“His devotion to you is starting to raise some eyebrows.”
“His devotion to me?” Sorrow could feel her skin heating and prayed the vice chancellor wouldn’t notice. “I don’t think I understand.”
“We – that is to say myself and some of the Jedenvat – are concerned that his feelings towards you are no longer platonic. Surely you’ve noticed the way he looks at you?”
“He’s my friend, he cares for me.” Sorrow tried, and failed, to sound nonchalant.
“Sorrow, I think there may be more to it than that. He spends far too much time in your company, in your rooms, neglecting his duties as attaché to the Rhyllian ambassador. It’s dangerous. Especially for you, and especially right now. You’re about to be sworn in as the chancellor presumpt of Rhannon. There will be scrutiny because of it; people will want to know why. We’ll have our work cut out hiding Harun’s defects, if we even can; there must be no question of any scandal attached to you too. The law of both Rhannon and Rhylla states clearly that citizens may not become involved with each other. It’s treason.”
Sorrow shifted in her seat, moving the curtain and peering out of the window once more, pretending to examine the low white cottages they passed. “I know,” she said. “But there’s nothing like that between us.”
It wasn’t even really a lie, she told herself, as her mood plummeted further. Once they were back in Istevar later that night, she was going to tell him about the Jedenvat’s – her – decision.
“I think you both need reminding he’s in Rhannon to do a job on behalf of his queen.” Charon looked out of the window too. “He’s not ours. He’s theirs. You cannot forget that.” The carriage slowed to a halt, and Charon sighed. “We’re here. It’s almost time. Let’s talk about it later.”
Irris, who’d finally looked up, gripped Sorrow’s hand and squeezed. “Are you ready?”
Sorrow nodded.
Irris reached into her bag and pulled out the lace headscarves, draping the first over Sorrow’s head and a second over her own. Sorrow knew in every carriage in their train, women would be doing the same. Outside in the streets, the women would be covering their faces, and men would be bowing their heads.
The carriage door opened, and Charon lifted himself across the banquet, closer to it, waiting for an attendant to lift him out and place him in his chair. Once he was settled, he gave his daughter a nod, and Irris reached into her bag one more time to pull out a bundle wrapped in black satin, passing it to Sorrow. And Sorrow unwrapped the glass doll that she would carry to the top of the Humpback Bridge and throw into the river, reenacting how her brother had fallen from her father’s arms eighteen years ago.
When Charon gave the signal, she stepped down, cradling the doll, and began the walk to the bridge.
The crowd’s attention turned to her in an instant, as they realized it was she, not her father, who would lead the mourning today. The faint hum of restlessness like a wave at the understanding Harun wasn’t there at all. She faltered then, almost tripping over her gown. She paused, and cradled the doll in one arm, using her other hand to lift her skirt. The people turned to watch her pass, heads bowing, hands rising to press against chests, over their hearts. In front of them stood a row of the Decorum Ward, each of them holding a weapon. They watched her too, with flat, cold eyes, and beneath her veil her face burned.
Ahead of her, the bridge loomed, tall and blinding in the sunlight, and Sorrow’s mouth turned dry as she realized she’d actually have to climb it. Somehow she’d not really focused on this key part of the ceremony, too mired in thoughts of her father, and Rasmus, and Rhannon. Now, with the Humpback Bridge dominating her vision, she could think of nothing else, save how terrifying a task it was. This was where Mael had died, on this bridge, as their father made this same ascent.
It would be so easy to fall.
At the base of the bridge, a tray of gum, donated every year by the Rhyllians, waited, and again Sorrow stiffened, wondering how she’d manage to step in the gum in her long skirts and keep hold of the doll. But then Irris was there, helping her move her skirts so she could take them in one hand before stepping into the tray. Keeping them aloft in one hand and clutching the doll in the other, Sorrow took a deep breath and began to climb.
There was a fleeting moment where, for the first time in her life, she sympathized with Harun. The bridge was so much steeper than she’d thought possible, and even with the gum anchoring her, every step felt treacherous, her body straining forward to try to steady itself. She was all too aware of the lack of barrier on both sides, and her insides turned to liquid, her bones brittle as kindling, as she tried to tamp down the wild fear that she would trip, and hurtle into the water just as her brother had.
She stopped midway to the apex, sweat soaking the back of her gown, and turned slowly to face the crowd.
“I stand here before you on behalf of my father.” She raised her voice so it would carry, fixing her gaze on the solid ground behind them. “Eighteen years ago we gathered here to celebrate the end of a war. It should have been the brightest day in our history, and yet, it became our darkest. Not one day has gone by where we haven’t felt the loss of our beloved Mael. Today, on the anniversary of his death, we remember him. We—”
A murmur went through the crowd and she lost focus at the unexpected interruption, stumbling over her words.
“We honour—”
The murmuring grew louder.
Peering through the lace to see what disturbed them, Sorrow saw the crowd looking beyond her, looking up at the bridge. A few were even pointing, pushing their veils back from their eyes. Her gaze lit on Rasmus, further back in the crowd, frowning at something behind her, his expression both joyous and fearful.
Sorrow turned. And froze.
Behind her, a small group of Rhyllians had appeared at the peak of the bridge, right where she would stand to release the doll.
She knew some Rhyllians came to watch the ceremony – that was expected; they were a curious folk – but they never actually climbed the bridge. Never looked down into Rhannon. Now she could see three of them up there, spanning the bridge with none of the fear that gripped her. She didn’t recognize the two on the outer edges, so alike they had to be twins: both slender, tall and dark-skinned, their hair braided into neat rows that fell to their shoulders, the female wearing a voluminous dress the same shade of ochre as her brother’s tunic and trousers.