But she did know Lord Vespus, Rasmus’s father, who stood between them, shining in his green coat. He looked like his son: their hair the same shade of buttery moonlight, violet eyes, bladed cheekbones. Rhyllians aged slowly, the gradual whitening of their hair the only real way to tell they were aging, and Vespus could have been anywhere between thirty and eighty. It was only the hardness of his eyes that made him look old enough to be Rasmus’s father.
He’d been kind enough to her when he’d been in Rhannon, always generous when packages arrived from Rhylla, saving some kind of sweet or treat for her, delivered with a sly wink and never mentioned again. But today his mouth was a grim line as he searched the crowd behind her, his eyes clearly seeking someone. It took every ounce of self-control to not turn, but she didn’t. She kept her focus on Vespus, so she saw when his gaze stilled and a smirk played about his lips, saw the small nod he gave to the Rhyllian woman beside him. Then she did look around, following the line of his sight until she saw Rasmus, somehow paler than usual as he watched his father.
Panic flooded her, as Charon’s words about the obviousness of Rasmus’s feelings rushed to the front of her mind. Was that why they were here? Had someone told them they thought Rasmus’s behaviour was questionable? Had they come to take him away?
No. It wasn’t fair. It was all about to end anyway. It was over, last night was the last time…
She looked at Charon, silently begging for help, and he gripped the wheels of his chair as though to go to her. But he couldn’t, and he gazed back helplessly, his eyes imploring her, to do what, she didn’t know.
Sorrow was on the verge of descending when she noticed a young woman with an infant in her arms, standing at the front of the crowd. The woman was watching her carefully, though her gaze kept flickering back to the Rhyllians on the bridge. She pulled the child she held a little closer, and looked again at Sorrow. Waiting to see what she’d do, Sorrow realized. They were all watching her, waiting for her response. She wanted to run. Every instinct inside was insisting she run. But she couldn’t. Not if she was going to become their chancellor.
She turned her back fully on the Rhyllians, her heart ricocheting inside her chest, and took a deep breath.
“We honour him,” Sorrow said. Movement near the carriages caught her attention and her fear grew as Rasmus excused himself, edging closer. With the veil over her eyes she couldn’t make it clear to him that he should go. “And we remember him, today, and always,” Sorrow finished.
On cue, Irris stepped forward, spilling a little of the gum over the sides of the tray in her haste to climb up to Sorrow. She moved with much more surety than Sorrow had.
She fussed around, lifting the veil from Sorrow’s face, buying herself time to whisper. “Are you all right? What should we do?”
“Keep Ras back,” Sorrow breathed. “I’m going on.”
Irris gave the faintest of nods, and then Sorrow turned and began to climb the bridge.
Vespus and the two other Rhyllians watched her progress, slow but sure-footed as their own people, thanks to the imported gum. She gripped the doll tightly to her chest, where her heart thudded against it, her damp palms threatening to end the ceremony much earlier than planned. Each step felt as though it took a lifetime, until finally she was at the top.
Vespus was mere feet away, watching her, his companions standing sentry either side of him. He smiled at her, the sight familiar and startling as she caught a fleeting glimpse of Rasmus in his face. Then he turned, looking back towards Rhylla, and as Sorrow followed his gaze, her fear exploded into horror.
Hundreds of Rhyllians had come out today, far more than the few she’d seen at the top of the bridge. They crowded the road leading up to the bridge, and it knocked Sorrow dizzy to see so many of them, so many colours, so many faces, smiling, laughing, quietly talking to each other. They turned as one to her, the motion rippling through them like silk in a breeze, until every eye there was on her.
Sorrow gripped the doll as though it was a real child and looked back at Vespus.
“Hello, Miss Ventaxis,” he said in Rhannish, his accent more pronounced than it had been when he’d lived in Rhannon. His eyes flickered over her, as though assessing her for market.
“Lord Vespus,” Sorrow replied, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And you. It’s been – how long – two years since I left Rhannon? You’ve become a young woman.”
“It happens to the best of us.”
Vespus laughed and the sound was obscene to Sorrow, given where they stood, and why.
“Is the chancellor not with you?” He craned to see past her, the exaggerated motion causing her to grit her teeth.
“He’s unwell.”
Vespus’s expression was serene. “How terrible. Today of all days…”
“Is Ambassador Mira here?” Sorrow asked.
“She too is unwell. Hopefully not suffering the same ailment as the chancellor,” Vespus said.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose, as though her body was warning her. She looked at the former ambassador, a man she’d thought of as, if not a friend, then certainly not an enemy. But in that moment, he felt like a threat. Sorrow swallowed her worry. “I think not. My father’s ailment has much to do with grief, I feel. After all, he lost his mother four months ago.”
Vespus nodded. “Of course. My condolences again to you and yours. I’m sure the chancellor will be back on his feet in no time. And it seems you have plenty of support.” He nodded behind her.
Sorrow turned to see Rasmus, now standing with Charon and Irris. Irris looked furious, trying her best to shoulder Rasmus behind her, though Rasmus’s attention was fixed on Sorrow. As she watched, Lincel joined them, saying something to Rasmus that made him try harder to move past Irris.
“I see my son still insists on being by your side, like a faithful puppy.”
Sorrow turned back to Vespus. “He’s been a good friend to me,” she said carefully.
“A good friend,” Vespus repeated. “A friend? Surely more to you, after all this time?”
“Of course. Better than a brother.” Fear forced the words from Sorrow, as if that lie might save him.
Vespus’s mouth twitched, and she knew then that it was too late. Vespus knew about her and Rasmus. Somehow he knew it all. “Better than a brother?” he echoed. “How interesting.”
As though he had timed it, the clocks in the towers began to ring out the hour, but Sorrow was frozen, rooted to the spot. She wanted to turn, to race from the bridge, away from Lord Vespus and the rising fear inside her. His sly gaze held her in place even as his two companions descended the bridge, returning to head the throng of Rhyllians on their side. Each toll of the bells felt like a blow, and Sorrow could do nothing but take it, trying to keep her spine from bending.
Then, at the tenth bell, Vespus turned to look down at his companions, nodding, and at some synchronized word from them the rest of the Rhyllians parted down the middle. They moved as one, their brightly coloured clothes flashing, swirling together and confusing Sorrow. The eleventh chime sounded, and she caught sight of movement at the bottom of the bridge. Something not as bright as the Rhyllians but that drew the eye anyway.