Sorrow, who barely recognized herself in the mirror, didn’t think anyone would miss her.
Luvian’s eyebrows had risen the tiniest fraction when she’d met him in the hallway before the journey. His poker face was legendary; squeezing any kind of uncontrolled expression from him felt like a victory, and she was glad she’d caught it, had almost missed it as she’d been concentrating on navigating the stairs in her new heeled boots. He’d quickly mastered his face, casting a cooler eye over her when she reached the bottom, before nodding. Now he and Irris were sitting either side of her, Irris stroking her hand, while Luvian sat going through a pile of papers, pausing occasionally to add a marking to them.
“How are you feeling?” Irris asked.
Whether it was the hours of preparation she’d put in, the mask the make-up offered, or simply that it was too late to be afraid, Sorrow was surprised to find she was calm. “All right,” she said truthfully.
On her other side, Luvian put down his papers and leant over, placing a hand on her arm. “Sorrow, you’re going to be fine.”
“I said I felt all right.” Sorrow frowned at him. “I honestly feel fine. I’m ready for this.”
“Now don’t be cocky,” he urged.
Sorrow couldn’t believe her ears. It was unnerving to hear Luvian – wry, droll Luvian – be cautious, and she realized then she might not be nervous, but he was.
She pulled her other hand from Irris, and patted him. “Luvian, when am I ever cocky? I’m saying I feel OK. We worked really hard and because of it I’m ready. And it’s very rich for you to warn me about being cocky.”
He smiled. “I’m not cocky, I’m rightly confident,” he said.
“So am I.”
Sorrow stood, making her way to the door, barely stepping back in time as it opened and a middle-aged woman in a floor-length tunic, entered.
“Miss Ventaxis, a pleasure to meet you. I’m Ellyra Bird, and I’ll be introducing you and your brother today.”
“What?” Sorrow, Luvian and Irris all spoke at the same time.
Luvian rose smoothly to his feet. “What do you mean, Sorrow ‘and her brother’?”
“Mr Ventaxis is here too…” She looked between them, frowning. “To deliver his plans…”
Sorrow stared at the woman. She was mistaken. She had to be. No one had said anything about her and Mael presenting on the same night. It was one thing to run against him the election, but to be pitted against him onstage… Her hands rose to her mouth and covered it.
“No,” Luvian said. “We knew nothing about this. We weren’t told he’d be presenting today too. This is unacceptable.”
“I’m afraid it’s out of my hands, Mr Fen.” Ellyra Bird took a step back. “I’m sorry. I’ll give you a moment to decide if you want to proceed.” She left swiftly, closing the door behind her.
Luvian crouched in front of Sorrow. “What do you want to do?”
Sorrow’s sense of calm vanished, leaving a high-pitched buzzing in her ears as fear swelled inside her, making it impossible to breathe.
Luvian placed his hands either side of her face and gently turned her to look at him.
“You can do this,” he said. “It doesn’t matter that he’s here. It changes nothing. In fact, this is a chance to show them all that you’re better than him. To show him you’re better than him. These are your people, and you love them. Remember that. Hey –” he shook her slightly as her eyes slid away from his “– nothing has changed. You’re still as prepared. OK?”
Sorrow nodded obediently.
It wasn’t enough for Luvian, who leant in until his forehead was touching hers. “Say: ‘I did not put on this excellent outfit and get my hair done nicely to hide backstage from that upstart.’ Say: ‘I lied earlier, I am cocky, because I’m going to blow them all away out there.’ Say: ‘My name is Sorrow Ventaxis and I am going to be the next chancellor, deal with it.’ Come on, Sorrow. Say it.”
She didn’t know how he’d done it, but some of her fear had seeped away, enough for her to say, “I’m ready.”
“Close enough,” Luvian smiled, leaning back. “But, yes, you are.”
“I’m going first,” Sorrow said. “Tell them. I want to go first.”
Luvian’s smile widened. “Atta girl.”
The Sons of Rhannon
Ten minutes later, they filed along a passageway, through a heavy door, and instantly the sound of a crowd assaulted Sorrow’s ears.
“How many people are out there?” she whispered.
“Around a thousand,” Irris replied.
“A thousand?” Sorrow choked on the words, her mouth dry as dust as her nerves returned.
“They took out the seats – it’s standing room only. This is history in the making,” Luvian replied, sounding far too chipper for Sorrow’s liking.
She whipped around to face him, but he shook his head and pushed her towards a set of steps, up and into the wings, and her entire body was instantly bathed in a cold sweat, her stomach churning.
She peeped through a gap in the curtain, taking in the crowd. Despite the relaxing of the laws, they still wore the same old, dark colours, though they looked a little more animated than the people who’d been at the bridge the day Mael returned. They turned to their neighbours and spoke softly to them, exchanging quicksilver smiles and embraces, as though still frightened to do so. It seemed Rhannon was finally returning to life, albeit fearfully.
Behind the crowd the Decorum Ward stood watch, Meeren Vine and fifty of his men and women lining the walls. Luvian had insisted on it after the package, and for once Sorrow hadn’t felt like arguing. It didn’t mean she disliked Vine, or what the Ward stood for, any less, but until they found out who had sent a dead animal to her, she would feel a little easier knowing there was some security nearby.
Even so, it turned her stomach to watch Vine caressing the leather baton at his waist as he spoke to one of his men.
“Ready?” Irris whispered in her ear.
Sorrow nodded, too afraid to open her mouth in case she threw up.
“You’ve got this,” Luvian murmured on her other side. “Show them who Sorrow Ventaxis is.”
Before Sorrow could reply, Ellyra called her name, then Mael’s, and Luvian was shoving her out on to the stage to the sound of polite applause.
Mael walked out with a hand raised, waving to the crowd, and Sorrow remembered she was supposed to do the same. He was wearing dark blue trousers, and a long fitted blue coat – he looked like Luvian, she realized, the same precise tailoring and fitted, almost militaristic cut. As he neared the front of the stage, the row of gas lamps along the front lit his face, and she saw that he looked thinner, shadows under his eyes, his smile a little strained. He wasn’t finding it easy, she thought. He was probably up half of the night learning the intricacies of governing a country he was a stranger to.