Shadowed by the sunlight beaming through the window behind him, Vespus sat with his elbows on the table before him, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Lincel was on one side of him, her expression remorseless, the boy on his other. And beside the boy sat the unnamed Rhyllian woman.
“Please, sit.” Vespus gestured to the chairs opposite him, and immediately Sorrow’s heart began to beat rapidly. Trying to mask her strain with a show of confidence, she reached for a chair, only for Charon to stop her.
“Miss Ventaxis cannot sit with her back exposed to a room,” Charon said.
Vespus’s reply was smooth and immediate. Too smooth. “Forgive me, I thought it would be easier for you, Lord Day, to not have to navigate a small space with your chair.”
Sorrow was familiar enough with politics to know it for what it really was – another power play – and it seemed Charon agreed, for his jaw twitched and he replied, “Very thoughtful of you, but it remains that Miss Ventaxis cannot sit here, and that is my main concern. I assure you I’m more than capable of navigating any space before me.” His words were measured but loaded, and a silence bloomed between the men as they considered each other.
“Wait,” the boy said, breaking the stalemate. “Let me out?”
Vespus nodded, and the Rhyllian woman stood to allow the boy to step past her. Without warning he lifted the table and swung it around, moving it ninety degrees, leaving Vespus and Lincel now sitting at the head of the table.
“There,” he said, smiling at Sorrow. “Now no one has to have their back exposed, and Lord Day can easily fit his chair at the end of the table.”
It was a neat and swift solution. Without raising his voice the boy had taken command and, gently and easily, arranged things for everyone. He gestured to her to choose a side, and Charon chose for them, heading to the left. Sorrow followed, slipping behind his chair, to sit in the middle, Rasmus taking his place at her left. All of them placed their hands on the table, keeping them in sight. On the other side, Lincel, Vespus and the boy positioned their chairs opposite the Rhannish. The third Rhyllian slid her chair back beside the boy.
The moment they were all seated, a man appeared carrying a tray full of glasses and a carafe. They all remained silent as he filled each glass with a golden liquid, before melting away as quietly as he’d appeared.
The boy looked at his glass, then at Sorrow, and raised it towards her, a question in it.
Sorrow ignored the toast. “What can I call you?” she asked him.
“Mael,” Vespus said. “That’s his name.”
Sorrow bit her tongue to stop from snapping at him, though her narrowed eyes advertised her annoyance.
The boy – Mael, she supposed she’d better think of him as, at least for now – smiled apologetically at her and pushed his hair behind his ears.
She saw the mark on his neck, a darker patch of skin the shape of a crescent moon, and gasped without meaning to. He paused, his fingers twitching as though he’d tug his hair back over it. But then he gave a slight shake of his head and left it pinned back, leaving the mark on show.
Sorrow had to fight to not look at Charon, though she was sure his attention was on the boy’s neck too. On the birthmark everyone knew Mael had.
“And this is Aphora,” Vespus continued, drawing her attention back to him, as the Rhyllian woman bowed her head, folding her hands on the table before her.
“Why is she here?” Charon asked.
“I was the one who discovered Mael.” She spoke directly to Sorrow, in clear, though heavily accented, Rhannish. “Lord Vespus asked me to come so I could give account direct to your father. My brother, Melakis, was there too. He’s outside, watching the door for us.”
Sorrow nodded. But before she could tell Aphora to begin, Vespus clapped his hands together.
“If no one objects, I’d like to order some food. We had an early start today and no time for breakfast, and it seems to me we can talk and eat at the same time. I assume you have time?” he asked Sorrow.
She didn’t think she could eat. Her stomach felt too small and too stone-like for food. Besides, she didn’t want to delay, needing to get to back to Rhannon and see what damage Vespus’s actions had caused. “I’m afraid not. I need to be at the Summer Palace to greet my father,” Sorrow said.
“So we are not to go to Istevar?” Vespus said.
“The Summer Palace is closer, and it’s less dangerous to get there, both for us and my father, given what happened at the bridge. I’ve already sent word asking him to leave Istevar at once. I expect he’s travelling now.” She hoped that was true.
“Then by my reckoning we have time for at least two courses.” Vespus smiled easily. “Don’t worry, Miss Ventaxis, we’ll be there in good order. I shouldn’t think the chancellor will arrive much before nightfall, whereas we are just a couple of hours away. What do you say?”
The boy – Mael – spoke. “We’d be honoured if you would.”
There was nothing to be gained from refusing, she realized. Vespus was right: Harun wouldn’t get to the Summer Palace until much later, and if they stayed it would give them more time to hear Mael’s story. And examine it. She gave a small nod, ignoring the way his face lit up at the gesture.
Vespus beckoned, and the same server as before, silent-footed and lithe, glided to the table. Sorrow tried to listen without looking interested as Vespus ordered.
“Do you want me to translate?” Rasmus leant over and asked.
Sorrow shook her head.
“Are you all right?” His voice was barely above a whisper, impossible for anyone but her to hear. She nodded, but kept her eyes on Vespus, trying to follow the lilting of his words, trying to avoid the stare of the boy beside him.
The weight of his gaze was like a collar around her neck, choking her. He watched her, and her skin burned in response. Her pulse raced, she felt it in her fingertips where they pressed into the smooth wood of the table. Too fast.
When he finally looked away, she studied him from the corner of her eye. He looked so healthy. She’d never seen a Rhannish person look so well. Most everyone she knew had a pale cast to their bronze skin; very few people went out into the sun, unless they worked under it. This boy looked as though he bathed in it, his skin gleaming, like his neat white teeth.
“He’s ordering everything on the menu,” Mael said abruptly, startling her from her thoughts. “I don’t suppose you’ve eaten anything Rhyllian before?”
“Of course she has.” Rasmus answered for her, his tone challenging. “I used to share the food I was sent with her.”
“I was just asking.”
“And now you know.”
“Rasmus…” Vespus broke off from ordering to glare at his son, and Rasmus folded his arms, staring back at him.
“What?”
“Try to show a little courtesy.”
“I was civil. He was the one patronizing her.”