“She is the High Lord’s novice,” someone muttered. “Are you stupid? Leave her alone.”
Recognizing Kano’s voice, Sonea caught her breath in surprise. Was this what Jerrik had meant when he had said Akkarin had improved her situation? Reaching the stairs, she descended into the Entrance Hall, stepped out of the doors and started toward the Magicians’ Quarters.
Then she stopped.
Where was she going? Rothen’s rooms? Standing still, she tried to gather her thoughts.
Hunger decided her. She would go to the Foodhall. And after the afternoon’s tests? The library. If she stayed there until it closed, she could avoid returning to the High Lord’s Residence until late. With luck Akkarin would have retired for the night, and she could reach her room without encountering him. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for the inevitable stares and whispers, and walked back into the University.
Lorlen’s rooms were on the ground floor of the Magicians’ Quarters. He spent little time in them, rising early and returning long after the rest of the Guild had retired. From day to day he noticed little more in the rooms than the bed and his clothing cupboard.
But in the last day he had rediscovered much about his private space. There were ornaments and objects on the bookshelves that he had forgotten he owned. These mementos of the past, of family and achievements, brought only guilt and pain. They reminded him of people he loved and respected. People he had failed.
Closing his eyes, Lorlen sighed. Osen would not be concerned yet. Only a day and a half had passed. Not long enough for his assistant to panic at the growing list of unattended work. And Osen had been trying for years to persuade Lorlen to take a break from his duties.
If only it was a break. Lorlen rubbed his eyes and wandered into his bedroom. Perhaps he was tired enough to sleep now. He hadn’t been able to for two nights, not since…
As he lay down the memories returned. He groaned and tried to push them away, but he was too tired to fight them, and he knew they would return again as soon as he relaxed anyway.
How did it start? I said something about the Vindo Ambassador expecting to stay in the residence…
“He was surprised to hear that the High Lord does not entertain guests anymore, since his father stayed here with your predecessor,” Lorlen remembered explaining.
Akkarin had smiled at that. He had been standing by the little table he served drinks at, gazing out the window at the night-shrouded grounds.
“The best change I ever made.”
“You do value your privacy,” Lorlen had said absently.
Akkarin then placed a finger on a wine bottle, as if considering whether he would have another glass. His face had been turned away, something Lorlen had been thankful for when Akkarin spoke next.
“I doubt that the ambassador would be comfortable with my…habits.”
There! Another one of those strange comments. Like he was testing me. I thought I was safe, since his back was turned and he couldn’t see my reaction…
“Habits?” Lorlen had affected disbelief. “I doubt he’d care if you had a few late nights, or drank too much. You’re just afraid he’ll drink all your favorite wine.”
“That, too.” Akkarin had then opened the bottle. “But we couldn’t have anyone discovering all my little secrets, could we?”
An image of Akkarin covered in bloodied beggar’s rags had flickered through Lorlen’s mind at that point in the conversation. He had shuddered and pushed it aside, thankful again that Akkarin’s back was turned.
Was this what Akkarin had sensed? Was he listening to my thoughts at that moment?
“No,” Lorlen had replied and, wanting to change the subject, asked about the news of the court.
At that point, Akkarin lifted an object from the table. Catching a glitter of gems, Lorlen looked closer. It was a knife. The knife Sonea had seen Akkarin using for the black magic ritual. Surprised and horrified, Lorlen drew in a breath and choked on the wine.
“You’re supposed to drink wine, my friend,” Akkarin said, smiling. “Not breathe it.”
Lorlen looked away, hiding behind his hands as he coughed. He tried to regain his composure, yet seeing Akkarin holding the knife had been like reliving Sonea’s memory. He wondered why Akkarin had brought it into the guestroom.
Then his blood turned to ice, as the thought came that Akkarin might be intending to use it.
“What news do I have?” Akkarin mused. “Let me think.”
Lorlen forced himself to regard his friend calmly. As Akkarin turned back to the bottle, Lorlen caught a corresponding movement on the table. A polished silver tray leaning against another bottle had reflected Akkarin’s eyes. Eyes that were watching him.
So he had been watching me all along. Perhaps he hadn’t tried to read my surface thoughts at that point of the conversation. Only my reaction to his comments, and the knife, would have convinced him that I knew something…
“I’ve heard reports of Dannyl from friends in Elyne and Lonmar,” Akkarin had said next, abruptly moving away from the table. “They speak well of him.”
“That is good to hear.”
Akkarin had then paused in the center of the room. “I’ve been following his progress with interest. He is an efficient researcher.”
So he knew Dannyl was researching something. Did he know what Dannyl was researching? Lorlen had forced himself to smile. “I wonder what has caught his attention.”
Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “Hasn’t he been keeping you informed?”
“Me?”
“Yes. You did, after all, ask him to investigate my past.”
Lorlen considered his next words carefully. Akkarin might know that Dannyl was retracing his travels, but how could he know why when Dannyl didn’t? “Is that what your friends say?”
“Spies would be a more accurate term.”
Akkarin’s hand had moved, and with a flash of fear Lorlen saw that it still held the knife. Realizing that Akkarin could not have missed his reaction, Lorlen stared at it openly.
“What is that?”
“Something I picked up during my travels,” Akkarin replied, holding it up. “Something you recognize, I think.”
Lorlen then felt a flash of triumph. Akkarin had all but admitted he had learned black magic during his travels. Dannyl’s research might prove useful yet…
“It is strangely familiar,” Lorlen said. “Perhaps I have seen something like it before in a book, or a collection of antiques—and it is such a vicious-looking thing it would be sure to stick in my memory.”
“Do you know what it is used for?”
A memory of Akkarin cutting his servant’s arm flashed into Lorlen’s mind. “It’s a knife, so something unpleasant, most likely.”
Akkarin, to Lorlen’s relief, set the knife down on a side table, but the relief had been short lived.
“You have been strangely cautious of me these last few months,” Akkarin said. “You avoid mental communication, as if you are afraid I will detect something behind your thoughts. When my contacts told me of Dannyl’s research, I was intrigued. Why did you ask him to investigate my past? Don’t deny it, Lorlen. I have proof.”
Lorlen was dismayed that Akkarin had discovered Dannyl’s orders. But he had prepared for this question. He pretended to be embarrassed.
“I was curious, and after our conversation about your diary I thought I might restore some of what you lost. You’re not free to gather the information again, so…It wouldn’t be as satisfying as going yourself, of course, but I hoped it would be a pleasant surprise.”
“I see.” Akkarin’s voice had hardened. “I wish I could believe you, but I don’t. You see, tonight I have done something to you that I have never done before, and never wanted to. While we spoke I read your surface thoughts. They have revealed much, much more. I know you are lying. I know you have seen things you should never have seen, and I must know how this came about.
“Tell me, how long have you known I practice bl
ack magic?”
Just a few words, and everything changed. Was there any remorse or guilt in his voice? No. Just anger…
Appalled, and not a little frightened, Lorlen had grasped at a last, desperate evasion. He had stared at his friend in horror.
“You practice what?”
Akkarin’s expression darkened. “Don’t be a fool, Lorlen,” he had snapped. “I have seen it in your thoughts. You know you cannot lie to me.”
Realizing that he could not deny it, Lorlen glanced at the knife on the table. He wondered what would happen now. If he was about to die. How Akkarin would explain it. If Rothen and Sonea would suspect the truth and reveal Akkarin’s crime…
Too late, he realized that Akkarin might have heard his thoughts. He looked up, but Akkarin’s expression had showed no alarm or suspicion, only expectation, and that gave him a little hope.
“How long?” Akkarin had pressed.
“Over a year,” he confessed.
“How?”
“I came here one night. The door was open and I saw a light through the stairs, so I started to come down. When I saw what you were doing…it was a shock. I didn’t know what to think.”
“What exactly did you see?”
With difficulty that he did not need to fake, Lorlen had described what Sonea had seen. As he spoke, he had looked for a hint of shame in the High Lord’s expression, but had seen only a flicker of annoyance.
“Does anyone else know about this?”
“No,” Lorlen answered quickly, hoping to avoid betraying Sonea and Rothen, but Akkarin’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re lying to me, my friend.”
“I’m not.”
Akkarin had then sighed. Lorlen remembered that sigh vividly.
“That is unfortunate.”
Lorlen had then risen to face his old friend, determined to convince Akkarin that his secret was safe. “Akkarin, you must believe me. I have told no one about this. It would cause too much strife in the Guild. I…I don’t know why you are playing with this…this forbidden magic. I can only trust that you have good reason. Do you think you would be standing here if I didn’t?”
“So you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then show me the truth. I must know who you are protecting, Lorlen, and just how much you have learned.”
Akkarin had then reached toward Lorlen’s head. With a shock, Lorlen realized Akkarin intended to read his mind. He grabbed Akkarin’s hands and tossed them away, appalled that his friend might demand such a thing. “You have no right to—”
And then the last of Lorlen’s trust in his friend had died as Akkarin’s fingers flexed in a familiar gesture. A force pushed Lorlen backward. He fell into the chair and felt magic pressing him down.
“Don’t do this, Akkarin!”
But Akkarin’s mouth was set in a thin line. “Sorry, my old friend, but I must know.”
Then Akkarin’s fingers had touched Lorlen’s temples.
It should not have been possible! It was as if he wasn’t there, but he was. How does he do this mind-reading?
Shivering at the memory, Lorlen opened his eyes and stared at the walls of his bedroom. As he clenched his fists he felt a warm band of metal press into the skin around one finger. Lifting his hand, he felt his stomach twist as a red gem glinted in the dim light.
Everything had been revealed: what Sonea had witnessed, the truth-read, Rothen’s involvement, and all that Dannyl had learned or discovered. No hint of Akkarin’s thoughts or emotions had filtered through to him. Only afterward had Lorlen seen hints of the High Lord’s state of mind as Akkarin paced his guestroom, brooding in silence for an hour, perhaps longer. What he had discovered obviously concerned him greatly, but his demeanor had not lost any of its confidence.
Finally, the restraining magic holding Lorlen in the chair had withdrawn. Akkarin picked up the knife from the table. Given more time to think, Lorlen would have feared for his life, but instead he stared in disbelief as Akkarin ran the blade over his own palm.
With blood pooling in one hand, Akkarin took Lorlen’s empty glass and smashed it against the table. He picked up one of the fragments and tossed it in the air.
It had halted in front of Akkarin’s eyes, and begun spinning, the sharp edges glowing red as it melted. When it had cooled again, it formed a faceted sphere. Akkarin lifted his bleeding hand and curled his fingers around the sphere. When he opened his hand again, the cut had disappeared and a bright red gem lay on his palm.
Next, Akkarin had willed a silver spoon to his hand from the drinks cabinet. It had twisted about, melting and folding until it had formed a thick circle. Akkarin took the gem between two fingers and placed it in the thickest part of the band, which closed about it like a flower.
Then he had held the ring out to Lorlen.
“Put it on.”
Lorlen had considered refusing, but he knew that Akkarin was willing to use force to get his way, and he could imagine a few unpleasant ways that a ring might be permanently attached. He wanted the option of removing it one day, so he took the ring and reluctantly slipped it onto his middle finger.
“I will be able to see and hear everything around you,” Akkarin had told him. “And we will be able to communicate without anyone hearing.”
Was Akkarin watching now? Does he observe me pacing in my rooms? Does he feel any guilt for what he’s done?
While Lorlen felt hurt and betrayed by Akkarin’s actions, it was Sonea’s fate that tormented him most. Had Akkarin been watching when, looking out of his window a few minutes ago, Lorlen had seen Sonea leave the University? She had stopped abruptly, the pain in her eyes so clear as she remembered that she could no longer return to Rothen’s rooms.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted Akkarin to have seen her. He wasn’t sure if his “friend” could feel remorse or guilt. For all Lorlen knew, Akkarin might have enjoyed seeing her misery.
But, despite everything, he still wanted to believe it wasn’t so.
21
The Tombs of White Tears
As Sonea walked away from the University she imagined she could feel the enormous building shrinking behind her. Her back prickled with lingering warmth and her face stung with cold. Ahead a dark shape loomed larger as she approached.
The High Lord’s Residence. Akkarin’s house.
She had stretched her evening meal out as long as possible then, unable to bring herself to leave the University, she had gone to the Novices’ Library. Now, with the library closed and the rest of the University empty and silent, she had no alternative but to return to her new room.
Her heart was beating too fast by the time she reached the door. She stopped, swallowed hard and reached out to the door handle. As she touched it, the door swung inward.
The room inside was lit by a single globe light. A figure sat in one of the luxurious chairs, holding a book in long, pale fingers. He looked up and Sonea felt her stomach clench.
“Come in, Sonea.”
She forced her legs to move. Once inside, the door swung shut behind her, closing with a soft, but decisive click.
“Did you do well in the tests today?”
She opened her mouth to answer but, not trusting her voice, decided to nod instead.
“That is good. Have you eaten?”
She nodded again.
“Then you should get some rest in preparation for tomorrow. Go.”
Relieved, she bowed and hurried through the door to her left. She created a globe of light and sent it before her as she climbed the curving stairs.
In the light of magic, the staircase reminded her of the one that led down to the underground room where she had seen him practicing his black magic. Those stairs lay behind the door on the other side of the guestroom, she guessed. On this side, the stairs led only upward.
At the top she reached a long corridor. Behind the first door was her bedroom. She had seen nothing else of the High Lord’s Residence.
As she turned the door
handle, she heard footsteps coming from the other end of the corridor. Looking up, she saw a wall illuminated by a slowly brightening light, and the top of the other staircase.
Willing her own light to vanish, she quickly opened the door of her room and slipped inside. She left the door open a crack, but as she peered through she cursed under her breath. Only the corridor wall opposite was visible. To watch him, she would have to open the door farther, and he was sure to notice.
Light streaked down the corridor wall. The footsteps stopped and a faint click reached her ears. The light moved again, then all disappeared in darkness as the sound of a door closing echoed down the corridor.
So that’s his bedroom, Sonea mused. Just twenty or so strides down the corridor. Knowing he was so close was not comforting, but it wouldn’t have been much better had he been on the other side of the residence. Just knowing she was in the same building was disturbing enough.
Closing her own door quietly, Sonea turned around and surveyed her room. Moonlight spilled through the two small windows, throwing pale rectangles on the floor. The room seemed almost welcoming in the gentle light.
It was very different from her plain room in the Novices’ Quarters. The furniture here was made of a dark red wood, polished to a shine. A large cabinet stood against one wall. A table and chair for study stood beside it. Between the two windows was a bed. Something lay on it.
Sonea walked over to the bed and willed a globe light into existence. A bundle of simple cloth, tied with string, lay on the covers. As she untied the knot, it fell open and green material spilled out.
Her Acceptance Ceremony dress.
As she lifted it, heavier objects fell out of the folds: her silver comb and mirror, and two books of poetry that Rothen had given her. She felt tears spring to her eyes.
No. I am not going to start blubbering like some lost child, she told herself. Blinking the moisture away she put the objects on the study table, then carried the dress to the clothes cupboard.
A faint woody odor wafted out as she slipped the dress onto a hanger. The smell reminded her of the Guildhall. A memory of Rothen speaking the ceremonial words of a guardian flashed into her mind. She remembered her elation as she stood beside him, her new robes in her hands. But he’s not my guardian anymore. Sighing, she closed the cupboard door.