Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

<b>Trudi Canavan</b> published her first story in 1999 and it received an Aurealis Award for Best Fantasy Short Story. Her debut series, The Black Magician Trilogy, made her an international success and five of her novels have been <i>Sunday Times</i> bestsellers in the UK. Trudi Canavan lives with her partner in Melbourne, Australia, and spends her time writing, painting and weaving.

Trudi Canavan published her first story in 1999 and it received an Aurealis Award for Best Fantasy Short Story. Her debut series, The Black Magician Trilogy, made her an international success and her last five novels have been Sunday Times bestsellers in the UK. Trudi Canavan lives with her partner in Melbourne, Australia, and spends her time writing, painting and weaving.

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The Rogue

Orbit

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

THE STONE-MAKERS’ CAVES

According to a Sachakan tradition so old that nobody remembered where it had begun, summer had a male aspect and winter a female one. Over the centuries since their founding, Traitor leaders and visionaries had declared the superstitions relating to men and women—especially women—to be ridiculous, but many of their people still felt that the season that exerted the most control over their lives had many feminine characteristics. Winter was relentless, powerful and brought people together in order to best survive.

In contrast, to occupants of the lowlands and deserts of Sachaka, winter was a blessing, bringing the rains that crops and livestock needed. Summer was harsh, dry and unproductive.

As Lorkin hurried back from the Herbery, all he could think was that it was colder than he’d expected in the valley. The chill in the air held a threat of snow and ice. He didn’t feel like he’d been in Sanctuary long enough for winter to be this far advanced. Only a few short months had passed since he’d entered the secret home of the Sachakan rebels. Before then he’d been down on the warm, dry lowlands, fleeing in the company of a woman who’d saved his life.

Tyvara. Something in his chest tightened in an uncomfortable, yet strangely pleasant way. Lorkin drew in a deep breath and quickened his stride. He was determined to ignore the feeling as resolutely as Tyvara was ignoring him.

I didn’t come here only because I fell in love with her, he told himself. He’d felt bound by honour to speak in Tyvara’s defence to her people, because she’d saved his life. She’d killed the assassin who had tried to seduce and murder him—but the assassin had been a Traitor, too. Riva had been acting on behalf of a faction that believed he should be punished for the failure of his father, the former High Lord Akkarin, to uphold a deal he’d made with the Traitors many years ago. Nobody within the faction had admitted to giving Riva an order to kill him. To have done so would mean they had acted against the wishes of the queen, so they claimed it had been all Riva’s idea.

There are rebels within the rebels, Lorkin mused.

His defence of Tyvara may have saved her from execution, but she had not evaded punishment. Perhaps it was the tasks that Riva’s family had set for her that kept her away from him. Whatever the reason, he’d endured the loneliness of a stranger in a foreign place.

He had nearly reached the foot of the cliff wall that surrounded the valley. Glancing up at the multitude of windows and doors carved into this side of the valley, Lorkin knew there would be times he’d feel trapped within this place. Not because of the savage winter, which would make staying indoors necessary, but because, as a foreigner who now knew the general whereabouts of the Traitors’ home, he would never be allowed to leave.

Beyond the windows and doors were enough rooms to house a small city’s populace. They ranged from small cupboard-sized hollows to halls the size of the Guildhall. Most were not cut far into the rock wall, since there had been tremors and collapses in the past and people felt more comfortable living close enough to the outside that they could run outdoors quickly.

Some passages ventured a lot deeper. These were the domain of the Traitor magicians—the women who, despite their claims that this was an equal society, ruled this place. Perhaps they didn’t mind living further underground because they could use magic to prevent being crushed in a collapse. Or perhaps they like to stay close to the caves where the magical crystals and stones are made.

At that thought, Lorkin felt a tingle of excitement. He shifted the box he was carrying to the other shoulder and strode through the arched entrance to the city. Perhaps tonight I will find out.

The city passages were busy as workers returned to their families. At one point Lorkin’s path was blocked by the children of two Traitors who had stopped to talk to one another.

“Excuse me,” he said automatically as he squeezed past.

The adults and children looked amused. Kyralian manners puzzled all Sachakans. The Ashaki and their families, the powerful free people of the lowlands, had too great a sense of entitlement to feel the need to express gratitude for the services of others—and thought thanking slaves for doing what they had no choice in doing was ridiculous. Though Traitors did not keep slaves and their society was supposed to be equal, they hadn’t developed a sense of good manners. At first Lorkin had tried to do as they did, but he did not want to lose his habit of being polite to the extent that his own people would find him rude, should he ever return to Kyralia.

Let the Traitors think of me as strange. That’s better than ungrateful or aloof.

Not that Traitors were unfriendly or without warmth. Both men and women had been surprisingly welcoming. Some of the women had even tried to lure him into their beds, but he had declined politely. Perhaps I’m a fool, but I haven’t yet given up on Tyvara.

Close to the Care Room, the city’s version of a hospice, where he worked most days, he slowed down to catch his breath. It was run by Speaker Kalia, the unofficial leader of the faction that had ordered his execution. He did not want her to think he had hurried back for any reason, or needed to finish his shift on time. If she thought him anxious to leave, she’d find a task to delay him. Likewise, if there wasn’t much to keep him occupied, he knew better than to sit down and rest or Kalia would find him something to do, and often something unpleasant and unnecessary.

Still, if he sauntered in as if he had all the time in the world, she might punish him for that, too. So he adopted his usual calm, stoic demeanour. Kalia saw him, rolled her eyes and took the box from him with magic.

“Why do you never think to use your powers?” she said, sighing and turning away to take the box to the storeroom.

He ignored her question. She wouldn’t want to hear about how Lord Rothen, his old teacher at the Guild, believed that a magician shouldn’t substitute all physical exertion for magic to avoid becoming weak and unhealthy.

“Would you like me to help you with that?” he asked. The box was full of herbs that would be turned into cures—some that he’d like to learn the recipe for.

She glanced back at him and scowled. “No. Keep an eye on the patients.”

He shrugged to hide his frustration and turned to survey the large main room. Not much had changed since the early morning, when he’d begun working for the day. Beds were arranged in rows. Not many were occupied. A few children were recovering from typical childhood illnesses or injuries and an old woman was nursing a broken arm. All were asleep.

It had been Kalia’s idea to put him to work in the Care Room, and he was sure she’d done it to test his resolve to not teach the Traitors how to Heal with magic. So far there had been no patients likely to die from sicknesses or injuries he could only cure with magic, but it was bound to happen eventually. When it did, he expected Kalia to stir up animosity toward him. He had a plan to counter Kalia’s, but behind her motherly appearance and demeanour was a shrewd mind. She may have guessed his intentions already. He could only wait and see.

Right now he couldn’t wait. He needed to be somewhere else. He was late, and getting later every moment that passed, so he followed Kalia into the storeroom.

“Looks like you have a lot of work to do,” he observed.

She didn’t look up at him. “Yes. I’ll be up all night.”

“You didn’t get any sleep last night,” he reminded her. “It’s not good for you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped, glaring at him. “I’m more than capable of doing without sleep. This has to be done now. By someone who knows what they’re doing.” She turned away. “Go. Take the night off.”

Lorkin did not give her a chance to change her mind. He smiled wryly to himself as he slipped out of the Care Room. Guild Healers knew how damaging lack of sleep could be to the body because they could sense the effects. Not knowing how to Heal with magic, Traitors had never sensed their error and believed a good night’s sleep was an unnecessary indulgence.

He hadn’t tried to convince them otherwise, since reminding them of what they didn’t know wasn’t tactful. Many years ago, his father had promised to teach the Traitors to Heal in exchange for the knowledge of black magic, despite not having the approval of the Guild to pass on such knowledge and, more importantly, black magic being forbidden to Guild magicians.

At the time, many Traitor children had caught a deadly disease and knowledge of Healing magic might have saved them. Black magic had allowed Akkarin to escape the Ichani who had enslaved him and return to Kyralia, but he never came back to Sachaka to fulfil his side of the deal. Since learning of his father’s broken promise, Lorkin had considered many possible reasons. His father had known that the brother of the Ichani who had enslaved Akkarin planned to invade Kyralia. He may have felt obliged to deal with that threat first. Perhaps he could not explain the threat to the Guild without revealing that he had learned forbidden black magic. He might have considered it too dangerous to return to Sachaka alone, risking recapture by the Ichani or the vengeance of his former master’s brother.

Perhaps he never intended to uphold the deal. After all, the Traitors had known of his terrible situation for some time before they offered their help, whereas they helped others—mainly women of Sachaka—all the time without asking a price. That they hadn’t helped Akkarin regain his freedom until it was an advantage to them certainly demonstrated how ruthless they could be.

The passages were quieter now, so Lorkin was able to travel faster, breaking into a jog when there was nobody around to observe. If someone from Kalia’s faction noticed he was in a hurry, it might be reported to her.

Life here didn’t quite live up to Tyvara’s claims of a peaceful society—or even a fair one, despite the Traitors’ principles of equality. Still, they are doing better than many other countries, and especially the rest of Sachaka. They have no slavery, and the work people are given is mostly decided by ability rather than an inherited class system. They may treat men and women unequally, but so do all other cultures—the other way around. Most cultures treat women far worse than the Traitors treat their men.

He thought of his newest and closest friend in Sanctuary, a man named Evar, who he was meeting tonight. The young Traitor magician had been drawn to Lorkin out of curiosity because he was the only other male magician in Sanctuary who had not yet paired with a woman. Lorkin had discovered that his first impression of the status of male magicians had been wrong: he’d assumed that if there were male magicians then the Traitors must offer them the same opportunities to learn magic as they offered women. The truth was, all male magicians here were naturals—magicians whose magic had developed naturally, forcing Traitor magicians to teach them or abandon them to die when they lost control of their powers. Magical knowledge was not otherwise offered to Traitor men.

The few fortunate male naturals were still not equal to the women, however. Men were not taught black magic. This ensured that even weak female magicians were stronger than the male ones, because they could boost their strength by storing magic taken from others.

I wonder… would I have been allowed into Sanctuary if I’d known black magic?

He did not ponder that, as he had finally reached his destination: the “men’s room.” It was a large room that accommodated Traitor males who were too old to live with their parents but had not yet been selected by a woman to be her companion.

Evar was talking to two other men, but left them as he saw Lorkin enter. Like most Traitor men, he was thin and small-boned, in contrast to the typical free Sachakan male from the lowlands, who tended to be tall and broad-shouldered. Not for the first time, Lorkin wondered if Traitor men had somehow grown smaller over time to fit their social status.

“Evar,” Lorkin said. “Sorry I’m late.”

Evar shrugged. “Let’s eat.”

Lorkin hesitated, then followed the other man to the food preparation area, where a steaming pot of soup had been cooked up by one of the men for them all to eat. This wasn’t part of the plan. Had he returned too late? Had Evar’s plans changed?

“Are we still going for that walk you suggested?” Lorkin ventured as casually as he could manage.

Evar nodded. “If you haven’t changed your mind.” He leaned closer. “A few of the stone-makers are working late,” the young magician murmured. “Got to give them time to finish up and leave.”

Lorkin felt his stomach knot. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked as they moved to one of the long dining tables, taking places at the end a little distance from the men already eating.

Evar chewed, swallowed, then gave Lorkin a reassuring smile. “Nothing I’m going to show you is secret. Anyone who wants to have a look is welcome to, so long as they have a guide, keep quiet and stay out of the way.”

“But I’m not just anyone.”

“You’re supposed to be one of us. The only difference is you’ve been told you can’t leave. If I tried to leave, well, I doubt I’d get far without permission, and that permission isn’t likely to be granted. They don’t like having lots of Traitors outside the city. Every spy is a risk, even with the mind-read-blocking stones. What if the stone was in your hand and your hand was chopped off?”

Lorkin grimaced. “Even so, I doubt anybody is going to be happy about me being there,” he said, returning to the subject. “Or you taking me.”

Evar swallowed the last bite of his meal. “Probably not. But dear Aunt Kalia loves me.” Though Lorkin had never seen Kalia chatting sociably to Evar, she did appear to approve of her nephew. “You going to finish that?”

Shaking his head, Lorkin pushed the remains of his meal aside. He was too nervous to eat much. Evar frowned at the unemptied bowl, but said nothing, took it and simply finished off the leftovers. Since land for crops or livestock was limited, the Traitors didn’t approve of waste, and Evar was always hungry. They rose, cleaned and packed away the utensils they’d used and then left the men’s room. Lorkin felt his stomach twist and flutter with anxiety, yet at the same time he was full of impatience and anticipation.

“We’ll go through one of the back ways,” Evar murmured. “Less chance you’ll be noticed going in.”

As they travelled through the city, Lorkin considered what he hoped to find out. The Guild had maintained for centuries that there were no true magical objects, just ordinary things given structural integrity or enhanced properties—like magically strengthened buildings, or the walls that glowed in the University—because they were made from material in which magic acted slowly and so continued to have an effect long after a magician stopped working on it. Even glass “blood gems” didn’t qualify. They channelled mental communications between the wearer and the creator in a way that prevented other magicians from hearing, but they didn’t contain magic.

He suspected that some of the gemstones in Sanctuary did. Most were like blood gems in that magic was sent to them and was converted by the stone to a purpose. Others appeared to hold magic ready to be used in some way. All Traitors who ventured outside their secret home carried a tiny stone inserted beneath their skin that not only allowed them to protect their mind if a Sachakan magician read it, but also let them project innocent, safe thoughts instead. The corridors and rooms within the city were illuminated by gems that gave off light. The Care Room where Lorkin attended the sick contained several stones with useful properties, from producing a warm glow or a gentle vibration to soothe sore muscles, to stones that could cauterise wounds.

If the historical records Lorkin and Dannyl had encountered were correct, then it was possible for a gemstone to store a vast amount of magic. There had been one such storestone in Arvice, the Sachakan capital, many hundreds of years ago. According to Chari, a woman who had helped him and Tyvara get to Sanctuary safely, the Traitors knew of storestones but did not know how to make them. She might have been telling the truth, or lying to protect her own people.

If knowledge of making such storestones existed, it could free the Guild of the necessity of allowing some magicians to learn black magic in case Sachakan magicians invaded again. Magic could be stored within the stones instead, to be used in the country’s defence.

Which was why he was risking this visit to the stone-makers’ caves. He did not want to learn how to make stones, he wanted to confirm that they held the potential he hoped. Then perhaps he could negotiate a trade between the Guild and the Traitors: stone-making for Healing. It would be an exchange that would benefit both peoples.

He knew he would have to work hard to convince the Traitors to consider such a trade. Having hidden from the Ashaki for centuries, they were rigorously protective of their secret home and way of life. They didn’t allow any mental communication in case it drew attention to the city. The only Traitors allowed in and out of the valley were spies, with few exceptions.

But as he followed Evar deeper into the underground network of passages, Lorkin worried that it was too soon to be visiting the caves. He did not want to give the Traitors reason to distrust him.

But as a foreigner, they might never trust him fully anyway. He only needed them to trust him enough that he could persuade them to trade with the Guild and Allied Lands. Eventually they may realise I haven’t been officially forbidden to visit the caves, and do something about it. I must take this opportunity now.

Evar had another view: “Traitors make their own decisions—or rather, they don’t like letting others make decisions for them. If you want us to do something, you’ve got to let us think the idea was ours. Should someone discover us visiting the caves, you will have, at least, reminded everyone that we have something the Guild might want in exchange for Healing.”

“Here we are,” Evar said, glancing back at Lorkin.

They had been walking down a passage so narrow they couldn’t walk side by side. Evar had stopped by a side opening. Over Evar’s shoulder Lorkin saw a brightly lit room. He felt his heart skip a beat.

We’re here!

Evar beckoned and stepped into the room. As Lorkin followed he looked around the huge space. It was empty of other people, as far as he could see. He turned his attention to the walls and drew in a quick breath.

They were covered in masses of glittering, colourful gemstones. At first he thought the distribution was random, but as he gazed at the swathes of colour he realised there were bands, swirls and patches of similar hues. He turned to regard the wall behind them and saw that the stones varied in size from tiny specks to crystals the size of his thumbnail.

It was beautiful.

“Over here we make the lightstones,” Evar told him, beckoning and heading toward a dazzling section of wall. “They’re the easiest to make, and it’s obvious when you get them right. You don’t even need a duplication stone.”

“Duplication stone?” Lorkin repeated. Evar had mentioned them before, but Lorkin had never quite grasped their purpose.

“One of these.” Evar changed direction abruptly and led Lorkin over to one of the many tables around the room. He opened a wooden box to reveal a single gemstone sitting in a bed of fine downy fibre. “With the lightstones you just have to imprint the growing gems with the same thought that you use to create a magical light. But for stones with more complicated uses, it’s easier to take one that’s already been successfully made and project the pattern within it. It reduces the rate of mistakes and flawed stones, and you can also raise several stones at the same time.”

Lorkin nodded. He pointed to another section. “What do these stones do?”

“Create and hold a barrier. They’re used for temporarily damming water or holding back rock falls. Look over here…” They moved across to a wall of tiny black crystals. “These are going to be mind blockers. They take a long time to make because they’re so complicated. It would be easier if they only had to shield a wearer’s thoughts, but they also need to allow the wearer to project the thoughts a mind-reader expects to read, to fool them into not realising there’s anything going on.” Evar gazed at the tiny stones in admiration. “We didn’t come up with them—we used to buy them from the Duna tribes.”

Dannyl’s warning that the Traitors had stolen the stone-making knowledge from the Duna people flashed into Lorkin’s mind. Perhaps that was only how the Duna people saw it. Perhaps it had been another deal gone wrong, like that between his father and the Traitors.

“Do you still trade with them?” he asked.

Evar shook his head. “We surpassed their knowledge and skills centuries ago.” He looked to the right. “Here are some we developed ourselves.” They approached a patch of large gemstones, their surface reflecting light with an iridescence that reminded Lorkin of the inside of exotic polished shells. “These are call stones. They’re like blood gems. They allow us to communicate with each other at a distance, but only with the gems they were raised next to. It can be hard to keep track of which ones are linked, so we can’t yet stop making blood gems.”

“Why stop making blood gems?”

Evar looked at him in surprise. “You must know of their weaknesses?”

“Well… let me guess: the maker of these doesn’t constantly see the thoughts of the wearer?”

“Yes, and only the message that the user sends is picked up by the gem receiving it, not all their thoughts and feelings.”

“I can see how that would be an improvement.” Lorkin turned to regard the room. There were so many patches of gems, and tables laden with objects faced the walls everywhere. “What do those gems do?” he asked, waving at a large section.

Evar shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. I suspect that’s an experiment. Some sort of weapon.”

“Weapon?”

“For the city’s defence, if we’re ever invaded.”

Lorkin nodded and said nothing more. Questions about weapons would be suspicious even to his new friend.

“Weapon stones have to do things that a magician can’t already do,” Evar told him. “For someone with little skill or training, or a magician who has run out of strength. I’m hoping they make one’s strikes more accurate. I wasn’t much good at battle training, so if we are ever attacked I’ll need all the help I can get.”

“Would you even be fighting?” Lorkin asked. “From what I understand, in battles with black magicians, lowly people like me and you are only useful as a source of extra magic. We’d probably give our power to a black magician then be sent somewhere out of the way.”

Evar nodded and gave Lorkin a sideways look. “I still think it’s strange that you call higher magic ‘black.’ ”

“Black is a colour of danger and power in Kyralia,” Lorkin explained.

“So you’ve said.” Evar looked away, his attention moving around the room as if searching for something else to show Lorkin. Then his eyes widened and he made a low noise. “Uh, oh.”

Turning to look in the direction toward which his friend was staring, Lorkin saw that a young woman had stepped into the room, entering from the larger main archway. He resisted casting about for the smaller back entrance; it must be several steps away and the woman was bound to see them before they got there.

Looks like we’re going to get into that trouble Kalia wanted us to avoid.

A moment later, the woman looked up and saw them. She smiled at Evar, then her gaze slid to Lorkin and her smile faded. She stopped, looked at him thoughtfully, then turned and walked out of the room.

“Have you seen enough? Because I think it might be a good time to go,” Evar said quietly.

“Yes,” Lorkin replied.

Evar took a step toward the back entrance and then stopped. “No, let’s go through the main way. We don’t want to look guilty now that we’ve been seen.”

They exchanged a grim smile, took deep breaths, and started toward the archway the woman had disappeared through. They had almost reached it when another woman appeared, scowling angrily. She saw them and strode over.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded of Lorkin.

“Hello Chava,” Evar said. “Lorkin’s here with me.”

She looked at Evar. “I can see that. What is he doing here?”

“I’m taking him on a tour,” Evar replied. He shrugged. “No rule against it.”

The woman frowned and looked from Evar to Lorkin and back again. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and a look of annoyance crossed her face. “There may be no rule,” she told Evar, “but there are… other considerations. You know the danger in interrupting and distracting stone-makers.”

“Of course I do.” Evar’s face and tone were serious now. “That is why I waited until these makers had gone home for the night, and didn’t take Lorkin to the inner caves.”

Her eyebrows rose. “It is not up to you to decide when it is appropriate. Did you seek permission for this tour?”

Evar shook his head. “Never had to before.”

A flicker of triumph in Chava’s gaze set Lorkin’s heart sinking. “You should have,” she told them. “This must be reported, and I don’t want either of you out of my sight until the right people have heard about this, and decide what to do with you.”

As she turned on her heel and strode toward the archway, Lorkin glanced at Evar. The young man smiled and winked. I hope he’s right about not needing permission, Lorkin thought as they both hurried after Chava. I hope there isn’t some law or rule that nobody told me about, too. The Speakers had instructed him to learn the laws of Sanctuary and follow them, and he’d been very careful to do so thoroughly.

But he couldn’t be as unconcerned as Evar was. Even if they were both right, Chava’s reaction had confirmed Lorkin’s fears: that he had tested the Traitors’ trust in him by visiting the caves. He only hoped he hadn’t gone too far, and ruined his hopes of them ever trading with the Guild—or letting him go home.

CHAPTER 2

AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL

Dannyl put down his pen, leaned against the back of his chair and sighed.

I never thought that taking on the role of Guild Ambassador again, in a country like Sachaka, would have me sitting around doing nothing, bored and alone.

Since Sachaka wasn’t part of the Allied Lands, he had no local youngsters hoping to join the Guild to test for magical ability, no matters concerning local Guild magicians to deal with, and no visiting Guild magicians to arrange accommodation and meetings for. Only the occasional communication between the Guild and the Sachakan king or elite came into his hands, or matters of trade to settle or pass on. That meant there was very little for him to do.

It hadn’t been like this when he’d first arrived. Or rather, the nature of the work had been the same, but he’d also spent a lot of time—usually evenings—visiting important and powerful Sachakans. Since he’d returned from chasing Lorkin and his abductor all the way to the mountains, the invitations to dine and converse with Ashaki, the powerful elite of Sachaka, had all but stopped.

Dannyl stood up, then hesitated. The slaves didn’t like it when he paced the Guild House. They flitted out of his way or peered around corners at him. He’d hear their whispered warnings preceding him, which was distracting. He paced in order to think, and didn’t need whispering interrupting his thoughts.

Eventually they’ll learn to stay out of sight, he told himself, stepping out from behind the desk. Either that or I’ll have to get used to walking in circles around my room.

As he emerged from his office into the main room of his apartment, a slave standing against the wall threw himself on the floor. Dannyl waved a hand dismissively. The slave gave him a cautious, measuring look, then scrambled to his feet and vanished into the corridor.

Walking slowly, Dannyl crossed the room and entered the corridor. It was strange and a little ironic that the way Sachakan homes were designed made them appealing buildings for pacing. The walls were rarely straight, and the corridors of the larger private part of the house meandered in gentle curves that eventually linked together.

The next cluster of rooms had been Lorkin’s. Dannyl paused at the main entrance, then moved inside. Any day now, a replacement assistant would arrive and take up residence here. Dannyl moved to the bedroom door and stared at the bed.

I don’t think I should mention that a dead slave woman once lay there, he mused. I would find that knowledge disturbing, and probably lie awake at night trying not to imagine a corpse lying next to me.

The body had been a nasty discovery, but worse had been finding that Lorkin had disappeared, along with another slave. At first he had wondered if Sonea had been right to fear that the families of the Sachakan invaders she and Akkarin had killed over twenty years before would take their revenge on her son.

After questioning the slaves and following the clues he’d gathered, with the help of the Sachakan king’s representative, Ashaki Achati, he’d discovered that this wasn’t the case. The people who had abducted Lorkin were rebels, known as the Traitors. Achati had arranged for four Sachakan Ashaki magicians to join them, and they had chased Lorkin and his abductor into the mountains. Into Traitor territory.

A mere five Sachakan magicians and one Guild magician could never have stood up to a Traitor attack, however. Dannyl had eventually realised that the only reason the Traitors hadn’t attacked was that it might have led to more incursions into their territory. If Dannyl and his helpers had come close to discovering the Traitor base, however, they’d have been killed. Fortunately, Lorkin had met with Dannyl and assured him that he wanted to go with the Traitors and find out more about them.

Dannyl turned from Lorkin’s former bedroom and slowly paced out of the apartment, feeling a gloom settle over him. He’d been relieved to know Lorkin was safe. He’d even been excited at Lorkin’s hopes of learning about magic the Guild had no knowledge of. What he hadn’t grasped was how awkward the situation had been for his Ashaki helpers.

They had been obliged to continue searching until Lorkin was found. Giving up out of fear of attack would have been a slight to their pride. Dannyl had saved them that humiliation by making the decision himself. It had seemed only fair, after they had put themselves in danger for him and Lorkin. But he hadn’t understood the harm it would do to his status within the Sachakan elite.

The corridor curved to the left. Dannyl ran his fingertips over the rendered white wall, then stopped at the opening to another apartment of rooms. These were for guests, and had rarely been occupied in the many years the Guild had used the building.

I’ve fallen out of favour, Dannyl mused. For giving up the hunt. For fleeing from the Traitors like a coward. And probably also for letting a Guild magician I was responsible for and outranked join an enemy of the Sachakan people.

He would have made the same choice, if faced with it again. If the Traitors did have knowledge of a new kind of magic, and Lorkin could persuade them to teach it to him and let him return home, it would be the first time in centuries that the Guild’s store of magical knowledge had been added to. He did not count black magic as new; it was more of a rediscovery, and it was still considered dangerous and undesirable.

Ashaki Achati had assured him that some regarded Dannyl’s “sacrifice” of his pride as admirably noble. Dannyl could have avoided it by asking his Ashaki helpers to help him come to a decision, thereby spreading the damage among them. But that would have risked a group decision to continue the hunt, and that wouldn’t have done anyone much good.

Dannyl did not enter the guest apartment, instead moving on down the corridor. Soon he reached the Master’s Room, the main public room of the building. Here was where the owner or person of greatest status within a typical Sachakan house greeted and entertained guests. Visitors entered the property from the main courtyard, were greeted by a door slave and led through a surprisingly humble door, down a short corridor, and into this room.

He sat down on one of the handful of stools arranged in a half-circle, thinking of the many delicious meals he’d been served while sitting on similar furniture in similar rooms. Achati, the king’s representative, had been given the role of introducing Dannyl to important people, and instructing him on protocol and manners. It was both interesting and a little worrying that this man was the only one who was still able to visit Dannyl without any disfavour rubbing off on him. Was Achati immune to such social rules, or was it something else?

Is he visiting because his interest in me is more than political?

Dannyl remembered the moment Achati had indicated he would like to have a closer relationship than friendship. As always, he felt a mix of emotions: flattery, trepidation, caution, and guilt. The guilt was not surprising, he reasoned. Though he’d left Kyralia feeling frustrated with and detached from his lover, Tayend, they hadn’t made any clear decision to part.

I’m still not sure I want to. Perhaps I’m being sentimental, not wanting to let go of something that only exists in the past. Yet when I ask myself if I’m interested in Achati, I can’t answer either way. I admire the man. I feel we have a lot in common—magic, interests, our age…

A slave entered the room and threw himself on the floor. Dannyl sighed at the distraction.

“Speak,” he ordered.

“Guild carriage here. Two passengers.”

Dannyl stood up quickly, his heart leaping with sudden excitement and hope. His new assistant had arrived at last. Though he had no work to hand over, at least he’d have some company.

“Send them in.” Dannyl rubbed his hands together, took a few steps toward the main entrance, then stopped himself. “And get someone to bring some food and drink.”

The slave scrambled to his feet and hurried away. Dannyl heard a door close and footsteps in the entry passage. The door slave stepped into the room and threw himself at Dannyl’s feet.

The young Healer woman that followed regarded the slave with dismay, then looked up at Dannyl and nodded respectfully. He opened his mouth to bid her welcome, but the words never came out, because his eyes had been drawn to a gaudily dressed man stepping into view from behind her and taking in the room with avidly curious eyes.

Eyes that snapped to Dannyl’s, and twinkled as a familiar mouth stretched into a smile.

“Greetings, Administrator Dannyl,” Tayend said. “My king has assured me the Guild will supply accommodation for Elyne’s foreign Ambassador in Sachaka, but if that is inconvenient I am sure I can find appropriate lodgings in the city.”

“Ambassador…?” Dannyl repeated.

“Yes.” Tayend’s smile widened. “I am the new Elyne Ambassador to Sachaka.”

Despite the fact that associating with criminals was no longer against any Guild rule, and that it was logical for Sonea to consult Cery when hunting down rogue magicians after he’d helped her capture one before, Sonea still met with him in secret. Sometimes he appeared mysteriously in her rooms in the Guild, sometimes she dressed in a disguise and met him in a secluded area of the city. One of the most secure places to meet had turned out to be the Northside hospice storeroom, reached by a hidden door to a neighbouring house Cery had bought.

It was safer to meet in secret because the most powerful Thief in the city, the rogue magician she was hunting for, did not look fondly on Cery for helping the Guild catch and lock up his mother, Lorandra. Skellin still had a lot of influence in Imardin’s underworld and would do anything—including murdering the searchers—to prevent himself being captured as well.

Not that we’ve seen any sign of Skellin in the last few months. Though Sonea had finally been given permission to roam the city freely, none of her investigations had produced any clue to the rogue’s location. Cery’s people were more likely to hear of sightings of the rogue magician, but they’d heard nothing. A man as exotic in appearance as Skellin ought to catch someone’s eye, but no reports of a reddish-dark-skinned, slim man with strange eyes had reached them.

“His rot sellers are all over my territory,” Cery told her. “As soon as I shut one brazier house down, another opens. I deal with one seller and ten more turn up. No matter how I deal with them, nothing puts them off.”

Sonea didn’t want to ask what “deal with” involved. She doubted it meant asking them nicely to leave. “Sounds like they’re more scared of Skellin than they are of you. Surely this means he is still in the city.”

Cery shook his head. “He could have someone else spooking sellers into it in his name. You got enough people working for you, and allies, you can run business from a distance. Only downside is how long it takes to get orders to your people.”

“Can we test that? We could do something that Skellin has to deal with personally. Something his allies and workers can’t decide for him. We’ll find out how long it takes to get a reaction, and that might tell us if he is in Imardin or not.”

Cery frowned. “Might work. We’d have to think of something big enough to get his attention, but which won’t put anyone in danger.”

“Something convincing. I doubt he’s the kind to fall into a trap.”

“No,” Cery agreed. “Trouble is, I can’t—”

Sonea frowned. His eyes had fixed on something over her shoulder and he had tensed all over. A soft scraping sound came from the door behind her. She turned to see the handle of the door slowly turning, first one way then the other.

She was keeping the door closed with magic, so whoever was testing it had no hope of getting inside the room. But whoever was, was trying to do so surreptitiously.

“I had better go,” Cery said quietly.

She nodded in agreement and they both stood up. “Let’s both consider it.” How long has the person turning the handle been standing on the other side of the door? Did they hear anything we’ve said? Nobody here but the Healers and helpers should be in this part of the hospice, and they would consider anyone lurking near the storeroom suspicious. Unless it is a Healer. A handful knew about her meetings with Cery and supported her, there were others who did not and who might find it objectionable that she used hospice rooms for the purpose.

She approached the door, waiting until Cery had silently slipped through the secret exit before she straightened and removed her magical lock.

The latch clicked and the door swung inward. A short, thin man took a step forward, grinning maniacally. As he saw her, and his eyes dropped to her black robes, his expression turned to one of horror. He went pale and took a few steps backwards.

But something stopped him. Something made him halt and brought a crazed hope to his face. Something made him put aside all fear of who and what she was.

“Please,” he whined. “I got to have some. Let me have some.”

A wave of pity, anger and sadness swept over her. She sighed, stepped out of the room, then closed the door and snibbed the mechanical lock with magic.

“We don’t keep it here,” she told the man. He stared at her, then his face darkened with anger.

“Liar!” he shrieked. “I know you have it. You keep some to wean people off it. Give it to me!” His hands became claws and he hurled himself at her.

She caught his wrists and halted his charge with a gentle pressure of magic against his chest. He was already agitated enough without her adding to his desperation by wrapping him in magical force. She could see the flash of green cloth in the corner of her eye as Healers further down the corridor, having heard his outcry, hurried to deal with him.

Before long the man’s arms had been seized by two Healers and they began half dragging, half guiding him back down the corridor. A third Healer remained, and as she looked up at the man she felt her heart lift in surprised recognition.

“Dorrien!”

The man who smiled back at her was a few years older and tanned from plenty of hours spent in the sun. Rothen’s son was the local Healer for a small town at the edge of the southern mountains, where he lived with his wife and children. A long time ago, when she was still a novice, he had come to the Guild for a visit and a friendship had started between them—a friendship that could have become a romance. But he’d had to return to his village and her to her studies. Then I fell in love with Akkarin, and after he died I could not contemplate being with anyone else. Dorrien had stayed in Imardin to help with the recovery after the Ichani Invasion, but his village had never stopped being his true home, and he eventually returned to it. He’d married a local woman and had two daughters.

“Yes, I’m back,” Dorrien said. “A short visit this time.” He glanced at the drug-crazed man. “Am I right in guessing the cause of his problem is something called roet?”

Sonea sighed. “You are.”

“It’s the reason I’m here. A couple of young men in my village returned from market a few months back with it. By the time they’d used what they’d bought, they’d grown reliant on it. I’d like advice on how to treat them.”

She looked at him closely. Unlike Healers in the city, he was under no obligation to avoid “wasting” his magic on treating the drug users. Had he tried to use Healing magic to rid the young men of their habit and failed, as she had with most of the patients she’d secretly treated?

“Come with me,” she said, then turned and unlocked the storeroom. As he stepped inside she followed, shutting the door behind her. He glanced around the room, eyebrows raised, but took the seat Cery had been sitting in without comment. She settled on the chair she had just vacated.

“Did you try to Heal them?” she asked.

“Yes.” Dorrien described how the young men had come to him for help, realising belatedly that they couldn’t afford a roet habit, and embarrassed to find they’d been caught up in a vice of the city. He’d searched with his Healing senses for the source of the problem in their bodies, and Healed it, as Sonea had done with the patients she had worked with. And, as she had, he’d had varying success. One of the brothers had been cured, the other still craved the drug.

“I’ve had the same result,” she told him. “I’ve been trying to figure out why it’s possible to Heal some people and not others.”

He nodded. “So what do you advise for those that aren’t?”

“They shouldn’t use the drug again, in case the effect gets stronger. Some of my patients say keeping busy helps them ignore the cravings. Some drink. But not in small quantities—they say too little weakens their resolve to avoid rot.”

“Rot?”

“It’s the drug’s nickname on the streets.”

Dorrien grimaced. “I gather it’s an appropriate one.” He frowned and looked at her thoughtfully. “If we can’t Heal away other people’s addiction, can we Heal away our own? Not that I have a roet addiction,” he added, smiling faintly.

Sonea answered his smile with a grim one of her own. “That’s a question I’ve also been seeking the answer to, but with far less success. So far I haven’t found one roet-using magician willing to be examined. I’ve questioned a few, but that’s not going to produce the evidence I need.”

“You need for what?”

“To convince the Guild this is a serious problem. Skellin’s plan to enslave magicians with roet could have been successful—could still be successful.”

Leaning back in his chair, Dorrien considered that. He shook his head. “Magicians have been blackmailed and bought by other means before. Why is this any different?”

“Perhaps only in the scale of the problem. That’s why it needs more investigation. What percentage of magicians could be affected by roet? Are the ones not affected going to become addicts if they continue using the drug? Just how much does it alter thought patterns and behaviour?”

Dorrien nodded. “What is your guess? How big do you think the problem to be?”

Sonea hesitated as Black Magician Kallen came to mind. If Cery was right, and Anyi had seen the magician buying roet, the problem could be very big indeed. But she did not want to reveal what she knew until she was certain Kallen was using roet and she had proof that roet was as big a problem as she suspected. He might have been buying it for someone else. If she claimed he was an addict incorrectly she’d look a fool, and if she revealed it before she had proven that roet was dangerous to magicians then it would look like she was making a petty fuss about nothing.

Oh, but I wish I could tell someone. She had not told Rothen. He would want to do something immediately. He did not like it that Kallen treated her as if she couldn’t be trusted. Rothen was always urging her to put Kallen under as much scrutiny as he put her under. So would Dorrien.

“I don’t know,” she replied, sighing.

Ironically, the one person she thought she could probably tell and trust to remain silent was Regin, the magician who had helped her find Lorandra. Ironic that the novice I once hated for making my life a torture is now a magician I’d trust. He understood the importance of timing. Though she had met with Regin to discuss the search for Skellin, so far she hadn’t been able to bring herself to mention Kallen.

Perhaps I’m even more afraid that Regin won’t believe me, and I’ll make a complete fool of myself. She smiled wryly. No matter how much I tell myself we are not novices and deadly enemies any more, I can’t shake the suspicion that he’ll use any weakness against me. It’s ridiculous. He’s proven that he can keep a secret. He’s been nothing but supportive.

But he often did not make it to their meetings, or arrived late and was distracted. She suspected he had lost interest in the search for Skellin. Perhaps he felt that tracking down the rogue magician Thief was an impossible task. It had certainly begun to feel that way.

With Cery forced into hiding, and his people unable to find any sign of Skellin, she was not sure how they could find the rogue—aside from pulling the city apart brick by brick, and the king would never agree to that.

The Foodhall was, as always, noisy with the clatter of cutlery on crockery and the voices of novices. Lilia let out an unheard sigh and stopped trying to hear what her companions were discussing. Instead she let her gaze move slowly across the room.

The interior was a strange mix of sophistication and simplicity, the decorative and the practical. The windows and walls were as finely crafted and decorated as most other large rooms in the University, but the furniture was solid, simple and robust. It was as if someone had removed the polished, carved chairs and table in the grand dining room of the house she had grown up in, and replaced them with the solid wooden table and bench seats from the kitchens.

The occupants of the Foodhall were as varied a mix. Novices from the most powerful Houses to those born of beggars on the dirtiest streets of the city ate here. When Lilia had first started magic lessons, she had wondered why the snooties had continued to eat their meals in the Foodhall when they were rich enough to have their own cooks. The answer was that they didn’t have time to leave the grounds each day to dine with their families—and they weren’t supposed to leave without permission anyway.

She suspected there was a feeling of territorial pride at work as well. The snooties had been eating in the Foodhall for centuries. The lowies were the newcomers. The Foodhall had been the scene of many a prank between the lowies and snooties. Lilia had never been a part of either. Though she had never said it aloud, she was from the upper end of the lowie group. Her family were servants for a family belonging to a House of reasonable political power and influence—neither at the top of the political hierarchy nor in decline. She could trace her line back for several generations, naming which of her ancestors had worked for which families within the House.

Whereas some of the lowies were from very shabby origins. Sons of whores. Daughters of beggars. Plenty were related to criminals, she suspected. A strange sort of competition had begun between these lowies to lay claim to the most impressively low origin. If sewer ravi could be claimed as parents, some of them would boast of it as if it was a title of honour. Lowies from a servant family didn’t boast or make anything of it, or they invited a lot of trouble.

The hatred some lowies had for snooties did not seem fair to her. Her parents’ employers had treated their servants fairly. Lilia had played with their children when she was growing up. They had ensured that all of their servants’ children were given a basic education. Since the Ichani Invasion, they had brought a magician in every few years to test all children for magical ability. Though none of their own had enough latent power to be accepted into the Guild, they had been overjoyed when Lilia, and servant children before her, had been chosen.

The two girls and boys she spent her social time with were lowies, and they were nice enough. She, Froje and Madie had been friends since starting at the University. Last year Froje had paired up with Damend and Madie with Ellon, making Lilia the odd one out. The girls’ attention was mostly taken up by the boys now, and they rarely sought Lilia’s opinion, advice or suggestions for things to do. Lilia told herself it had been inevitable and that she didn’t mind too much, since she had always been more comfortable listening in than joining their conversations anyway.

Her gaze fell upon a novice she had been watching for a long time now. Naki was a year ahead of Lilia in University studies. She had long black hair and eyes so dark it was hard to find the edge of her pupils. Every movement she made was graceful. Boys were both attracted and intimidated by her. As far as Lilia could tell, Naki had shown no interest in any of them—not even some of the boys Lilia’s friends thought were irresistible. Perhaps she thought herself too good for them. Perhaps she was simply choosy about her friends.

Today Naki was sitting with another girl. She wasn’t talking, although the other girl’s mouth was moving constantly. As Lilia watched, the talker laughed and rolled her eyes. Naki’s mouth widened and thinned in a polite smile.

Then, without any little movement to warn that she was about to, Naki looked directly at Lilia.

Uh, oh, Lilia thought, feeling the heat of embarrassment and guilt beginning to rise. Caught out. Just as she was about to look away, Naki smiled.

Surprise froze Lilia. She wondered briefly what to do, then smiled in return. It would have been rude otherwise. She forced herself to look away. She didn’t seem to mind me watching her but… how embarrassing to be caught staring.

A movement in Naki’s direction tugged at Lilia’s attention. She resisted the temptation to glance back, trying instead to decipher what she was seeing in the corner of her eye. A dark-haired person was standing near where Naki was sitting. That person was walking now. That person was coming in this direction.

Surely not…

She could not stop her head from turning and her eyes from looking up. Naki, she saw, was walking toward her. She was looking right at her, and smiling.

Naki put her plate down next to Lilia’s and then slid onto the empty space on the bench beside her.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” Lilia replied uncertainly. What does she want? Does she want to know why I was looking at her? Does she want to chat? What on earth will I talk about if she does?

“I was bored. I thought I’d come over and see what you were doing,” Naki explained.

Lilia could not help looking over at Naki’s former companion. The talker was staring at them, looking confused and a little peeved. Lilia glanced at her companions. The girls were surprised, and the boys had that fearful and wistful expression they usually wore when Naki was close.

She said “… what you were doing.” It didn’t sound like it included all of us.

She turned back to Naki. “Not much,” Lilia said honestly, wincing at the lameness of her reply. “Just eating.”

“What were you talking about?” Naki prompted, glancing at the others.

“Whether we chose the right discipline,” one of the others said. Lilia shrugged and nodded.

“Ah,” Naki said. “I was tempted to choose Warrior, but for all that it’s fun I can’t see myself spending my life doing it. I’ll keep up my skills, of course, in case we’re ever invaded again, but I decided Alchemy would be more useful.”

“That’s what I thought about Healing,” Lilia told her. “More useful.”

“True, but I’ve never been much good at Healing.” Naki smiled wryly.

As Naki continued chatting, Lilia’s surprise slowly began to melt away. Somehow, by smiling at someone across the room, or perhaps because the talker at the other table had been boring, a beautiful and admired novice was chatting to her like they were new friends.

For whatever reason it had occurred, she resolved to enjoy the moment. Because she certainly didn’t think it would happen again.

CHAPTER 3

ACCUSATIONS AND PROPOSALS

The three days since Lorkin and Evar had been ordered to remain in the men’s room and stay there until the Speakers were all available to meet and deal with them had been surprisingly enjoyable.

“For doing what?” Evar had delighted in asking anyone who suggested that accusations or punishments would be directed at them. Nobody could say exactly what he or Lorkin were going to be accused of. Which gave Lorkin some confidence. Everyone knows there isn’t a rule or law or even an order that Evar or I have broken. If there was, I’m sure they’d have locked me away in a room on my own.

The occupants of the men’s room thought it was all very funny. Since the governance of Sanctuary was out of their reach, they delighted in any errors their leaders made—so long as those mistakes didn’t affect everyone badly, of course. They were so pleased that Lorkin and Evar had showed the Speakers up for fools that they had brought them gifts and spent time making sure their new heroes never grew bored.

Three of them were teaching Lorkin a game involving gemstones that had failed to take on any magical properties and a painted board. The game was called “Stones,” and they’d chosen it because gemstones were what he had got into trouble over.

A growing audience was hovering nearby. A few men were talking to Evar, and several more were scattered about the room, doing their usual chores or relaxing. So when the room began to quieten all of a sudden, everyone paused and looked up to see what the cause was. The men standing between Lorkin and the room’s entrance shuffled aside. Lorkin looked beyond them, saw who was standing there, and felt his heart stop beating and stomach start to flutter.

“Tyvara,” he said.

A smile fleetingly touched her lips, then she was serious again. She walked gracefully toward him, ignoring the men staring at her. Being the focus of those beautiful, exotic eyes sent a shiver of pleasure down Lorkin’s spine. Oh, I definitely haven’t got over her, he thought. If anything, the time she’s been away has made seeing her again even more exciting.

“I want to talk to you in private,” she said, stopping a few steps away and crossing her arms.

“Love to,” he said. “But I’m not supposed to leave the room. On Kalia’s orders.”

She frowned, then shrugged and looked around the room. “Then the rest of you leave.”

She watched as the men, muttering good naturedly, made their way out, and noted that Evar hadn’t moved. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Under the same orders—but don’t worry,” he said, standing up and moving away. “I’ll stay over there and try not to listen.”

Tyvara watched, one eyebrow raised in amusement as he moved away to the food preparation area, before looking down at Lorkin.

He smiled. It was too easy to smile at her. He was at risk of grinning like an idiot. Her long dark hair was clean and the dark hollows under her eyes were gone. He’d found her alluring before; now she was even more beautiful than imagination had painted his memory of her.

I wasn’t like this when we were travelling, he thought. Maybe I was too tired…

“I guess this will have to do,” she said quietly, uncrossing her arms.

“What do you want to talk about?” he managed to ask.

She sighed, then sat down and fixed him with a direct stare that set his heart racing. “What are you up to Lorkin?”

He felt a vague disappointment. What did I expect? That she’d invite me to her rooms for a night of… He quickly pushed the thought aside.

“If I was up to something, why would I tell you?” he countered.

Her eyes flashed with anger. She glared at him, then stood up and started toward the door. His heart leapt in alarm. He couldn’t let her leave so soon!

“Is that all you’re going to ask me?” he called after her.

“Yes,” she replied, without turning.

“Can I ask you a few questions?”

She slowed, then stopped and looked back at him. He beckoned. Sighing, she walked back to the seat and dropped into it, her arms crossed again.

“What then?” she asked.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in months. What has Riva’s family got you doing?”

She regarded him thoughtfully, then uncrossed her arms. “I’m fine. I’d rather be out there doing some good, of course, but…” She shrugged. “Riva’s family have me working the sewer tunnels.

He grimaced. “That can’t be pleasant, or interesting.”

“They think it’s as nasty a task as they could come up with, but I don’t mind it. This city needs its waste removed as much as it needs defending, and being a slave can involve much more unpleasant duties than that. But it is boring. I may end up hating it for that, alone.”

“You should come by and visit. I’ll try to entertain you, though I can’t promise it won’t be anything more than the silly mistakes a foreigner makes in an unfamiliar place.”

She smiled. “Has it been difficult?”

He spread his hands. “At times, but everyone has been friendly, and while I never wanted to be a Healer, at least I’m being useful.”

Her smile disappeared and she shook her head. “I never thought they’d put you in Kalia’s hands, knowing that she wanted you dead.”

“They know she’ll keep an eye on me better than anyone else.”

“And now you’ve made a fool of her,” she pointed out.

“Poor Kalia,” he said, without a trace of sympathy.

“She’ll make your life hard for this.”

“She does anyway.” Lorkin raised his eyes to hers. “You didn’t expect me to try to befriend her, did you?”

“I thought you smart enough to avoid giving her excuses to stir people up against you.”

He shook his head. “Lying low and keeping out of trouble will not get me that.”

She stared at him, her eyes narrowing. “One foolish Kyralian boy cannot change the Traitors, Lorkin.”

“Probably not, if they don’t want to,” he agreed. “But it seems to me the Traitors do want to. It seems to me some major changes are definitely part of their future plans. I am no foolish boy, Tyvara.”

Her eyebrows rose, then she stood up. “I have to go.” She slowly turned and walked away. He watched her hungrily, hoping the sight of her would imprint in his memory clearly.

“Come visit some time,” he called after her. She looked back and smiled, but said nothing. Then she was gone.

Moments later, the men began returning to the room. Lorkin sighed, then looked around to find Evar making his way across to the table. The young magician sat down, his eyes bright.

“Oh, what wouldn’t I do to get under the rug with that one,” he said quietly.

Lorkin resisted the urge to glare at his friend. “You’re not the only one,” he replied, hoping the young man would take the hint.

“No. Most men here would do anything for a night with her,” Evar agreed, not picking up Lorkin’s meaning—or pretending not to. “But she’s picky. Doesn’t want to get attached. She’s not ready.”

“Not ready for what?”

“Pairing. She doesn’t want to stop doing the dangerous work. Spying. Assassination.”

“Does having a man prevent that? I can’t imagine men could prevent the women doing anything here.”

Evar shrugged. “No, but when the women are away for long stretches, and might be killed, they know it’s hard on a man. It’s certainly hard for their children.” His eyebrows rose. “Actually, Tyvara’s caution is probably because of her mother, who died on a mission when she was young. Her father was devastated, and Tyvara had to look after him. She was… oh. I think it’s time.”

Lorkin followed the young magician’s gaze to the room entrance. A young female magician was standing there, beckoning to him. He exchanged a sympathetic look with Evar.

“I think you’re right,” he said. “Good luck.”

“You, too.”

They stood up and headed for the doorway, Lorkin reached it first. The woman looked him up and down and smirked. Lorkin figured she was considering his ability to cause her trouble, but couldn’t quite shake off the impression she was considering his potential for much more recreational physical activity.

“The Table is assembled and they want to talk to you both. You’re to go first.” She nodded at Lorkin. “Follow me.”

They walked in silence. The people they passed barely glanced at them, adding to the impression that nobody was taking his tour of the stone-makers’ caves all that seriously. Finally, they reached the entrance to the Speaker’s Chamber and stopped. Seven women sat around the curved stone table at the low end, but the tiers of seats fanning out from it for an audience were empty. Lorkin noted that the gem-encrusted chair for the Traitors’ queen was empty, as he expected. The old monarch only joined in the more important ceremonies, and he doubted she’d be at all interested in attending this one.

Director Riaya, a thin, tired-looking woman who guided proceedings, saw him and beckoned. He left Evar and the escort and walked toward the Speakers. Stopping before the table, he turned to face Riaya.

“Lorkin,” Riaya said. “You’ve been summoned before us to explain your presence in the stone-makers’ cave three nights ago. What purpose did you have there?”

“To view the stones in their stages of development,” he replied.

“That is all?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Why did you want to view the stones?” one of the Speakers asked.

He turned to regard her. Yvali was her name, and she tended to side with Kalia and the Traitor faction that had wanted him killed for his father’s misdeeds. But she did not always support them, he’d noted.

“Curiosity,” he replied. “I’d been told so much about them, their beauty and the skill involved in creating them, that I wanted to see them for myself. I have seen nothing like them before.”

“Did you learn all you wanted to learn?”

He shrugged. “I would like to learn how to make them, of course, but I did not expect to learn that by looking at them. Evar assured me it was not possible, and if he had not I would not have gone there. Just as you respect my right to keep secure the valuable knowledge I am entrusted with, I respect yours.”

There. That should remind them of the potential for a trade between the Guild and Traitors.

Kalia’s eyes narrowed and her lips thinned, but the others looked more thoughtful than sceptical. As he let his gaze move along the line of women, he noted the faintest smile curling Savara’s lips, but it vanished as he met her gaze.

Speaker Savara had been Tyvara’s mentor and was the unofficial leader of the faction that opposed Kalia’s. She had been charged with making sure he was “obedient and useful” as well.

“Why didn’t you inform anyone other than Evar of your intention to visit the caves?” she asked.

“I was not aware that I needed to.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Someone who acknowledges that the secret of making the stones is ours to keep should be smart enough to work out that we want to be consulted before any tours of the stone-makers’ cave are undertaken.”

He hung his head a little. “I apologise. I still find the more subtle manners of Sanctuary a little confusing. I will try harder to learn and adapt.”

She gave the faintest snort, but said nothing more, instead looking at the Director and shaking her head. The other Speakers also shook their heads, and whatever this indicated made the Director sigh faintly.

“Since you have not broken a law or rule, or disobeyed an order, you are not to be punished,” Riaya said. “We are partly to blame for not anticipating this situation, but we can prevent it occurring again. Lorkin,” she paused and fixed him with an unwavering stare, “you are ordered to keep away from the stone-making caves, unless taken there by a Speaker or her representative. Is that clear?”

He gave her a typical shallow Kyralian bow. “Perfectly.”

She nodded. “You may go.”

He walked away, fighting the urge to smile, knowing that anyone who saw it might interpret it as proof he had been up to something—or at least did not take this little slap on the wrist seriously. Then Evar entered the room, his thin face taut with worry, and the urge to smile vanished.

As they passed, Lorkin nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring way. The young magician grimaced, but his eyes seemed to warm a little at Lorkin’s gesture. Stepping into the corridor, Lorkin felt a pang of guilt at getting his friend into trouble.

Evar knew what he was getting into, he reminded himself. It was mostly his idea, and I did try to talk him out of it. We both knew that if we were discovered, though we would break no laws, Kalia would find a way to punish us anyway.

He suspected the young magician had his own reasons for arranging something that would irk the leaders of Sanctuary. There had definitely been some sort of vengeance or spite involved. Whenever Lorkin had tried to find out what it was, Evar had muttered things about the Traitors not being as fair as they claimed to be.

Whatever the reason, Lorkin hoped the young man had gained whatever satisfaction he’d been seeking, and that he wouldn’t come to regret it.

As the carriage pulled to a gentle stop before the Sachakan king’s palace, Dannyl drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. A slave opened the door of the vehicle and stepped aside. Climbing out, Dannyl paused to smooth his robes and look up at the building.

A wide central archway lay ahead of him. From either side, white walls rippled outwards in wide curves. Above them, only narrow bands of gold were visible of the shallow domes that topped the building.

Dannyl straightened his back, fixed his eyes on the shadowed corridor within the archway, and strode inside. He passed immobile guards, one of the few classes of free servants in Sachaka. It was better to have willing, loyal men protecting you than resentful, easily cowed slaves, Dannyl mused. Guards who were obliged to throw themselves to the ground every time a free man or woman walked by weren’t going to be much good at stopping invaders.

As in the typical Sachakan home, the entry corridor was straight and took visitors to a large room designed for greeting guests. Only this corridor was wide enough for six men to walk abreast. According to Ashaki Achati, the walls were hollow and contained concealed holes, so that attackers could shoot arrows and darts at unwelcome visitors. Dannyl could see no obvious holes and hatches, but he suspected the alcoves that were spaced along the corridor, each containing a beautifully crafted pot, could be reached from within, their inner surface broken if needed. Picturing such a scenario, he wondered if the warriors within the walls would carefully put the precious vessels aside, or knock them out of the way.

The other difference between a humble Sachakan mansion and the palace was that the corridor ended at a very large room. Dannyl entered the great hall, feeling his skin prickle in the cold air. Walls, floor and the many columns that supported the ceiling were polished white stone, as was the throne.

Which was empty.

Dannyl slowed as he approached the stone chair, trying not to look dismayed or worried by the absence of the monarch who had summoned him. As always, there were a few Sachakan men in the room: a group of three to the left and a lone man to the right. All wore elaborately decorated short jackets over plain shirts and trousers, the traditional formal garb of Sachakan men. All were watching Dannyl.

Into the silence and stillness came slow, firm footsteps. All attention shifted to a doorway to the right. The four Sachakans bowed deeply as King Amakira strode past them. Dannyl dropped to one knee—the Kyralian obeisance appropriate to a king.

“Rise, Guild Ambassador Dannyl,” he said.

Dannyl stood. “Greetings, King Amakira. It is an honour to be summoned to the palace again.”

The old king’s gaze was sharp, his expression thoughtful and amused as if he were considering something.

“Come with me, Ambassador Dannyl. There is something I wish to discuss with you and it would be better explored in more comfortable surrounds.”

The king turned and strode back toward the side entrance. Dannyl followed, keeping a few steps back and to the side of the monarch, since he had not been invited to walk beside him. They moved into a corridor, crossed it and went through a door held open by a guard into a smaller room. The furniture and decorations were, once again, more elaborate versions of typical Sachakan ones. Stools were larger and highly decorated. Cupboards were so big they could only have been assembled in the room, since the doors, though large enough for two people to pass through side by side, were too small to allow them through. Cushions on the floor were encrusted with so many gemstones that Dannyl doubted they were comfortable, suspecting that sitting on them might even cause injury to clothing or skin.

“This is the audience room,” Amakira told him. He sat down on a stool and indicated another. “Sit.”

“It is magnificent, your majesty.” Dannyl complied, glancing around at the hangings and precious objects in wall alcoves and cupboards. “Such fine examples of Sachakan skill and artistry.”

“So your friend, the Elyne Ambassador, said. He was particularly taken with the glassware.”

Surprise was followed by annoyance. How had Tayend managed to gain an audience with the king within a few days of arriving? I suppose he is the first non-Guild Ambassador to take residence in Sachaka, whereas I was just another Guild Ambassador. Dannyl made himself nod and hoped his efforts at hiding his jealousy were effective. “Ambassador Tayend has a great liking for brightly coloured, elaborate things.”

“How is he? Settling in well?”

Dannyl shrugged. “It is too early to tell, and we have been too busy to exchange much more than greetings.”

The king nodded. “Of course. I found him witty and insightful. I’m sure a man of his charm and enthusiasm will be popular among the Ashaki.”

“I’m sure he will,” Dannyl replied smoothly. He found himself remembering a conversation with Achati during their return from hunting for Lorkin: “We make sure we know everything we can about the Ambassadors the Guild sends our way. And your choice of companions isn’t exactly a secret in Imardin.” The king must know Tayend was Dannyl’s former lover and companion. So did Achati. But who else here knew? Did all the powerful men of Sachaka know about them? If they did, they couldn’t be too bothered about Tayend’s preference for male lovers—since he was being as swamped with invitations to dinner as Dannyl had been when he’d first arrived.

Though Achati was acting as adviser and introducer for Tayend, as he had for Dannyl, he always arrived early to the Guild House so that he and Dannyl could spend some time talking. Even when Tayend joined in these conversations, Achati still directed most of his attention toward Dannyl.

For which I’m grateful. He may have other reasons than to make me feel better about being upstaged by Tayend, though. Perhaps he wants to demonstrate that his interest hasn’t shifted to Tayend. To remind me of his proposal.

Achati hadn’t yet asked if Tayend’s arrival had meant the resumption of his former relationship with Dannyl. I’m not sure what to say if he asks. I hadn’t considered us officially parted. Now that he’s here… it feels like we have. Tayend hasn’t behaved as if we’re together. He had taken that as a cue. Or had Tayend taken Dannyl’s manner as a cue first?

The first emotion he’d felt at Tayend’s arrival was annoyance. To cover it, Dannyl had made sure to be as polite and formal as an Ambassador should be to another. Tayend had followed suit, which then made Dannyl start to miss their old, teasing familiarity. Even if it had been laced with resentment in recent years.

“I have my people looking for suitable accommodation for the Elyne Ambassador,” the king said. “It may take some months. Are there any reasons of a political nature that require the Ambassador to stay somewhere other than the Guild House in the meantime?”

Dannyl considered, then shook his head. “No.” Though I suspect I will wish there were sometimes…

“If anything comes up, don’t hesitate to inform Ashaki Achati. He will make alternative arrangements.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, to the matter I wish to discuss, Ambassador Dannyl.” The king’s expression became serious. “Have you heard from Lord Lorkin?”

“No, your majesty.”

“Could you establish communications with him?”

“I doubt it.” Dannyl paused to consider. “Perhaps with the Traitors’ cooperation. I could see if the slaves would pass on—”

“No, I would not trust communications passed on by the Traitors. I mean communication with Lorkin directly.”

Dannyl shook his head. “Not secretly. The only way I can contact Lorkin without the Traitors’ help would be open mental communication—and all magicians would hear that.”

The king nodded. “I want you to find a way. If you need Sachakan assistance—non-Traitor assistance, that is—Achati will arrange it.”

“I appreciate your concern for Lord Lorkin,” Dannyl said. “He did convince me that he joined them of his own choosing.”

“Nevertheless, I wish this connection established,” the king said firmly. His eyes were unblinking as he looked at Dannyl. “I expect any information about the Traitors to be passed on, in return for my people’s efforts in helping you attempt to retrieve your former assistant. Cooperation between our nations can only be of mutual benefit.”

A shiver ran down Dannyl’s spine. He wants Lorkin to be his spy. Dannyl kept his expression neutral, and nodded. “It is, indeed.” Keep him happy, but don’t make any promises, he told himself. “Lorkin knew that joining the Traitors might prove to be a problem for the Guild, politically, and suggested that we officially expel him. The Guild would do so reluctantly, of course. It has not been a decision we wished to hurry, nor did we wish to do so unless it was absolutely necessary. The reason I mention this is… we may not have any means to compel him to cooperate with us.”

“The Traitors indicated that they would never allow him to leave their base,” the king said. “That sounds like imprisonment to me. He could have been coerced into saying he was happy to join them. I’m surprised that the Guild is going to leave the matter as it is.”

“Lorkin contacted his mother via a blood ring right before he met with me, to assure her that he was joining them of his own free will. She sensed no lie or distress. He then gave the blood ring to me,” Dannyl added. “So that I could return it to her.”

“I’m surprised his mother accepts this arrangement.”

“She is understandably upset—but not about to march into Sachaka to fetch him home, I assure you.”

The king smiled. “A pity he did not keep the ring.”

“I expect he did not want to risk that the Traitors would search him and find it.”

The king shifted in his seat. “I want you to endeavour to establish a safe form of communication with him, Ambassador Dannyl.”

Dannyl nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

“I know you will. I will delay you no longer.” The king rose and, as Dannyl stood up, indicated Dannyl should walk beside him as they headed toward the door. “I regret that this situation occurred at all. We should have anticipated that the Traitors might turn their attention to the Guild at some point. But I am glad your assistant is alive and in no immediate danger.”

“Thank you, your majesty. I am, too.”

They reached the door and stepped into the corridor.

“How is your new assistant, Lady Merria, settling in?”

Dannyl smiled grimly. “Well, and adapting quickly.” She’s already bored with the lack of work to do, Dannyl wanted to add. Perhaps… perhaps I can ask her to consider how we might contact Lorkin.

The king shook his head. “I’d have advised strongly against a woman as your assistant, since she will have difficulty interacting with Sachakan men, but I would once have also reasoned that a woman would be a more likely target for the Traitors, and I have been proven wrong in that. I may be wrong about Lady Merria’s success here, too.”

“Your majesty is undoubtedly right in all other matters and I will always trust his wisdom, especially on Sachakan matters. That is why I am giving her work that does not require her to deal with Sachakan men.”

The king chuckled. “You are a smart man.” He stopped at the door to the throne room, gesturing for Dannyl to continue inside alone. “Goodbye, Ambassador.”

“As always, an honour and pleasure to meet you, your majesty.” Dannyl bowed. As the king walked away he turned and re-entered the great hall.

Well, at least I now have something to give Merria to do. Though giving her an impossible task like finding a way to contact Lorkin without using the Traitors seems a bit cruel. But it’s not as if she is interested in my research, and I can’t ask her to venture out alone into an Ashaki’s personal library to examine books for me anyway.

It wasn’t as if he’d had any invitations to any libraries himself lately, either. As far as his research was concerned, he was getting nowhere at all.

Sonea shifted the basket of bed sheets to her other hip, then tugged the hood of her cloak further down over her face. Though it was raining, and there was a chill to the air that warned of harsher days ahead, she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Maybe roaming the city in disguise would grow tiresome eventually, but for now she relished the freedom it gave her.

Not far from the hospice was a cleaner’s shop that tackled most of the washing for the hospice. It had been a long time since she’d made that arrangement with the owner, and the shop had changed hands a few times since then. The hospice helpers always delivered the laundry, so there was little chance anyone at the cleaner’s shop would recognise her—unless, of course, she had treated them or their family.

She ducked in through the open door and dropped off the basket quickly. There was no need to talk to anyone, and the staff were used to hospice workers being in a hurry. Next door was a sweet shop, and Sonea slipped through the door. She bought a bag of pachi fruit drops and spoke a code word. The middle-aged woman behind the counter waved her toward a door into a narrow passage.

Within a few steps she was knocking at another door. The number of taps had been agreed to weeks ago. A voice called out a code word and she pushed through into a small room bisected by a narrow desk.

“Greetings.” A barrel-chested man rose and bowed to her as best he could in the small space. “They are waiting for you.”

Sonea nodded and moved to a side door—she had to sidestep around the desk to reach it. Unlocking it with magic, she moved into a stairwell and locked the door behind her, adding a magical barrier stretched across the frame as an extra precaution.

The man in the small room was an employee of Cery’s. As far as Sonea could tell, he was the husband of the sweet shop woman, and arranged debt collection. Descending the short staircase, Sonea entered a room not much bigger than the one above, furnished with only two chairs. Cery was sitting in one, but neither Gol nor Anyi had taken the other.

Pushing back her hood, Sonea smiled at her old friend and his bodyguards.

“Cery. Gol. Anyi. How are you all? What are you grinning at, Cery?”

Cery chuckled. “It’s always nice to see you in something other than those black robes.”

She ignored him and looked at Anyi and Gol. Both shrugged. They looked a little cold. The room was definitely chilly. She drew some magic and channelled it out as heat. Both bodyguards frowned, looked around, then turned to regard Sonea thoughtfully. Sonea smiled and sat down.

“I hope you’ve had some ideas on how to lure Skellin into revealing how far from Imardin he is,” she said, looking at Cery. “Because I haven’t.”

He shook his head. “None that don’t rely on people I can’t trust, or that will risk too many lives. I’ve lost too many allies. Even those that still deal with me are taking advantage of my problems. Gol has had several offers of employment.”

“Me, too,” Anyi said. “Just this afternoon. In fact, it gave me an idea.”

All turned to regard her. Cery’s daughter looked too young to be a bodyguard. But then, these days Sonea felt most graduating novices looked too young to be considered responsible adults.

“Go on,” Cery said.

“What if I took up one of the offers?” Anyi said, her eyes gleaming. “What if I pretended to be fed up with working for you, and decided I was never going to get anywhere working for the least powerful Thief in the city? I could take a job and spy for you.”

Cery stared at his daughter. His face did not appear to move, but Sonea saw subtle shifts in his expression: horror, fear, caution, speculation, guilt.

“They’d never trust you enough to put you anywhere you’d learn something useful,” he told Anyi.

Why doesn’t he just say “no,” Sonea wondered. But as Gol glanced at Cery his expression was full of warning. He knows Cery has to tread carefully. Perhaps if Cery blocks Anyi outright she’ll be more likely to defy him. Like Lorkin had been inclined to do to Sonea, from time to time.

Anyi smiled. “They will if I betray you,” she said. “I could tell someone where to find you, perhaps. Of course, you’ll know and can arrange an escape plan.”

Cery nodded. “I’ll consider it.” He looked at Sonea. “Anything from Lorandra?”

Thinking of Skellin’s mother, locked away in the Dome, Sonea winced. “Some of the Higher Magicians don’t like me talking to her, and I suspect Administrator Osen only agrees to it because he thinks it would be cruel if nobody ever spoke to her. Kallen told us that she doesn’t know where Skellin is so they can’t see why I bother questioning her. They don’t see that mind-reading has limits, and that she may be able to guess where her son is if prompted. I doubt I’ll ever get permission to read her mind myself.” She shook her head. “And talking to her is all I do. She never says a word.”

“Keep at it,” Cery advised. “Even if you feel ridiculous asking the same questions over and over again. It has a way of wearing a person down.”

Sonea sighed and nodded. “If it doesn’t wear me down first.”

He smiled grimly. “Nobody said interrogation was easy. You’re not the one locked up, though. She’s got to be fed up with being shut away in a stone room for so long.”

“We have little other choice. There’s been talk of building a prison somewhere on the Grounds, but that could take several months.”

“Why don’t they just block her powers?”

“Same reason they were reluctant to read her mind. It could offend her people.”

Cery’s eyebrows rose. “She broke the laws of our country and plotted, with her son, to take over the city’s underworld and enslave magicians. The Guild is worried about offending her people?”

“Yes, it’s ridiculous. But I expect she’ll be even less cooperative if we block her powers.”

“She might be more cooperative, if you suggested you might remove the block later.”

Sonea looked at Cery reproachfully. “Lie to her?”

He nodded.

“You Guild types are far too squeamish,” Anyi said. “Things would be a lot easier if you weren’t always worried about rules and lying to enemies or offending people.”

“As if the life of a Thief is any different,” Sonea pointed out.

Anyi paused. “I guess that’s true, but your rules force you to be so darn nice all the time. Nobody expects a Thief to be nice.”

“No.” Sonea smiled. “But how different do you think the Allied Lands would be if magicians weren’t forced to be nice.”

Anyi frowned, opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“The word ‘Sachaka’ just popped into my mind,” Gol muttered.

The young woman nodded. “I see what you mean. But perhaps there are times for being a little less nice to avoid something really nasty happening. Like Skellin getting control of the city.”

Anyi looked at Sonea expectantly. Sonea suppressed a sigh. She has a point. She looked at Cery.

“I’ll talk to her again,” she promised. “But I won’t deceive her unless there isn’t any alternative. Even little betrayals tend to have nasty consequences later.”

CHAPTER 4

VISITING

Lilia picked up her bag and paused to look around her room. Like most University entrants from the lower classes, she had been astounded to find she would have an entire room to herself in the Novices’ Quarters. The rooms weren’t big by snootie standards, of course. They contained a bed, a cupboard, a desk and a chair. Bedclothes and robes were washed and the room cleaned by the servants.

She knew that several years ago, with the number of magicians diminished due to the war and that of novices growing rapidly after lowies had been allowed to join the Guild, accommodation in the Novices’ Quarters had been quickly filled and novices from the Houses had been allowed to share empty rooms in the Magicians’ Quarters.

Not now. The Magicians’ Quarters were full again. Graduating lowies were given priority whenever rooms became available, since magicians from the Houses were more likely to have respectable homes in the city to live in. Some lowie magicians used their income from the king to buy or rent houses in the city, too.

The Novices’ Quarters were still too small, and the Guild had been forced to allow some of the snootie novices to live at home. They’d done so reluctantly, Lilia knew, because magicians weren’t supposed to involve themselves in politics and the Houses were always involved in politics. Removing snootie novices from their families helped to distance them from that world.

Naki was one of the snooties living at home. She said she hated it. Lilia didn’t quite believe her new friend, and it certainly didn’t put her off accepting an invitation to stay the night.

Do I have everything? She looked at her bag and considered the contents: some toiletries, nightclothes and a spare set of robes. We magicians don’t need much.

Turning to the door, she opened it and stepped out into the corridor. To her dismay, her friends from her class were walking past. Though they hardly paid much attention to her these days, now that they had paired up with the boys, they would notice anything unusual in Lilia’s behaviour. Lilia’s heart sank as they saw her and, noticing her bag, immediately looked curious.

Madie walked over, Froje following.

“Hai, Lilia! Where are you off to?”

“Naki’s place,” she replied, hoping she didn’t sound too smug.

“Ooh-er. Friends in high places.” Madie’s tone was light-hearted and teasing, to Lilia’s relief.

Froje frowned and stepped closer. “You know they say things about her, don’t you?” she asked in a low voice.

Lilia stared at the girl. Froje wasn’t one for gossip and spite normally. The girl looked more concerned than mean, however.

“They say things about everyone,” Lilia said lightly, then cursed herself. I should have played along to find out what people are saying. Not that I’d believe it, but still… it might help Naki avoid trouble.

Madie smiled. “Well, you can tell us if it’s true or not, eh?” She looked at Froje and tilted her head toward the main entrance of the Novices’ Quarters. “Have fun,” she said. The pair continued on their way.

Gripping her bag, Lilia followed slowly, letting them gain a lead on her. As she emerged from the Novices’ Quarters she saw Naki standing nearby and her mood immediately brightened. The late sun cast streaks of reflected gold in her friend’s hair and made her pale skin glow. It was colouring all the novices’ complexions too. But none suit it so well as Naki. Half the boys out here are staring at her. I can’t believe someone so beautiful and popular wants to be my friend.

Naki saw her and smiled. Lilia’s heart lifted, but at the same time her stomach fluttered uncomfortably as it had since Naki had first invited her to her home. I had better not do anything to annoy her, because I don’t have the good looks and charm that she has to ensure I’ll always have people wanting to be my friend.

“Father’s carriage is waiting for us,” Naki said as they met each other.

“Oh! Sorry. I must be late.”

“No, not really.” Naki shrugged and started toward the path through the gardens. “He often sends it early. It’s annoying, as there are only so many carriages that can fit out the front of the University and they always get jammed. What do you want to do tonight? I thought we might put our hair up.”

Lilia tried not to wince. Her mother had done fancy things to her hair when she was a child, and she’d hated the tugging and pinching, and how the clips made her scalp itch. Naki looked at Lilia and frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lilia read disbelief on the other girl’s face. “My mother used to do it to me for special occasions. There was always a hair pulling or a pin sticking into me.”

“Don’t worry. I promise there will be not one pulled hair. It’ll be fun.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Naki laughed—a throaty, deep laugh that made heads turn. They chatted more as they walked through the gardens. When they rounded the end of the University they found a mass of carriages waiting. Naki took Lilia’s arm and guided her through them. She stopped at one and the driver leapt down to open the door for them.

The jam of carriages outside delayed them for some time, but Lilia barely noticed. She was too busy enjoying talking to Naki. They started by swapping amusing stories of encounters between servants and their masters, then an anecdote about a servant Naki had grown up with made her pause and look at Lilia thoughtfully.

“You know, you remind me a lot of her. I wish you could have met each other.”

“She doesn’t work for you anymore?”

“No.” Naki’s face darkened. “Father sent her away.”

He seems to be the bad guy in all her stories, Lilia mused.

“You don’t like him, do you?” she asked cautiously, not sure how Naki would react to a personal and perhaps sensitive question.

Naki’s face changed dramatically. Suddenly her gaze was darker and her face taut. “Not much. And he hates me.” She sighed, then shook herself as if trying to throw off something bad. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to say anything, in case it made you afraid to meet him.”

“I’m not that easily scared,” Lilia assured her.

“He’ll be perfectly polite to you. After all, you’re a member of the Guild. He has to treat you as an equal. Well, as a novice anyway. He might turn all teacherly, though.”

“I can handle that.”

“And we don’t have to tell him you’re from a servant family for now,” Naki said anxiously. “He’s a bit… like that.”

“That’s fine. What matters is that you’re not like that. I appreciate it.”

Naki smiled. “And what I like about you is that you don’t hate us, like the other… you know… do.”

Lilia shrugged. “My family works for a nice, decent family. It’s hard to agree with people who say—”

“Look! We’re here.”

Naki waved eagerly at the carriage window. Lilia peered out, looking where her friend pointed. They stopped outside a huge building. She’d known that Naki was from a rich and powerful House, but it hadn’t quite sunk in until this moment. Nerves and excitement warred within her. She tried to quell them.

“Don’t worry,” Naki said, somehow picking up on Lilia’s trepidation. “Relax and leave everything to me.”

Excerpted from The Rogue by Canavan, Trudi Copyright © 2012 by Canavan, Trudi. Excerpted by permission.
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