Let me handle this,” Irris said under her breath, and Sorrow gave a swift, discreet nod. “Excellent,” Irris said firmly as the men approached, not giving them time to speak. “Now, because this visit is impromptu, and in the open, we don’t anticipate any attempts to harm Miss Ventaxis, as no one knows where we’re going; however, that doesn’t mean you can relax. Two of you will sit in the coach with us, two of you will accompany the driver, and the last of you can sit on the roof.”
“Where are we going?” the first soldier asked.
“To the mines. Miss Ventaxis is going to address the miners. We should be back here in good time for supper.”
Irris turned on her heel and opened the door, and Sorrow quickly followed, leaving the men scrambling in their wake.
They arrived at the mines an hour later, the coach arriving into the grounds near the main building, Sorrow’s stomach churning. She made for the door the moment the coach rolled to a halt, only for the soldier to bar her way, peering out of the window before he slipped through the door. A moment later he opened it, and nodded at her.
The courtyard was teeming with men, some covered in thick white dust from the mines, some clean before they started their shift, and they all turned as one to Sorrow as she stepped out of the coach. She faltered then, under their scrutiny, but most of them lost interest in her within seconds, and carried on with what they were doing.
“We need to find a foreman.” Irris appeared beside her.
“And do what?”
“Ask if you can go down and see the mine.”
Sorrow paused. “I thought I was going to do a speech to the union.”
“Do you have a speech?”
Sorrow shook her head.
“Well, then.”
“What am I supposed to do down there?”
“Watch. Learn. Talk. Be.”
“Can I help you?” Sorrow didn’t need to find a foreman; one had found her, and he didn’t look too happy with his discovery. He drew himself up to his full height, bringing him eye level with Sorrow. “This facility isn’t open to the public.”
“Hello, I’m Sorrow Ventaxis.” She held out a hand, and the man reluctantly shook it. “We wrote, saying we’d like to visit, and find out a little more about how I can help you and your men when I’m chancellor.”
“We thought you were your brother,” the foreman said bluntly.
“I hope you can see now that you were mistaken,” Sorrow joked. The foreman didn’t smile. “So,” she continued. “What I’d really like to do is see the mine.”
“You want to see the mine?”
“Yes,” Sorrow lied. “I’ve spent my entire life in Rhannish buildings made of Rhannish bricks. I want to see where it comes from, and meet the men who raise it.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible.” The foreman scratched his ear, frowning. “We’re not set up for visitors.”
“I don’t want a tour,” Sorrow improvised. “I want to go down into the mine and see it in action. Maybe have a go myself.”
“You want to—”
“I really do.” Sorrow cut him off. “So, do I need any protective gear?”
A bark of something like laughter from behind her made her turn.
A man in dusty white overalls was watching her. “How fond are you of that get-up?” He nodded at her outfit.
“Not at all.” Irris had told her to dress plainly and she had, in a pale grey tunic and trousers.
“It’s cold down there,” he said, looking at her bare arms.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll take her down,” he told the foreman. “I owe Yaris another cycle for last week. She can come with me, and I’ll bring her back up after.” The foreman considered it for a moment, and Sorrow could sense Irris getting ready to argue with him. But then he shrugged and walked away, leaving Sorrow, Irris, her soldiers and the miner, looking at each other.
“How long is a cycle?” Irris asked.
“Two and a quarter hours.”
Irris looked at Sorrow, who shrugged. She could manage that, she was sure.
“Excellent,” Sorrow said. “Ready when you are.”
“Us too?” the soldier Sorrow had nominated as leader said, his worry evident in his creased forehead.
“One of you at least ought to,” Sorrow said. Part of her wanted to force him to accompany her in revenge for barring her way earlier. She could tell, from the sweat on his upper lip, that the prospect of going underground frightened him. “Decide among yourselves.” She fought her inner meanness.
“I don’t mind. My father was a miner,” one of them announced.
“Then let’s go,” the miner said. “I’m on the clock.”
“What can I call you?” Sorrow said, falling into step with him as he walked away, the solider trailing after them.
“Mael,” he said.
Sorrow blinked. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen. Same as you.”
From both his appearance and his manner, Sorrow would have guessed he was at least ten years older. To cover her surprise, she continued talking. “So you were named for him?”
“Me and half the mine.” He paused. “They call me Braith. It’s my surname. You can use it too. Mind your head,” he warned her as they entered a tunnel.
The air was much cooler inside, and Sorrow regretted her bare arms. Braith led them down the tunnel, Sorrow turning sideways to counter the steepness of the incline, until they arrived at the bottom to a set of metal double doors. Sorrow was puzzled by what she would have sworn was birdsong coming from within, only to find, when Braith opened the door and urged her to enter, a shelf with a row of cages, each with a small yellow bird.
“Why do you have sun finches in here?” she asked.
“The air can be funny below. Sun finches are more sensitive to gases than we are. So we take birds down, and if they stop singing, or fall from their perches, we know it’s time to go.”
Sorrow didn’t know if he was joking or not, until he reached up and took one of the cages.
“You can carry it, once you’re kitted out.” He put the cage down and crossed to a cupboard, pulling out a firm hat and a coat, passing them to her. He gave another hat to the soldier, and slipped one on to his own head.
“It won’t save you if there’s a cave-in, but some of the ceilings are low and it’ll stop you getting a nasty bump,” he explained as Sorrow pulled the coat on and placed the hat on her head.
She paused and exchanged a worried glance with the soldier. “Is there likely to be a cave-in?”
“Miss, it’s not like the moonrise. It happens when it happens. If we knew, we wouldn’t go down, would we? Right, grab your bird and let’s get to the cage.” He nodded at a second pair of doors, set back in the wall.
“The cage?” Sorrow asked.
“You’ll see.”
In the darkness of the room his teeth glowed ghostly white, and Sorrow shivered, knowing full well it wasn’t because of the chill.