“If that was going to work, someone would have already come forward to claim the official reward,” Sorrow said.
A statement had been released, saying Luvian was wanted in connection with the murder of a Decorum Ward commander by one of the Sons of Rhannon. Both the Rhannish and the Rhyllians had put up a significant amount of reward money, and Melisia had written to Sorrow directly to apologize for what had happened, offering any aid Sorrow might want in finding him.
But Sorrow was finding it harder and harder to care that he was still out there. Or about anything at all. The hollow feeling that had begun to consume her after Charon told her the truth about who she was had returned, and there was no sign of it fading or leaving. Save for the brief moments of respite when she’d been with Rasmus, it was there all the time, like a shadow, but inside her.
To avoid it she went to bed earlier, and slept later, sometimes managing as many as sixteen hours of blissful, ignorant sleep before Irris bullied her from her bed. When she did get up, all she did was lie on the fainting couch, staring at the ceiling, while Irris pored over the correspondence with as much rigour as Luvian had given to the reports of missing children. And every time Sorrow thought of those, she remembered who she was – or rather, wasn’t – and the darkness inside her deepened.
Irris had given up trying to entice Sorrow to help her, after Sorrow said she was still recovering from the attack.
It was a lie, another one. All she had was lies.
She ached for Rasmus, for his touch, knowing it would take the pain away, however temporarily. And she hated herself for it, for wanting him, and for using him, and for being weak. For being like Harun.
The only other person who might have been able to chivvy, or more likely annoy, her out of the black hole she found herself in had been a lie too. And that’s what hurt the most. For the first time in her life, she’d felt released from the curse of her name – if ambitious, bright, brilliant Luvian Fen thought she was something special, then maybe she was. His respect for her, his faith in her, gave her something she’d never had before, not from Rasmus, Charon, her grandmother, or even Irris. He hadn’t known her his whole life, hadn’t loved her or been her best friend. He was a stranger, and because of it his belief in her made her believe in herself.
But he must have had an agenda all along, she realized. Something more than launching his own career, or helping the people of Rhannon. Something so important to him it was worth trying to conceal the fact he knew who’d tried to kill her, and who’d killed Dain. He’d used her.
It had been easy to talk to Irris about losing Rasmus. But Sorrow couldn’t stand to hear Luvian’s name said aloud; every time Irris said it Sorrow felt ill, as misery and loss claimed her.
“We’re plagued by imposters,” Irris said, and Sorrow choked on thin air. “Mael, now Luvian. No wonder Luvian was so keen to be the one to look into Mael – he must have known all the tricks from his own dealings.”
Sorrow hummed noncommittally.
“I don’t suppose you want to do anything on finding out who Mael is?” Irris asked tentatively. “What about Luvian’s lists? Or perhaps we could hire someone to find Beliss.”
“No,” Sorrow said forcefully. She’d lost the taste for proving Mael wasn’t who he claimed to be since her own past had emerged. It didn’t matter who he was; he wasn’t her brother. She knew that for sure.
“Then what do you want to do?”
When Sorrow didn’t reply, Irris picked up a stack of papers and began to go through them, turning each one over violently.
The reports that used to come to Luvian now came to Irris, who’d taken over running the tattered remains of Sorrow’s campaign. Irris has issued a statement, saying Sorrow was taking a few days to recover from the attack, but then planned to return to campaigning. That was two weeks ago, and Sorrow hadn’t so much as got dressed in that time, let alone done any work.
By contrast Mael had returned from Rhylla with a new-found zeal, vowing to find and arrest the Sons of Rhannon, to make them pay for Dain’s murder and the attack on Sorrow. He wrote to her daily, and released a new statement almost as often. Irris read it out in the morning, while Sorrow ignored her breakfast and counted down the hours until she could go back to sleep.
“He’s suggesting the Decorum Ward be converted into something called Peacekeepers,” Irris had said that morning. “It sounds very much like your idea for Lawkeepers. Suspiciously so, don’t you think?”
Sorrow had shrugged, and Irris had put her cup down with more force than she needed to.
She was getting irritated with her, Sorrow knew that. But again, the knowledge had no impact. It was a fact, like the sky was blue, the ocean was salt water, and the Humpback Bridge was deadly. Irris was disappointed in her. So what?
Outside a storm raged, and Sorrow watched it, transfixed by the aggression of it. Storms were common in Rhannon during the late summer, but she’d never seen any like those that ravaged the coastal district of the East Marches. They came without warning, lasting only minutes, but during that time it was hard to imagine the weather being any other way. The thunder boomed relentlessly; the rain poured down in thick sheets that obscured everything outside the windows. Sorrow liked them, liked that the lightning scorched her eyes, so when she closed them she could see the forks in red against her eyelids.
As the storm died away, a shadow appeared in the distance, eventually revealing itself to be a hawk, slightly sodden from the dregs of the rain. Irris rose to let it in, carrying it to a perch where it shook itself as she retrieved the scroll it carried. Irris waited until it was finished, before reaching into a bag hanging from the perch and tossing a dead mouse to the bird, her other hand already busy unfurling the letter.
“Shit,” she said.
Irris wasn’t given to swearing, and it was enough to rouse Sorrow from her inertia briefly.
“What?”
“Rhylla have appointed a new ambassador to Rhannon. It’s Vespus.”
Sorrow sat up. “Vespus? Vespus Corrigan?”
Irris nodded, and held the letter out to Sorrow.
She scanned it briefly and then read it aloud. “We are delighted to welcome Lord Vespus Corrigan, half-brother of the queen of Rhylla, back to his post of ambassador to Rhannon. Lord Corrigan looks forward to a long-lasting relationship with the new chancellor, building on the foundations of trust, respect and admiration that already exist.” Sorrow paused. “Wow. They might as well come out and say he means Mael. Because it’s clear this isn’t about me. They’ve obviously decided I’m out of the running.”
Irris remained silent.
“Don’t you have anything to say about it?” Sorrow demanded.