As the carriage pulled up outside the little palace, there was a whistling sound above her and she looked up, in time to see an explosion of colour across the sky, reds and greens cascading out, then fading. A split second later two more starbursts appeared, accompanied by echoing pops. She paused on the stairs and watched as the sky lit up, over and over, with coloured lights, the scent of smoke on the balmy summer air. For some reason they made her throat tight, her eyes prick with tears. When they finished, the final wisps of smoke drifting across the crescent moon, she turned and continued, feeling strangely bereft.
It was quiet inside the small palace, and she made her way straight to her rooms, only to find them empty. She must have missed Irris. She debated whether to go and find her – she knew she should; she’d hurt enough people for one day, without alienating Irris too. But all she wanted was a bath, and to sleep. Maybe a good night’s rest would wipe away the despair that she couldn’t quite keep down.
She sat on the side of the bath as it filled, the sound similar enough to the pool in the hall to make her flush at the memory of what had just happened. She stood abruptly and began to braid her hair, crossing to the mirror to pin it to her head, before slipping off her dress and pulling on a soft robe.
The main door to their set of rooms opened. “Irris?” she called.
When he didn’t answer, she turned off the taps.
“Irris, is that—”
A giant hooded and masked figure appeared in the doorway.
The Sons of Rhannon.
The Tower
Sorrow backed away.
“Wrong,” the man said, and Sorrow recognized his voice. He was the one who’d attacked her in Prekara. “Your friend is dead.”
“No…” The world seemed to shift on its axis as horror roared through Sorrow. Not Irris…
“Don’t worry, Miss Ventaxis, you’ll see her very soon, I promise.”
He began to move towards her, and Sorrow scanned the room for something, anything she could use as a weapon, all the while her mind chanting no, no, no at the thought of bright, brilliant Irris being dead. He was lying. It had to be a lie. She picked up a bar of soap and threw it at the man, but he dodged it easily, still advancing.
“Dain!” Sorrow screamed, praying the guard down in her library room would hear her. “Dain!”
“No one’s coming.”
She knew how to fight with a small sword, a foil and an épée, had been trained alongside Irris when they were children. She knew how to hit and punch and slap and kick. But when the man moved, vaulting over the bath in a fluid motion and grabbing her, moving far faster than she’d thought someone his size could, she realized none of the things she knew would help her. Not against someone who truly meant to harm her.
It didn’t stop her from trying, though, thrashing in his grip, driving her head back until it connected with his face, causing him to groan and punch the side of her head. She saw stars then, falling limp for a moment, which was all it took for him to sink his hands into her hair and drag her back towards the full bath.
She barely had time to close her mouth before he pushed her head under the water, straddling her so she couldn’t move. She beat his legs with her fists, tried to sink her nails into his calves, even as her lungs started to burn.
No. No.
Black spots appeared in her vision, bubbles streaming from her nose as her body demanded she release the air she was trying so desperately to hold, to take another breath. She tried once more to move, only for her attacker to push her head deeper into the water as she pounded the side of the bath uselessly. She opened her mouth and screamed at the hopelessness of it.
And then heard a shout, and the crushing pressure at her back and head was gone. She hauled herself out of the water, air flooding her lungs as she finally took a breath.
She collapsed, coughing, gasping, and looked up to see Luvian facing the masked man with a broken bottle in his hand, edging towards him.
“You don’t have the guts, Luvian,” the man said to her advisor, as Sorrow retched, bent double on the floor.
“Try me.” He feinted at the man, who dodged. As he did Luvian slashed for real, and the bottle tore the fabric on the masked man’s arm. Blood welled from it.
“I didn’t think you had it in you,” the man said. Sorrow missed his next words as her stomach emptied on to the bathroom floor, catching only, “… be proud.” When she looked up, wiping her mouth with a sleeve, both men had gone.
She pulled the robe around her where it had fallen loose, and moved to the door, only to scream hoarsely when she crashed into a figure.
Luvian wrapped his arms around her and held her.
“Are you all right?” His voice was muffled by her hair. “Sorrow?” He kept a soft grip on her arms and pushed her back so he could see her face. “He’s gone. He ran. Come on,” he said, guiding her out into the parlour, then into his bedroom.
He left her standing by the neatly made bed and peered under it. Then he went to his own bathroom and locked the door, opened his wardrobe and trunk, before pulling the curtains away from the windows.
“This room is clear,” he said, reaching under his pillow and pulling out a wicked-looking dagger. “I need to go and alert the castle guards that there’s an intruder. You stay in here, take this –” he pressed the dagger into her hand “– and lock the door behind me.”
His eyes were bright, fixed on hers, and she gave a short nod.
“He killed Irris,” she said, the words ashes in her mouth. “Luvian, he killed…” She couldn’t finish, disbelief stealing Irris’s name from her. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.
Luvian swallowed. Then again. “Lock the door,” he said finally. “I’ll send Dain up to stand outside it. Don’t open it until you hear my voice. Do you understand?”
Sorrow nodded, following him to the door and turning the key violently, before sinking to the ground. Her chest still felt tight, still ached, and she had a headache from where the man had hit her. She shuddered as she remembered the water rising up to meet her face, the feeling of submersion, the firm hand holding her there. And Irris… Irris… She gripped the dagger tighter, and waited, focusing on breathing, in and out.
Luvian was back within minutes, calling her name, and when she opened the door, her shaking fingers barely able to turn the key, he took the dagger from her and carefully led her to their small living room.
He sat her down as though she was a child, fussing with her robe, before pouring her a drink. The liquid was fiery, she didn’t recognize the taste, and it burned its way down her throat, at the same time clearing some of the fog from her mind, and she realized something, frowning up at Luvian.
They spoke at the same time.
“It wasn’t—”
“Do you—”
Before either could finish, five Rhyllians entered the room.
And then Irris followed.