Everyone around the woman recoiled suddenly, scrambling over benches to get away from her. She turned towards Sorrow, her hands outstretched as though pleading. Her hands were covered in blood. And her eyes … her eyes…
The woman’s eyes were sliding down her face, like the albumen of an egg, blood and pinkish fluid coating her cheeks. Her screams were now silent, her mouth gaping as she continued to tear at her necklace.
Fear wrapped icy fingers around Sorrow’s heart as she vaulted over the table, running towards the woman. What was this? Some disease?
But no, as Sorrow got closer she saw the redness around the woman’s nose, like it had been around her father’s. She saw the small vial that she must have dropped. She hadn’t been praying. She’d been taking Lamentia. Inhaling it, as Harun had. And it had done this…
The necklace broke, sending dozens of small, shining dark beads to the ground, the sound like hailstones against the tiles.
“Call a physician.” Sorrow’s voice was shrill with fear. “Someone do something!” For a moment, no one moved, then two of the guard stepped forward, their faces grey as they edged towards her.
The woman saved them the need to aid her. She took a great gasp that sent those who’d been nearest her tumbling even further back and then she slumped to the floor, spasming briefly before falling unnaturally still.
Immediately everyone in the room froze too, their eyes on the body. Irris stepped forward then, removing the cape from around her shoulders and placing it tenderly over the woman’s head. Her movement broke the spell, and Sorrow heard someone begin to sob.
“Return to your lodgings.” Charon took charge as Sorrow stared at the now-covered body. “Add your prayers for –” Charon paused, searching for the woman’s name “– Alyssa’s soul to those for Mael’s. Pray for them both.”
Alyssa. Charon’s words penetrated Sorrow’s stunned horror. Balthasar’s new wife. So he’d dragged her into his addiction with him. And now she was dead.
The court began to leave, but Sorrow couldn’t take her eyes from the covered mound on the floor. She kept seeing Alyssa’s empty eye sockets, the remains of them glistening on her cheeks as she collapsed. Irris moved to her side as the room emptied, leaving the two of them and Charon behind. When Irris slipped an arm around her shoulder, Sorrow leant into her friend’s touch.
Behind her Charon was now giving orders to the guards. “Remove the body to the infirmary. Find her husband.”
“He’s in the cells,” Sorrow said in a low voice, and Charon turned to her sharply. “I found him earlier when I went to see my father.” She paused then, watching the guards lift Alyssa’s ruined body and leave with it, waiting until they were out of earshot before she continued. “He’d … he was under the influence of Lamentia.”
“Balthasar? Or the chancellor?”
“Both. I had Balthasar sent to the cells. I didn’t know what to do with Father.” She immediately imagined Harun as Alyssa had been, tearing at himself, the empty sockets of his eyes as he lay dying in front of his paintings.
Charon took a deep breath, and spoke quietly, mindful of the people still hovering ghoulishly at the door. “Sorrow, this drug is a disease, and we are losing the fraction of control we have on it. We can’t contain this any more, not if people like Balthasar and Alyssa are using it. The Graces know who else might be secretly under its influence.”
“I know…”
“Do you? Sorrow, if the people heard about this, if they knew your father – our chancellor – was in the grip of it… If our neighbours found out how weak we are… Astria and Nyrssea particularly might be inclined to try taking advantage of it. You know that. We can’t coast on your grandfather’s reputation for much longer. Harun is not Reuben Windsword, and frankly we’re lucky we’ve been able to hide it thus far. I fear those days are over. We must act.”
Sorrow couldn’t speak, managing only to nod her head. She couldn’t stop seeing Alyssa… Her hands clawing at her chest, trying to rip her clothes away… Her eyes…
“Father, I don’t think now—” Irris began, but Charon silenced her with a look.
“It has to be now.”
“What has to be now?” Sorrow asked, her voice colourless as glass.
“It’s time to have the chancellor declared unfit to govern and for you to be sworn in, officially, as chancellor presumpt until we can arrange a formal election.”
It was enough to shock her from her torpor. “I can’t. I can’t be the chancellor.”
“We can have the Jedenvat pass an emergency addendum that waives the law in light of extreme circumstances and you being the only heir. We’ll pass something that says you’ll co-preside with the Jedenvat until your twenty-first birthday. You’re eighteen in three days, so the part about residency will be fulfilled.”
“That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean legally. I meant… I can’t…” Sorrow pleaded with Charon. “Charon, I can’t…”
“You have to. Sorrow, you must have known this was coming.”
She shook her head. Despite what Rasmus had said, she hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t wanted to.
Charon continued, his tone deliberately soft. “If it had been your father who died tonight, you’d have to take his place. Sooner or later it will be you anyway. This way, we have a fighting chance at helping him. We can find doctors to treat him – maybe it’s not too late to save his life. If we act now, we have the advantage. Better that than waiting for the chips to fall and then scrambling to pick them up.”
Irris’s arm tightened around Sorrow’s waist.
“I don’t want this,” Sorrow murmured.
“It doesn’t matter what you want; there is no one else,” Charon snapped, before taking a breath. “A woman died before your very eyes tonight. Before the eyes of two Rhyllian representatives and Meeren Vine. If something isn’t done, not only will it keep happening, but it will make the entire country vulnerable. I’ll call the Jedenvat to order. Tomorrow morning, before we leave for the bridge. We’ll vote on it.”
Irris’s arm tightened around Sorrow, and she was grateful for it. The bones in her legs had turned to liquid, her stomach aching with fear. It was happening too fast … she needed a moment to think, to plan. To breathe.
“It should be you,” Sorrow looked at Charon. “You should be the chancellor.”
“Sorrow, you know the laws. Only a member of the Ventaxis line can become chancellor.”
“I’m not ready,” she said finally. “I’m not ready for this.”
“Sorrow.” Charon’s voice was tender then, his dark eyes full of pity. “It doesn’t matter. Only Rhannon matters, and there is no one else. It’s you, or it’s no one.”
Bad Blood