Daughter of Rhannon
He didn’t try to persuade her, though his disagreement was obvious in the set of his mouth.
“When?” was all he asked.
“After the address to the Jedenvat,” Sorrow said.
It was the final part of the election. Usually the candidate would present their mandate to the Jedenvat at the beginning of the election period. But this year the public vote would be split between two candidates. And in the event of the public voting evenly for Sorrow and Mael, it would be down to the Jedenvat to make the deciding vote. So this year, it had been decided they’d present to the Jedenvat at the end, giving both Sorrow and Mael a final chance to bring them onside.
“Are you ready for it?” Luvian asked.
Sorrow nodded. She was. Irris had worked with her as they’d travelled between public engagements, until she’d created something she thought would appeal to all of the Jedenvat – even Samad and Balthasar. They’d want to feel their positions were safe under her, and she’d tailored her address to that end.
Whether she meant it was another matter.
“That’s politics in a nutshell.” Luvian nodded approvingly when she told him. “Meaning it at the time.”
“What do we do about you?” she asked.
“I want to come back,” he said instantly.
“How, though?” Sorrow said. “I told everyone you knew who my attacker was. If you came back you’d have to confess.”
He nodded, the light dimming in his eyes. “I could lie.”
“And say who?”
“Meeren Vine? You hate him, I hate him, my family hates him. Everyone wins.”
“I would have recognized Vine,” Sorrow reminded him. “And it would be too easily disproved.”
“Oh. Yes.” Luvian licked his upper lip as he nodded. “So, impossible, then.”
Sorrow reached out and squeezed his hand. “We’ll think of something.”
He laced his fingers through hers. “You don’t know how happy I am that there’s a ‘we’ again.” Then the sincerity turned wicked, his eyes glittering as he said, “And you are too, admit it. You missed me.”
“I did no such thing.”
He stepped closer. “Yes, you did, come on now. Life is more fun with me around. Say it. Say, ‘I missed you, Luvian’.”
“There is no way—”
“Say it…” He took another step, bringing their eyes level. “For me?”
“You’re not going to shut up until I do, are you?”
He shook his head.
“Fine. I missed you.”
His lips curved into a wicked grin and Sorrow laughed. His gaze dipped, resting on her mouth, and the mischief lighting his eyes faded, becoming something else.
“You should get back to your party,” he said slowly, meeting her eyes once more. “It’s been over an hour. You’ll be missed.”
He let go of her hand, and Sorrow’s palm tingled at the loss.
“Yes, you’re right,” she said, filled with the urge to clear her throat. “What will you do?”
“No idea.” He frowned. “I can’t go home. I guess I’ll hide out somewhere until we have a better plan. Fortunately for us, evading capture is in my blood.” He paused. “Sometimes, at least. Let’s hope I have better luck than my father and brother.”
“Do you need anything? Money, or…”
Luvian shook his head and reached into the same pocket he’d pulled the bottle from, revealing a large gold pocket watch. “You hate Lord Balthasar, right?”
She laughed again, and his face contorted, moving between smile and frown.
“I should—” he began, but was cut off by the sound of a door banging. The outer door to the corridor.
Sorrow turned to Luvian in panic. “Hide,” she hissed, throwing herself on to the bed. Luvian dived under it, and a moment later, when Irris and Arran Day, followed by a contingent of guards, flooded the room, Sorrow sat up, blinking and rubbing her eyes.
“I only meant to lie down for a moment,” she said, thickening her voice.
The guards shook their heads and filed out, muttering to themselves, and Arran looked at his sister, who shrugged, before leaving too.
Irris waited, suspicion clouding her features, as Sorrow swung herself off the bed.
“What’s going on?” Irris asked, once the door had closed behind them. “Why are you really up here?”
Sorrow crossed the room and picked up the make-up compact with Lamentia in. Silently she handed it to Irris, and watched as comprehension dawned on her friend’s face.
“This is Lamentia. Why do you have this? Where did you get it?”
Luvian crawled out from under the bed. “Behold my redemption arc,” he said.
Irris somehow managed not to scream, and Sorrow and Luvian explained, in rapid tandem, how he’d come to be there, and what he’d learned.
“You have to tell my father,” Irris said immediately.
“That’s what I said,” Luvian agreed.
“No. Not yet. There’s something going on between Mael and Vespus. That’s who I was looking for when Luvian found me. I think maybe they’ve had a fight? But whatever it is, I don’t want Vespus to know what we know while there’s still time for him to fight back. I want him to think he’s done it, and then I want to confront him. I don’t want him to have time to plan, or run.”
Irris nodded slowly. “That makes sense. In that case, perhaps wait until after the election?”
“Yes,” Luvian said, his eyes lighting with a spark that Sorrow knew meant he was scheming. “That way, if you lose – not that you will – but if you do, you still have a way to discredit Mael, because of his connection with Vespus. You can still defeat them both. It’s a back door. And I love a back door.”
“Talking of which, shouldn’t you be finding one?” Irris said. “We need to return to the party before someone else comes looking.”
“You’re right,” Luvian said.
“So, after the election, we tell Charon about Vespus and Lamentia, and then confront Vespus?” Sorrow said.
“Agreed.”
They left Luvian in Sorrow’s rooms, returning to the party and mingling. Sorrow went out of her way to greet everyone, apologizing for her absence, summoning staff to supply drinks and canapés to the people she spoke to. She saw Luvian a little later, trying to sneak out, only to be furnished with a tray and sent into the crowd, and she tried to smother a smile, even as a frisson of alarm went through her. But no one recognized him, or even looked at him, hidden as he was by the camouflage of his servant’s clothes.
She remained in the gardens until the last guest had left, waving as a local justice and her husband wandered tipsily towards the gates. Irris, Arran and even Charon had long since retired, and so Sorrow was alone, save for her guard as she returned to her suite.
She washed, and changed into her nightclothes, her childhood bed feeling unfamiliar now. As she lay on the pillow something rustled beneath her cheek, and she reached inside the pillowcase to find an unsigned note, telling her to watch for the “handsome moustachioed chap in red” at the Jedenvat presentation.
She smiled at the note, smiled into the dark. Luvian hadn’t betrayed her. And he was back. Somehow, it meant the world to her.
Four days later, Sorrow waited inside an empty classroom in the University of Rhannon. Based in Istevar, the university was one of the oldest parts of Rhannon, established over seven centuries ago. It was Sorrow’s first time there. The classroom was large, with wooden benches and desks set in a tiered semicircle around a small stage, where she now paced.
Irris had been sent to scan the crowd for Luvian, so Sorrow waited alone, save for four guards, two either side of the door, and two near the large windows at the rear of the room. Sorrow knew she was safe, given what Luvian had said about his brothers, but she was also keenly aware that this was the first time she’d be in public after the murder attempt, at a specific place and time. If Arkady and the Sons of Rhannon decided to attack her again, today would be a solid opportunity, albeit a difficult one.
There was a knock at the door, five taps, then two, then three, the code they’d developed to let the guards know not to swing freely when Irris returned.
She opened the door a moment later, and stepped into the room.
“Quite the crowd,” Irris said.
“They’re only here to see if I’m assassinated onstage,” Sorrow muttered, sipping at the ginger tea Irris had given her earlier to calm her stomach.
“They’re here because you invited them,” Irris reminded her.
As well as the Jedenvat, the final presentation had – at Sorrow’s request – been thrown open to the public. She argued that because the last one had been hijacked by the Sons of Rhannon, it was only fair they allowed at least some of the people to hear this one. Which was why Sorrow was pacing a room that smelled of old socks and ink, instead of in the Round Chamber of the Winter Palace.
“Anyone of note in the audience?”
Irris gave a small smile and Sorrow’s heart lifted, but then a knock at the door sent her scrambling to her feet, upsetting the tea. Two of the guards moved to stand in front of Sorrow as the third opened the door.
A petite woman stood there, eyes wide as she took in the guards. “It’s time.”
The walk to the stage felt to Sorrow like a walk to the gallows, her heart ricocheting in her chest, a staccato beat that made her hot and then cold in turn. As she paused in the wings she closed her eyes, opening them again when a hand slipped into hers.
“Every single person in the crowd has been searched. There are palace guards in disguise, mixed in with the crowd, and obviously the Decorum Ward are out there,” Irris said.
“Not Vine?”
“Not Vine. Everyone is from Dain’s unit in Prekara. All of them trained by her.”
It was a small comfort to Sorrow.
“I’ll be right here,” Irris said. She leant over and kissed her friend’s cheek before adjusting the sapphire-blue tunic Sorrow wore over grey trousers. “And Luvian is front and centre.”
“With a moustache?”
Irris smiled.
Sorrow took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She’d tried to tell herself that this wasn’t that big of a deal, that the weeks travelling Rhannon and meeting with the people were more valuable, would have more of an impact on the election. But her body called her mind a liar.
Because this was where she had to prove she’d meant every word she’d said so far. Every promise she’d made, she had to reinforce. Every person she’d spoken to, this was where she’d show she’d listened. Here, in this ages-old institution, in front of a council of representatives, influencers, nobles and clerics, and citizens. Every word she said would be reported tomorrow morning across Rhannon. Every gesture, every pause. This was her best, and now only, chance to lay the ghost of Harun to rest and show that she could be the chancellor Rhannon needed. The only chancellor it needed. And she had no idea what Mael had up his sleeve.
Then someone was calling her name, and Mael’s, the crowd was clapping, and she was walking onstage once more.
When she turned to acknowledge Mael, she gasped.
Four days previously, at the Gathering, he’d looked healthy and whole, if a little downcast. But the man who walked onstage now, grey-faced, shoulders rounded in, shadows beneath his eyes like bruises, looked as if he were suffering from a terrible illness. The applause died away as he reached the podium, and didn’t wave, or look out at the crowd at all. What had happened to him?
Sorrow barely heard the announcer introduce her, and she tore her eyes away from Mael, and looked out into the crowd.
Luvian was sporting the most spectacular handlebar moustache she’d ever seen. It curled elaborately at the edges. He must have put it on after arriving; it was so clearly not natural there was no way the guards wouldn’t have questioned it. He tipped her a wink, and she gave a surprised smile, looking out beyond him.
On a raised platform at the back, the Jedenvat sat, with Charon at the centre. Bayrum beamed at her, and Arran Day offered an indiscreet thumbs up. Balthasar scowled, and whispered something to Lord Samad, but it seemed the sand lord wasn’t interested, as he waved him away. Interesting, Sorrow thought. Tuva Marchant gave her a firm nod. And Kaspira did the same. But before Sorrow could think about what it might mean, the announcer stopped speaking. It was Sorrow’s turn.
“Good afternoon,” she said, her voice echoing into the space. “My name is Sorrow Ventaxis and I’m here to tell you why you should vote for me tomorrow.” She looked down at her paper, then out at the faces watching her raptly.
The speech she and Irris had written was detailed and concise, outlining every single promise she was making to the people. It was thorough and professional, laid out in the style that had been used by candidates for centuries. But it was bland and stuffy. Remote. It went against everything Sorrow had tried to achieve when she went out to meet the people.
“I’m eighteen years old,” she said, ignoring the words on the page before her. “And I, like all of you, have spent the past eighteen years living in a country that knew nothing but grief and darkness. But I’m not like you. I grew up inside the walls of a palace; I didn’t have to worry about food or money. I didn’t have to raise my children not to smile, not to laugh. I didn’t grow up fearing that the slightest wrong move might be interpreted as an insult, and fear I would be beaten for it. Whatever I thought I had suffered, you’ve suffered more. Hurt more. Lost more. And I can’t undo that. I can’t turn the clock back and right the wrongs Harun Ventaxis visited on you. Nor the ones his father did. In that, the Sons of Rhannon are right. The last century has seen Ventaxis after Ventaxis let you down.” She paused. “Grind you down.”
Across the room she saw Charon staring at her.
“I’m not like them,” Sorrow continued. “I know it’s an easy thing to say, as I stand up here, courting you. Trying to impress you because I want your vote. Why should you trust me? Why should you listen? You don’t know me. But I want you to. And I want to know you. I’ve spent the past few weeks trying to meet you, trying to get to know you, and what you want. I know Arla Dove in Asha is frightened she’ll die before she sees her great-grandson smile. I know Mael Braith in the East Marches can’t imagine the sound of music. And I know a man who would have liked to be an artist, if Rhannon allowed the arts to flourish.” She gave Luvian the briefest flicker of a glance at that, pleased when she saw him smiling up at her.
“I expect all of you have a story like theirs. Something lost to you. Opportunities you’ve missed, sacrifices you’ve made, seen loved ones make. You’ve all been asked to suffer so much. Today I was supposed to read out a list of things I plan to do for Rhannon, but I’m not going to. They’re just words, and they mean nothing without actions. I want to be a chancellor of action. So here is my promise to you all: I plan to keep travelling Rhannon, to visit every district at least once every six months, more if needed, to speak to you. Not to my senators –” she nodded at the Jedenvat “– but directly with the people. I’m going to work with the Jedenvat to get to the heart of what you need, and figure out how we can raise the money for it without taxing you further. I want the museums to reopen, and the libraries. I want the universities to teach literature and philosophy and art and music again. I want to build relationships with the countries around us, and work with them to create more opportunities – things we haven’t dreamed of yet: transport, tourism, science, medicine. And I’m going to listen to you and then decide what laws to change, or to make. I want Rhannon to be the country it should have always been. Because whatever else I am, first and foremost I’m the daughter of Rhannon.”
She took a step back, and listened to the deafening silence that rang through the room, blood rushing in her ears as she took in the stunned faces below her. She’d gone too far.
She looked down at the paper, held in her trembling hand. Maybe it wasn’t too late—
The room erupted into thunderous applause; the force of it jolted her bones.
Luvian’s face was shining below her – she could already see the palms of his hands reddening from the force of his claps. On the platform Bayrum Mizil, Tuva Marchant and Arran Day had risen to their feet; Charon was sitting up tall in his chair, his hands raised over his head. Even Samad and Kaspira were clapping with more enthusiasm than Sorrow had expected. Balthasar alone remained still, but there was no surprise there.
Down in the audience the people clapped, on and on, guards and citizens daring to beam openly at each other. It was only when the announcer stepped forward that the cheers died away.
“Mael, would you like to present your plans to the people?”
He nodded absently, and looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. It was crumpled, gripped too tightly while Sorrow had been speaking, and she watched him smooth it out and scan the words. He opened his mouth once, twice, as though to speak, but no words came. Low murmurs rose from the crowd, the announcer cleared her throat, and Mael shook his head, before turning to Sorrow, his face expressionless.
“No,” he said.
Then he turned, and walked off the stage.
Without stopping to think, Sorrow followed him, running to catch up as he tore through the corridors.
“Mael, wait!” she called.
He stopped so suddenly she almost crashed into him.
“Did you know that’s the first time you’ve ever addressed me by my name?” He spoke without turning.
Sorrow faltered. “That can’t be true.”
“It is. Believe me, you notice these things.”
There was an uncomfortable sensation in Sorrow’s stomach. It was exactly as Harun had done to her. Calling her “daughter”, never using her name.
She swallowed, trying to cover her sudden nervousness. “Is it? It’s not as if we’ve had many chances to talk.”
“We could have. I’ve tried to.”
He began to walk away again, and Sorrow’s unease grew.
“Are you… Are you all right?” she called after him.
He turned, and the expression on his face was so fierce, so twisted, that she took a step back.
“What happens to me, after you win?”
“What?” Sorrow was stunned. “Where has this come from?”
“Where do I go? I’ve been thinking about it, ever since the Gathering. The Winter Palace won’t ever be my home, will it? You’ve made that very clear. You don’t want me in your life. And Lord Vespus is done with me. He told me you’re going to win. So, answer me. Where do I go?”
“He what?” Sorrow was stunned. “Mael…”
“Every time I have something it’s taken away.” He sounded like a little boy then, and something cracked inside Sorrow, shame spilling out of it. “I lost Beliss, and my home in Rhylla, and I thought it was all worth it, because I’d have a family here. Then my father died the day after – the day after –” he paused, pressing his palms to his eyes “– I met him. And Lord Vespus…” He paused, shaking his head. “And I have tried throughout all of this to build a relationship with you because I thought when it was over we…” He shocked Sorrow as he hit himself, one, two, three times in the face with the heel of his hand. “I thought I could come home. But it’s like Lord Vespus says, I don’t have a home. I’m nothing. I don’t belong anywhere.”
“Mael,” Sorrow whispered, as her heart broke for him. And for herself. Because she realized then she’d behaved exactly as Harun had. All the fears of her bad blood stood manifest before her, broken by her. She was as bad as he was. “I’m so sorry…”
Footsteps behind made her turn, as Irris and Arta caught up with them.
When she looked back, Mael was gone, and Arta hurried after him.
“Come on, Sorrow.” Irris took her by the arm and pulled her away. “Come on.”