Sorrow swung her legs off the bed and crossed to the wardrobe, every step as heavy as though she was moving through honey. She took out the dress Irris had assigned and changed into it, letting her old outfit fall to the floor like a skin she’d shed.
The dress was sleeveless, gossamer-thin gold silk, the fabric pretending at sheerness. The neckline was a slash that ran from shoulder to shoulder, the slim, fluted skirt grazing the floor. She was more covered than she had been on either of the previous nights, yet the colour of the dress, so close to her skin tone, and the way it clung to her form before flaring over her hips, made her seem, at first glance, so much more exposed. It was beautiful – a weapon of a dress; Ines’s work was exceptional – and Sorrow had been looking forward to wearing it, knowing it would draw the eye. A gown fit for a future chancellor.
Not a pretender.
If she’d had anything else to wear, she would have buried the dress at the bottom of her trunk and wished never to see it again.
She walked to the mirror, ignoring her body from the neck down, and pulled her hair back into a severe chignon. She lined her eyes, drawing the wings into savage points, coated her lashes in black paint and daubed her mouth with scarlet lipstick, once again creating a mask to hide behind. When it was in place, she opened her bedroom door.
“Ready,” she said.
Luvian’s eyes were wide, almost frightened, as he took in the woman who stood before him. For a moment it was as though he hadn’t recognized her.
Sorrow knew how he felt.
Outside, Inside
The ballroom had been transformed into a lush, green, impossible affair. The stone walls and the stained-glass windows Sorrow admired had all vanished behind a curtain of fragrant ferns and leaves. Above their heads a tangled network of vines masked the ceiling and wound around and through the buttresses, playing home to brightly coloured birds that darted like tiny comets between the foliage. The flagstone floor had been covered by soft, springy moss, and many of the guests were taking advantage of it, moving barefoot through the room, shoes dangling from fingers, or left somewhere for later.
Over a hundred oil lamps hung suspended from the roof, lighting the room, though much of the outskirts were in shadow, and Sorrow could see people moving there, silhouetted against the living walls. And as she and Luvian moved into the space, she saw tiny green lights glowing in between the leaves. Starflies, she realized. Rasmus had once told her he kept some in a ventilated jar by his bed at night as a child, catching them at sunset and releasing them the following morning, falling asleep to their dancing.
The entire hall was a natural grotto; even the tables and chairs had been replaced by large tree trunks and stumps, some with screens of grass partially around them, allowing for privacy. Beneath the delicate sound of a Rhannish pipe and violin playing softly, Sorrow imagined she could hear the burbling of water, a pool or a waterfall right there inside the room.
It was stunning; even in her numb, lost state Sorrow could see that. But though she knew it, objectively, to be wondrous, she felt nothing. No joy or marvelling at this unexpected, magical transformation. Not even the sight of the starflies that she’d long coveted was enough to pierce the shell that had formed around her after Charon’s confession.
Unlike Luvian, who’d pulled her to the walls to run long fingers through the fronds, shaking his head, his smile childlike and wide, as the Starflies danced around his hands.
“This must have been Vespus,” he murmured to Sorrow, snagging them both a drink from a passing waiter. “He must have used his ability to do this. I know we said it was pretty useless, but we might have been wrong. This is amazing.”
Sorrow took the glass he offered and drained it in one.
“Steady,” Luvian said, though he took the empty one from her and gave her his. “What do you want to do? Circle around, say hello? Find Irris and Charon? Sit and eat, and then go chatting? Or we could dance?” He gestured to where the Duke of Meridea and his consort were already moving gently to the music.
“Sit,” Sorrow said. Definitely no Charon. And she didn’t know what she was going to say to Irris – Irris knew her too well to believe a headache could be behind Sorrow’s expression. Despite the make-up, she looked as though she hadn’t slept for days. Sorrow wondered how Charon had explained their fight, and also whether he’d told Irris to leave her alone, and that was why she hadn’t come to get ready with her.
Luvian took Sorrow’s elbow, guiding her to one of the tables partly shielded by a wall of tall grass. He sat beside her on the log, watching as she drained the second glass.
“Sorrow, unlike our fine Rhyllian friends I’m not gifted with either an ability, or the skill of mind reading, so you’re going to have to spit it out,” he said. “Something’s wrong. Don’t lie. Tell me.”
“I’m fine. I told you already, it’s a headache.”
“Still? Can’t you take something? What if I find Rasmus; he can heal, right?”
“No,” Sorrow barked. “Just … forget it, Luvian. I’ll be fine. As soon as you stop coddling me.”
His mouth pursed, his brows drew into a frown as he looked at her, before giving a carefully uncaring shrug.
“I’ll leave you in peace,” he said stiffly, and rose, striding out towards where Fain Darcia was standing with a circle of Rhyllians. Sorrow watched as they made room for Luvian, as he slotted easily into the group, and the conversation. Fain Darcia leant towards him and spoke, and Luvian gestured to her. Sorrow looked away.
A waiter passed and she took another drink, cupping it in both hands. She scanned the room for Charon, wondering if he’d managed to navigate it in his chair. Thoughtless of Vespus, really, she realized, to create an environment the Rhannish vice chancellor couldn’t manoeuvre with ease. Knowing Vespus, it was deliberate.
Lord Vespus was standing beside his half-sister and Prince Caspar, hands behind his back, seemingly enjoying a conversation with them. Prince Caspar held Aralie in a sling across his chest, leaving his hands free to gesture as he told his wife and Vespus some story. There was no sign of any tension between them, and Sorrow wondered what the red-haired baron, Harcel, might have said about his seeming lack of favour, if they hadn’t been interrupted.
“Hello.” She turned to see Mael peering around the side of the screen. “May I join you?”
Sorrow shrugged, and Mael sat where Luvian had before.
“I saw your advisor go over there, and Arta is at the buffet, so I thought I’d come and see how you were before someone insists we don’t talk.”
“I’m fine,” Sorrow said without looking at him.
“Isn’t this brilliant?” Mael continued. “Lord Vespus did it, as a Naming gift for Aralie.”
“It’s not so brilliant for Lord Day. He’s in a wheeled chair. I can’t imagine the ground is easy for him to travel.”