Sonea stared at him in horror. She was to be his hostage!
“You will not speak to each other except to avoid raising suspicion. You will behave as if nothing more unusual than a change of guardianship has occurred. Do you understand?”
Rothen made a choking noise. Sonea turned to him, alarmed. He glanced at her and she saw guilt in his eyes.
“Don’t make me consider an alternative,” Akkarin warned.
Rothen’s voice was strained as he answered. “I understand. We will do as you ask.”
“Good.”
Akkarin took a step closer, and Sonea looked up to find him regarding her intently. “There is a room in my residence for the High Lord’s novice. You will come with me now, and send a servant for your belongings later.”
Sonea looked at Rothen, her throat tight. He searched her eyes.
—I’m sorry.
“Now, Sonea.” Akkarin gestured at the door. It swung open.
She felt Rothen’s hands loosen. He gave her the tiniest push. Glancing at Akkarin, she realized she did not want Rothen to see her dragged away. He would find a way to help her. He would do everything he could. For now, they had no choice but to obey.
Taking a deep breath, she moved away from Rothen and stepped out into the corridor. Akkarin gave Rothen one last measuring look, then started toward the door. As the High Lord turned away, Rothen’s eyes narrowed with hatred.
Then the door closed and he was cut off from her sight.
“Come along,” Akkarin said. “The novice’s room in my residence hasn’t seen an occupant in many years, but it has always been kept ready for one. You’ll find it much more comfortable than those in the Novices’ Quarters.”
PART TWO
20
Sonea’s Good Fortune
As the door opened, the University Director looked up from his desk to see who had entered his office. For the first time Sonea could remember, Jerrik’s sour expression vanished. He leapt to his feet.
“What can I do for you, High Lord?”
“I wish to discuss Sonea’s training. I have read your report, and her lack of skills in certain subjects concerns me.”
Jerrik looked surprised. “Sonea’s progress has been more than satisfactory.”
“Her marks in Warrior Skills are average at best.”
“Ah.” Jerrik glanced at Sonea. “It is not unusual for a novice to show less aptitude for one of the disciplines at this stage. While she is not excelling in Warrior Skills, her results have been acceptable.”
“Nevertheless, I want this weakness addressed. I believe Lord Yikmo would be a suitable tutor.”
“Lord Yikmo?” Jerrik’s generous eyebrows rose, then drew together in a frown. “He does not teach in the evenings, but if Sonea attends evening classes in other subjects that would allow time during the day.”
“I believe she missed her Warrior Skills yesterday.”
“Yes,” Jerrik replied. “Usually we would arrange for a testing after the break, but I think an assessment by Lord Yikmo would do instead.” He glanced at his desk. “I can put together Sonea’s schedule for next year now, if you wish. It will not take long.”
“Yes. I’ll leave Sonea with you to collect it. Thank you, Director.”
The presence at her side moved away. As the door closed, Sonea drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He was gone. At last.
With a soft thump, Jerrik dropped back into his seat. He waved at a wooden chair near the end of his desk.
“Sit down, Sonea.”
She obeyed. Taking another deep breath, she felt tension ease out of her muscles.
Everything that had happened after leaving Rothen seemed like a bad dream. She had followed Akkarin to his residence, where a servant had shown her to a room on the second floor. Not long after, a chest had arrived with her belongings from the Novices’ Quarters. Another servant had brought a plate of food, but Sonea had been too anxious to feel hungry. Instead, she sat by one of the small windows, barely noticing the magicians and novices walking about the grounds, and searched for a way out of her situation.
First, she had considered escaping to the slums. The Thieves would be eager to protect her now that she had Control of her magic. They had managed to hide Senfel, the rogue magician Faren had failed to persuade to teach her. They could hide her, too.
If she disappeared, however, Akkarin would do something to Rothen. But if Rothen had sufficient warning, he could tell the rest of the Guild that Akkarin was practicing black magic, before the High Lord realized she’d gone. She would have to warn Lorlen, too, since he would also be in danger if she left. Yes, if she warned both of them she was leaving, and timed it right, Akkarin might not have a chance to prevent Lorlen and Rothen speaking out.
And what then? The Guild would confront Akkarin. Lorlen had believed they couldn’t win such a battle, and Lorlen knew Akkarin better than any other magician. So, if she escaped, she could bring about a confrontation that would devastate the Guild, and possibly the whole of Kyralia.
It had occurred to her, then, that the fate of the Guild rested in her hands. Her, a mere slum girl. This sudden power over the Guild’s fate gave her no pleasure, however. Instead, she felt ill with frustration and fear.
Long after the gardens had disappeared into the night’s shadows, the servant had returned with a drink. Recognizing the aroma of a mild, sleep-inducing medicine, Sonea had drunk it all, curled up on the strange, too-soft bed and welcomed the numbness that slowly crept over her.
In the morning, fussing servants had brought new robes and more food. She managed a few bites, but when Akkarin arrived she regretted it. Feeling ill with fear, she had followed him to the University. To Jerrik’s office. Had she passed novices on the way? Had they fallen silent when he appeared, as they always did? She couldn’t remember.
Jerrik’s movements were hurried, his brows lowered in concentration. The few times she had seen the High Lord among other magicians, she had noted that he was treated with respect and even awe. Was this reverence for the position of High Lord? Or was it something else? Did they fear him instinctively, without knowing the reason?
Watching Jerrik, she shook her head. Schedules and tests seemed so trivial now. If Jerrik knew what had really happened, he wouldn’t be at all interested in all this shuffling of paper and classes. He wouldn’t respect Akkarin at all.
But he didn’t know, and she couldn’t tell him.
Jerrik rose abruptly. Turning to a cupboard, he took out three boxes: one green, one red and the other purple. He moved to the tall, narrow doors that covered one wall of the room and waved a palm over the handle of the first. There was a click, and the door opened to reveal a stack of shelves.
Running his finger down the first of these, he stopped and pulled out a neat folder. He placed it on the table and Sonea saw her name written neatly on the cover. Curiosity stirred in her as he opened the folder and read through several sheets of paper. What is in there? she wondered. Comments from the teachers, probably. And a report about the pen I was supposed to have stolen.
Jerrik opened the three boxes. Inside were more sheets of paper with teachers’ names and tables drawn on them. He selected some of these, then drew a clean sheet from his desk and began drawing up another table. For several minutes all that could be heard in the room were Jerrik’s breathing and the scrape of his pen.
“This is quite a turn of good fortune for you, Sonea,” he said without looking up.
Sonea smothered a sudden, bitter urge to laugh.
“Yes, Director,” she managed.
He looked up at her and frowned, then turned his attention back to his writing. Finishing the table, he drew out another sheet of paper and started making a copy.
“You’re not going to have much time to yourself next year,” he told her. “Lord Yikmo prefers to teach during the day, so you will have to take some private classes in Alchemy instead. You’ll have Freedays for study. If you work efficiently, you may be able to keep
Freeday mornings free for personal pursuits.” He paused and considered his work with a sad shake of his head. “If you satisfy Lord Yikmo with your progress you may also regain a few afternoons to yourself.”
Sonea did not answer. What use did she have for free time now? Akkarin had forbidden her to speak to Rothen and she had no friends among the novices. She was dreading the coming few weeks. With no classes to attend until the next year, what was she to do with herself? Stay in her new room in Akkarin’s residence? She shuddered. No, she would stay away from there as much as possible.
If he let her. What if he wanted to keep her close by? What if he wants to use me in his evil work? She began to push the thought away, then stopped herself. No matter how appalling, she had to consider the possibility. He could make her do anything by threatening to harm Rothen. Her stomach knotted with dread. Anything…
Her hands were hurting. Looking down, she unclenched her fists. Four sets of crescent-shaped indents marked each palm. Rubbing her hands on her robe, she made a mental note to trim her nails when she returned to her room.
Jerrik remained totally absorbed in his papers. She watched as his pen worked down the page. Reaching the end, he gave a grunt of satisfaction and handed the page to her.
“As the High Lord’s favorite you will be given preferential treatment, but you’ll also be expected to prove that his choice was well made. Don’t hesitate to take advantage of your new position—you’ll need to if you are to meet his expectations.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Director.”
“You may go.”
Swallowing hard, she rose, bowed and moved to the door.
“Sonea.”
Looking over her shoulder, she found a rare smile lifting the corners of Jerrik’s mouth. “I know you will miss having Rothen as your guardian,” he said. “Akkarin may not be as companionable, but in choosing you he has done much to improve your situation.” The smile vanished. “You may go.”
She forced herself to nod in reply. As she pulled the door closed, she saw that Jerrik was watching her, his expression thoughtful. Turning away, she slipped the schedule into her box and started along the wide, familiar corridor.
A few novices lingered in doorways. They watched her as she passed. Disturbed by their stares, she quickened her pace. How many people know? she wondered. Probably everyone. They’ve had an entire day to find out. The news that the High Lord had finally chosen a favorite would have spread through the Guild faster than the winter cough. A teacher stepped out of a corridor. He looked at her doubtfully, then his eyes dropped to her sleeve. His eyebrows rose and he shook his head slightly as if in disbelief.
She glanced down at the small square of gold on the sleeve of her robe. Incals were family symbols worn by members of the Houses. Magicians did not wear them because once they joined the Guild they were supposed to leave family and political ties behind them. The servant who had brought the robes had explained that the High Lord wore the Guild symbol as an incal because his position was a lifetime commitment. The Guild became his family and House.
And she was his novice. Folding her sleeve against her body to hide the incal, she approached the door of her classroom. She paused just outside to gather her courage.
“Good morning, Sonea.”
Turning, she saw Lord Elben striding down the corridor toward her. He smiled, his mouth widening but his eyes remaining cold.
“Congratulations on your new guardian,” he offered as he reached her side.
Sonea bowed. “Thank you, Lord Elben.”
He strode into the classroom. Steeling herself, Sonea followed.
“Take your seats, please,” Elben boomed. “We have much to do today.”
“Ah!” A familiar voice rose above the clatter and drag of chairs. “The High Lord’s favorite has deigned to honor our humble class with her presence.”
The room fell silent. All faces turned toward Sonea. Seeing the disbelief on their faces, she felt a wry amusement. How ironic that her own classmates should be the last to find out. All but one, she amended. Regin was lounging on a table, grinning with satisfaction at the effect his news had on the class.
“Take your seat, please, Regin,” Elben growled.
Regin slid off the table and settled into his chair. Moving to her place, Sonea lifted her box onto her desk. As she did her sleeve fell free, and she heard a small gasp nearby. Glancing up, she saw that Narron was staring at the incal.
“Sonea,” Elben said. “I have saved a place for you at the front.”
She looked up and realized that there was, indeed, a seat free in the front row of the class. Poril’s seat. She turned and saw that her old friend was sitting at the back of the room. He flushed and evaded her eyes.
“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, turning back. “That was generous of you, but I would prefer to stay here.”
The magician’s eyes narrowed. He looked as if he might argue, but he glanced at the class and he seemed to think better of it.
“Very well.” He lowered himself into his seat and placed a hand on a stack of paper on the desk. “Today you will be tested on your knowledge of Alchemy,” he told the class. “I will give you a list of questions to answer now, and later I will be giving you exercises to complete. After the midbreak you will be given practical tests.”
As he passed sheets of paper out to the class, Sonea felt an old, almost forgotten anxiety return. The tests. She let her eyes skim across the questions, and sighed with relief. Despite the disdain of the teachers, despite the long hours of study, despite all Regin’s attempts to hamper her, she had managed to absorb the lessons. Feeling better, she took a pen out of her box and began to write.
Hours later, when the gong tolled to mark the end of the test, the class let out a unified sigh of relief.
“That will be all,” Elben finished. “You may go.”
As one the novices rose and bowed to the teacher. Sonea caught several glances in her direction as they filed out of the room. Remembering why, she felt her stomach turn over with dread.
“Wait, Sonea,” Elben said as she passed his desk. “I would like to speak with you.”
He waited until the room was empty before speaking. “After midbreak,” he told her, “I would like you to take the place I have arranged for you.”
Sonea swallowed. Was this what Jerrik had meant when he said the teachers would give her preferential treatment? Should she take advantage of it, as he had suggested?
But what was to be gained by moving to the front of the classroom? Only the knowledge that Poril had lost even more status in the class because of her. She shook her head.
“I prefer the seat by the window.”
Elben frowned. “It would be more appropriate if you sat at the front of the class now.”
Appropriate? She felt a flare of anger. This was not about helping her learn, this was about being seen to favor the High Lord’s novice. He probably expected her to report every little favor to Akkarin. She smothered a bitter laugh. She would be saying as little to her new guardian as possible.
If she had learned anything from the last six months, it was to avoid upsetting the petty social order of the classroom. Taking Poril’s place would mean more than just a change of seats. The novices already disliked her; she didn’t need to give them more reason to. She looked at Elben, standing with his arms crossed, and felt her anger harden into defiance.
“I’ll stay in my usual place,” she told him.
Elben’s eyes narrowed, but he seemed to see something in her gaze that made him pause. He pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“It is easier to see and hear at the front,” he pointed out.
“I’m not deaf, Lord Elben, or short-sighted.”
His jaw clenched. “Sonea,” he moved closer and spoke quietly, “if you will not take the front seat it might be seen as…neglectful of me as your teacher…”
“Perhaps I should tell Akkarin that you would not let me sit where I wished.”
&
nbsp; His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t bother him over something so small…”
She smiled. “I doubt he would be interested in my seating arrangements at all.”
He regarded her silently, then nodded. “Very well. You may sit where you wish. Go.”
As she stepped out into the corridor she realized that her heart was racing. What had she done? Novices never argued with their teachers.
Then she realized that the corridor was unusually quiet. Looking up, she saw that novices of all years were silently watching her. All satisfaction over her conversation with Elben evaporated. Swallowing hard, she started toward the stairs.
“That’s her,” whispered a voice to her right.
“Yesterday,” someone muttered. “…no warning at all.”
“…High Lord…”
“Why her?” someone sneered, a comment clearly meant for her to hear. “She’s just a slum girl.”
“…not right.”
“…should have been…”
“…insult to the Houses.”
She snorted softly. If they knew the real reason he chose me, she thought, they would not be so—
“Make way for the High Lord’s favorite!”
Her stomach turned as she recognized the voice. Regin stepped out to block her path.
“Great one!” he cried loudly. “Might I ask a tiny, infinitesimally small favor of one so admired and influential?”
Sonea regarded him warily. “What do you want, Regin?”
“Would you…if it would not be a great offense to your high position, that is,” he smiled cloyingly, “would you mend my shoes tonight? You see, I know you are skilled in such great and worthy tasks and, well, if I am to have my shoes mended it should be done by the best shoe-mender in the sl-uh-Guild, wouldn’t you say?”
Sonea shook her head. “Is that all you could come up with, Regin?” She stepped around him and continued down the corridor. Footsteps pursued her.
“Oh, but Sonea—I mean—Oh, Great One. I would be so hon—”
His voice stopped abruptly. Frowning, she resisted the temptation to glance behind.