As the final peal rang across the river, Sorrow dropped the doll.
It smashed against the diamond-hard surface of the Humpback Bridge and shattered, showering pieces everywhere.
Behind her she heard Rasmus shout her name, heard screams from the crowd, as the echoing ring faded away.
But they couldn’t see what she saw.
A boy, standing there, dressed like a Rhyllian in a long coat of kingfisher blue. But bronze-skinned as she was, brown-eyed as she was. Tall. Lean. Smiling.
She knew that face so well. Had seen it staring down at her that morning, as she’d dealt with Harun. Sorrow had watched him grow up on canvas. The whole country had. No one could mistake him for anyone else. Here he was, no longer paint but flesh, and blood, and bone.
“Not better than your real brother, though, surely?” Vespus said, his smile all teeth.
An Unwanted Miracle
The fragments of the doll glittered at her feet, crunching beneath her shoes as she took a step back. At the sight of the shattered relic, and the now-motionless Sorrow atop the bridge, the Rhannish people moved like a tide, first surging forward, then ebbing away, crying out, the cries becoming fearful and pained as the Decorum Ward pushed against them with force, barking at them to stay back.
But Sorrow only had eyes for the young man looking up at her from the Rhyllian side of the bridge.
In that moment there was no one else in the world but them. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him: his wide lips, slender shoulders, long, lean body. His build was more Rhyllian than Rhannish, more delicate than he’d been painted.
She flinched when he took a step towards her and tried to tell him to stop, to wait, but she still couldn’t speak, shock paralysing her. Behind her she heard movement, heard the wet sound of gummed footsteps mounting the bridge, voices calling her name, muted calls and shouts, the orders of guards for people to step back, but still she remained frozen, eyes fixed on the boy before her.
Mael.
For one wild, terrible moment, she smiled, her back to the crowd. He’d returned. Finally everything would be as it should have been all along. She wouldn’t have to depose Harun; he’d be fine now his son was home. And Mael was the heir, he’d be the next chancellor, and his return would be what healed Rhannon, and made things change… She wouldn’t have to do it any more…
Her smile faded, the feeling of elation vanishing as quickly as it had come.
She had no time to think about why, as the boy took another step up the bridge and the crowd behind her surged again. Sorrow realized if she didn’t do something, they’d see him. And if that happened, all hell would break loose. If they tried to climb the bridge… There was no parapet. People would die. Dozens of them.
“You stay back,” she said, finding her voice. “Stay there.”
He recoiled as though she’d struck him, stilling at once. Sorrow turned away, facing Irris and the guards who were slowly trying to reach her.
“Stop,” she commanded. “I’m fine.”
Irris looked stunned but did as Sorrow said. The soldiers, however, kept moving.
“Miss Ventaxis—”
“I said I’m fine,” she snapped. “Go back down. That’s an order.”
“Sorrow?” the boy called. His accent was Rhyllian, his voice clear as it rang out. “Are you her?”
Irris and the guards looked beyond her, seeking the source of the voice. They’d heard him.
Sorrow turned, head spinning, hands shaking with fear, and spoke to Irris.
“Keep everyone away from the bridge. No one is allowed anywhere near the bridge. Irris, give orders to Vine to keep his people calm, but make everyone go home. Now.”
“Go home? But that’s…”
“Irris, please?” Sorrow begged.
Irris paused, glancing at Vespus and the two other Rhyllians, who’d been watching the exchange in silence. Finally, she nodded, and motioned the guards to follow. Sorrow waited until they’d reached the bottom before she looked back to where the boy remained, watching her with hungry eyes.
“You don’t think you can stop them from seeing him, do you?” Vespus asked softly.
“Lord Vespus, you have to understand. It’s too dangerous—”
Before Sorrow could finish she heard Charon command someone to stay back, followed by Rasmus snapping, “She needs me.”
“Let him come,” Sorrow called suddenly. Maybe Vespus would listen to his son.
He was at her side within a heartbeat, standing so close his shoulder pressed into Sorrow’s. He swore vehemently when his gaze found the seemingly Rhannish young man surrounded by Rhyllians below.
“Rasmus,” Vespus said, drawing his son’s attention from the boy.
“What is this?” he snapped at his father in Rhannish.
“How good to see you too, son,” Vespus said. “I trust you’re well?”
“I asked you a question, Father. What is the meaning of this? Who is that?”
This time Vespus replied in Rhyllian, too fast for Sorrow to catch the words.
“Impossible,” Rasmus said.
Vespus held out a hand and gestured at the boy. “And yet…” He returned to Rhannish, looking to Sorrow as he did. “Won’t you acknowledge your true brother, Sorrow?”
Sorrow’s heart felt as though it was fighting its way out of her chest as she locked eyes with the boy, and a single thought lit up her mind.
This will change everything.
“Come here, Mael,” Vespus said.
“No, he stays there.” Sorrow snapped out of her trance. “You have to stay there.”
The boy hesitated, but at a nod from Vespus continued, climbing the bridge with the ease of a Rhyllian.
“Stop,” she pleaded. “You don’t understand.”
He paused, his expression full of regret, but shook his head and kept walking.
Behind her Sorrow could hear the crowd getting louder, the people of Rhannon dormant and downtrodden for so long now awake and desperate. They were ignoring Charon and Irris, pushing back against the guards, demanding to know what was going on, their need to know greater than their fear.
The Decorum Ward did not like being ignored, and at Meeren’s order they began to lash out with their clubs and the hilts of their knives, slamming into the heads and bodies of the citizens closest to them, regardless of sex or age. Sorrow screamed at them to stop, torn between trying to keep Mael back and helping her people. She watched as one of the Ward smashed his club into the face of an old man, blood cascading from his nose, as the crowd roared and pressed against them, their own makeshift weapons in hand. The woman who’d been holding the child was struck and went down, swallowed by the crowd.
“No!” Sorrow screamed again. “I command you to stop.”