Mother would be proud.
Luvian shook his head, his eyes pleading, begging with her not to say anything.
“Miss Ventaxis?” Caspar said.
Sorrow tore her gaze away from Luvian and made a decision, praying it was the right one. Praying she was wrong. She didn’t think she could stand to lose anything else that day.
“Forgive me,” she said to the prince consort. “What did you say?”
“I’ll leave guards outside for you,” Caspar repeated, his eyes kind.
“I appreciate it.”
“I’ll go and tell my father we’re leaving,” Irris said to Sorrow. “Then I’ll come straight back. Will you be all right?” Sorrow nodded.
Irris gave her hands one final squeeze as she followed the Rhyllians from the room.
She listened to their footsteps receding as she finished the last of her drink, borrowing strength from it. Though she didn’t think Luvian would hurt her himself – he had saved her, and had ample opportunity to hurt her if he’d wanted to – she was glad to know there were guards within shouting distance if she needed them. She hoped she wouldn’t. She hoped she was wrong.
Luvian barely waited for the door at the end of the corridor to close before he said, “Sorrow…”
“You know him, don’t you? That Son of Rhannon. You know each other.”
The fact he didn’t immediately deny it damned him.
“He said, ‘Mother would be proud’. Your mother.”
“It’s not what you think… It’s not my life any more. I left it…” Luvian held up his hands.
“What life? Who are you? We looked you up. We investigated you and we found nothing.”
“Sorrow, please trust me—”
“No! Stars, I wish people would stop saying that to me. Tell me who you are.”
“I can’t.”
“Then tell me who he is. Tell me how you know the Sons of Rhannon.”
“Sorrow, I can’t. I’m begging you to trust me.”
Sorrow looked at him. She had trusted him. With everything. Trusted him as much as she’d ever trusted Irris, and Rasmus, and Charon. And look where that had got her. Charon had lied to her for her whole life. She’d lied to herself about Rasmus, and she was lying to Irris now. It was all lies and all secrets and she’d had enough.
“Dain is dead,” Sorrow said. “And you know who killed her. You’re protecting them, working with them, for all I know.”
“I’m not—”
“Shut up, Luvian. You’re hiding the person who has now tried, at least four times, to kill me. One of the Sons of Rhannon. So, I’m asking you for the last time, who is it?”
Luvian shook his head, his mouth moving silently for a moment before he looked at her with large, pleading eyes.
“Fine. But remember, I gave you a chance to come clean. I gave you that chance and you refused it.”
“Sorrow, don’t…”
“Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”
Luvian turned, and ran.
The guards burst into the room a moment later, swords in their hands.
“What is it?”
“Didn’t you stop him?” She stared at them.
“Who? Mr Fen?”
Sorrow covered her face with her hands.
“He told us to get to you,” one of the men said. “We assumed he was going to fetch aid.”
“He knows the man who attacked me,” Sorrow said.
Without saying a word, one of the guards sprinted from the room, the other remaining with Sorrow.
She wasn’t surprised when a body of guards returned, their leader telling her Luvian hadn’t been found.
The journey back to Rhannon was long, but Charon wouldn’t allow them to stop for longer than it took to change horses and use the bathroom.
“I want you where you’re safe,” he said. “Until Fen is caught, and we know who he is and what his connection is to the Sons of Rhannon.”
She couldn’t bring herself to argue, couldn’t bring herself to do anything but slump in the corner of the carriage, pretending to sleep, all the while going over what had happened. She’d lost it all, she realized. Rasmus, Luvian. The possibility of a brother. Herself. As they moved through the North Marches she sat up, staring at every face they passed, looking for herself.
From the expression on Charon’s face he knew what she was doing, and it wounded him, but Sorrow couldn’t let that stop her. They headed to the port district of the East Marches, the seat of Arran Day, Charon’s son and Irris’s brother. They were to stay in the Days’ ancestral home until the election.
Looking back, she realized all the clues were there that she should never have trusted Luvian as much as she had. His desperation for the job, writing to beg for an interview. The casual way he spoke of breaking into official places, the way he stole information and the painting. The way he never talked about himself, or his family, or his past.
And he’d stayed very quiet about his connection to the Sons of Rhannon. Dain was dead because of it.
Over and over she regretted screaming for the guards instead of trying to coax the truth from him. Now she knew nothing, and was a mere five weeks from an election she had no business even running for.
“We’re here,” Charon said as the gates to the Days’ estate swung open.
And as they closed behind them, the iron ringing with finality, Sorrow gave in to the darkness that had been threatening to consume her.
PART THREE
All warfare is based on deception Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; When using our forces, we must seem inactive; When we are near, we must make the
enemy believe we are far away; When far away, we must make him
believe we are near.
—Sun Tzu, The Art of War
After the Storm
“Nothing,” Irris said as she put down the letters that had arrived earlier that morning. “It’s like he appeared from nowhere three years ago. How does no one know who this man is? It’s impossible.”
Irris had taken Luvian’s treachery very personally, and had dedicated herself to uncovering who he really was. She wrote again and again to his tutors and classmates, the same people she’d asked for references when they were interviewing him. And they all said exactly what they’d said in the first place: that he was arrogant and undoubtedly cunning – admirable qualities in a politician, some might say – but he was an undeniably hard worker, and guaranteed to see a task through, come what may. While he wasn’t considered unpopular, he hadn’t had any friends at university, had remained on campus during breaks, joined no clubs, and kept to himself. The staff who worked in the student housing said his rooms were always neat and tidy, and he never returned drunk, or tried to sneak anyone into his bed. He was a model tenant, a model student. Too good to be true, many of them commented.
They had no idea…
“We don’t even know what part of Rhannon he’s from,” Irris said. “If we did, we could go there and ask around. Maybe even offer some kind of incentive for information.”