Charon didn’t say a word as they made their way back to the bridge. None of them did. Melakis carried Charon, and Aphora took the chair. Sorrow followed them, Rasmus silent at her side, with Mael and Vespus bringing up the rear.
Though Vespus had been right, and the Decorum Ward had dispersed the crowd, Sorrow still felt as if there were eyes on her as they descended the bridge into Rhannon. She kept to the very middle, moving slowly, mindful of the jade-green water far below her. But even that couldn’t stop her thoughts turning to the Rhannish boy behind her, aware of his every step.
Say he was Mael Ventaxis, returned from the dead. He was right, the birthmark and the outfit were convincing proof. Not to mention how much he resembled the portraits. So, then, he’d come home, Harun would heal, and she wouldn’t have to be the chancellor any more. Or ever.
Something inside her stomach tightened, and she stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Rasmus asked, but she shook her head and began walking again.
She didn’t want to be chancellor. So why did the idea of him taking over, taking her place, make her feel strange?
“Is there only one carriage?” Vespus’s voice broke into her thoughts.
Charon waited until the twins had placed him inside that carriage before he replied.
“Why, yes, the others will have gone on to the Summer Palace. You understand, we had no warning of guests. But we’ll send one back for you, the moment we arrive.”
Vespus went statue-still and Sorrow had to fight to suppress a smile. In spite of everything else, it was good to finally have the upper hand over Vespus.
Vespus turned to her, his eyes flashing, and once again Mael placed himself in between them.
“You’re good – I mean, thank you,” Mael said, correcting himself. “We’ll wait in the tower on the Rhyllian side for its arrival, won’t we, Lord Vespus?”
“How long?” Vespus said, and though his voice was measured, the icy rage in his gaze betrayed him.
Sorrow let Charon answer. “Four hours? Two for us to get there, two for a carriage to reach you.”
“And another two for us to join you. By which time the chancellor will have long since arrived.”
Charon’s nod was beatific.
“We could take a boat,” Vespus said, turning to Aphora, who nodded.
“We’ll wait.” Mael spoke directly to Sorrow. “That’s fine.”
Vespus glared at him, but Mael merely smiled at Sorrow.
Sorrow knew she should offer something in return for the way he’d stepped in, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, still reeling from what had happened by the river, in the inn, on the bridge, all of it. She finally managed another awkward nod, and watched the coachman fold Charon’s chair and place it on the back of the carriage, before she climbed in, moving over to make room for Rasmus.
Vespus reached forward and put a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Rasmus will travel with us,” he said.
“But he’s the ambassador to Rhannon,” Sorrow said, as the coachman slammed the door shut and mounted the cab. Rasmus’s eyes met hers through the window, a plea in them.
“Let attaché Corrigan have a chance to spend some time with his father,” Charon said. “He’ll join us at the Summer Palace. Drive on.” He knocked the top of the carriage and Sorrow heard the crack of a whip.
“Charon, what—?”
“We need to talk about state matters and we can’t do that with a Rhyllian present, even an apparently friendly one.” Charon kept his voice low, barely speaking over the rumble of the wheels. “What happened when you were alone?” He nodded to where leaves still clung to her gown, and Sorrow picked them off as she replied.
“He said he wished the proof they’d offered was enough, but in our position he’d be sceptical too. And he…” She’d been about to say that he’d saved her, but the determined, sharp look on Charon’s face made her change her mind. Charon didn’t need to know about that. Nor that the whole morning had left her so confused that if someone told her black was white, in that moment, she might believe them.
“I don’t know who that boy is, but he’s not Mael Ventaxis. It’s impossible. Mael is dead and has been for eighteen years. We have to maintain that truth. We mustn’t lose sight of it.”
Sorrow stared at him blankly.
“You can’t think it’s him?” He leant forward, his eyes locked on hers.
She couldn’t meet his gaze. “He has the birthmark. Right there, on his neck. The outfit – Charon, they had the outfit. And he looks like the portraits…”
“For the Graces’ sake,” Charon snapped. “Anyone would think you wanted it to be him.”
“Would it be so wrong if I did? To discover my brother, the reason the whole of Rhannon is broken, the reason my father is an addict, was alive?” Sorrow’s reply was just as harsh.
“And the timing, Sorrow? That it was today, of all days.”
“It’s the anniversary of the fall.”
“It’s also the morning after I told you that you would have to depose your father. After a woman died in front of everyone of note in Rhannon. The same day we voted to make you chancellor presumpt.”
Sorrow sat back in her seat. It was an unlikely coincidence. She knew she hadn’t truly wished him back to life at the right moment to save her from it, but it was odd that of all the times he would reappear, it was today. A day or two later and he would have been coming back to a very different Rhannon.
“Many would kill for the kind of power you’re trying to avoid,” Charon continued. “People have. Your family have. And I’m sure Vespus would very much like Mael to be the chancellor.”
Sorrow didn’t understand. “Why would Vespus care who the chancellor of Rhannon was?”
Charon leant forward. “Do you know why Harun banished him?”
“No.” Sorrow didn’t. If she was honest, once she realized Rasmus could stay after his father left, she hadn’t cared. She’d asked Rasmus, of course, but he hadn’t known either. They’d decided it must have been because of Lamentia. They assumed he’d argued with Harun over it, as Arran Day and Coram Mellwood had, and, like those men, had been sent away for it.
“He’d been petitioning Harun for land, here in Rhannon.”
“What?” Sorrow’s eyes widened. She didn’t understand. “Why would he want land here?”
“For his Alvus trees. Vespus has been attempting to build a thriving forest of them on his estate for decades, with weak results.”
Sorrow nodded; she knew that. Rasmus had told her the wood, the sap, even the leaves were valuable. But they were rare, because they were hard to cultivate, Rasmus said. If it hadn’t been for his father’s ability with plants, he could never have made them grow at all.
“So he thinks the land here is better?” Sorrow said.
“It is. In the north of Rhylla there’s not enough sunlight, few natural pollinators, nutrient-low soil… He asked Melisia time and again to grant him lands in the south, where it would be easier for him, but she refused to take it from people who already owned it.”