When the gems had cooled, Takan set a small square of gold on the table. It rose and hovered before Akkarin’s face, then curled and twisted into two rings. As Akkarin dropped his blood gem into the setting of one ring, Sonea placed hers in the other. She noted how the gem protruded from the inner side of the band, allowing it to touch the skin of the wearer.
The gold claws of the settings closed over the gems. Akkarin plucked the two rings out of the air, holding them by their bands, then turned to regard Sonea solemnly.
“With these rings, we will be able to see into each others’ minds. This has some... disadvantages. Sometimes, hearing and knowing exactly how another person regards you can be an unpleasant experience. It can end friendships, turn love to resentment, and destroy self-regard.” He paused. “But it can also deepen understanding. We should not wear these any more than we must.”
Sonea took his ring and considered his words. Turn love to resentment? But he had never said he loved her. She thought of Jonna’s words. “But you haven’t talked about it, have you?”
We haven’t needed to, she told herself. Just the occasional fleeting glimpse of his thoughts has been enough.
Or was it?
She looked at the ring and found herself caught between two possibilities: either he loved her and was afraid the rings would spoil everything, or he didn’t, and was afraid the rings would reveal the truth.
But when his mind had lingered just now, she was sure she had sensed more than just desire.
She put the ring on the table. Tomorrow they would need them. Tomorrow they would discover how much it cost them. For now, she did not need to see any more than what she had glimpsed in his mind.
Cery abruptly rose. “I’d like to stay, but I’ve got other things to get around to.” He paused, then waved at the sack, which he had left on a chair. “Some more clothes. I thought they might suit better than what you’ve got.”
Akkarin nodded. “Thank you.”
“Good night.”
After Cery had gone, Takan also stood. “It is late,” he said. “If you do not need me...?”
Akkarin shook his head. “No. Get some sleep, Takan.” He looked at Sonea. “We should get some rest, too.”
He rose and moved into the bedroom. Sonea started to follow, then she paused as she saw the sack on the chair. Grabbing it, she carried it into the bedroom.
Akkarin glanced at the sack as she dropped it on the bed. “What disguise has Cery come up with, then?”
Sonea opened the sack and turned it upside down. A cascade of black cloth spilled out. She glanced at Akkarin, then spread the garments over the bed.
They were robes. Magicians’ robes.
Akkarin stared at them, his expression grim.
“We can’t wear these,” he said quietly. “We are not Guild magicians. It is a crime.”
“Then the Guild is going to be too busy arresting people to fight the Ichani tomorrow,” she said. “There will be hundreds of non-magicians on the streets wearing robes, trying to lure the Sachakans into separating.”
“This is... different. We were cast out. And these are black. There will be no mistaking us for ordinary magicians.”
Sonea looked at the sack. It was still half full. Reaching inside, she pulled out two pairs of trousers and two shirts. Both were a generous fit.
“Strange. Why would he give us two sets of clothes?”
“An alternative.”
“Or we’re supposed to wear the robes underneath these.”
Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “And remove the outer clothing at a specific time?”
“Perhaps. You have to admit, it would be intimidating. Two black magicians...”
She drew in a breath and looked down at the bed, then felt a strange chill as she realized she was looking at two sets of full-length robes—the robes of a graduated magician.
“I can’t wear these!” she protested.
Akkarin chuckled. “Now that you agree with me, I find my mind is changing. I think, perhaps, your friend is being as subtle and clever as I’ve come to expect.” He bent to run a hand over the cloth. “We would not show these unless our identities had been discovered. But once they have, it may appear to the Sachakans that the Guild has accepted us. The implications of that will give Kariko reason to pause.”
“And the Guild?”
He frowned. “If they truly want us to return, they will have to accept everything we are,” he murmured. “After all, we cannot unlearn what we have learned.”
She looked down. “So they are black robes for black magicians.”
“Yes.”
She frowned. The thought of parading about in black robes in front of Rothen... she felt a sharp pang of grief. But Rothen is dead.
She sighed. “I’d like it better if they called black magic higher magic, but if the Guild were ever to accept us I guess they couldn’t call us Higher Magicians. That term is already in use.”
Akkarin shook his head. “No, and black magicians should be discouraged from thinking that they are higher than others.”
Sonea looked at him closely. “Do you think they’ll accept us?”
Akkarin’s eyebrows knitted together. “Even if it survives, the Guild will never be the same.” He gathered up the robes and draped them over the back of a chair. “For now, we should sleep. We might not get another chance for some time.”
As he began to strip off his clothes, Sonea sat on the edge of the bed and considered his words. The Guild had already changed. With so many dead... she felt her throat tighten again as she thought of Rothen.
“I’ve never seen anyone sleep well sitting up,” Akkarin said.
Sonea turned to find him sliding under the covers. She felt a strange mix of excitement and shyness. Waking to find herself in a bed with him that morning had changed something. It was certainly more comfortable than rock, she mused, but being here, together, felt so much more... deliberate.
She put the sack and remaining clothes aside, then undressed and slipped into the bed. Akkarin’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was the deep steady rhythm of sleep. She smiled and reached over to the lamp to extinguish it.
Despite the darkness and the long day, she remained wakeful. She created a tiny, weak globe light and rolled over to watch Akkarin, content to just examine all the details and contours of his face.
Then his eyes fluttered open and looked into hers. A tiny frown creased his forehead.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he murmured.
“I can’t sleep,” she told him.
His lips curled up into a smile.
“When have I heard that before?”
As Cery entered his rooms he drew in a deep breath. A warm, spicy scent hung in the air. He smiled and followed it to the bathing room, where he found Savara relaxing in a tub of water.
“In the bath again?” he asked.
She smiled slyly. “Care to join me?”
“I think I’ll stay a safe distance away, for now.”
Her smile widened. “Then tell me what I’ve missed.”
“I’ll just get a chair.”
He returned to the guestroom, stopped in the center and took several deep breaths.
Once again, he had felt a strong desire to tell her everything. He had made a deal with her: keep her informed in exchange for suggestions on killing Ichani. Part of him was sure he could trust her, but another whispered a warning.
How much did he know about her, really? She was Sachakan. She had sought out and identified her countrymen—and women—for him, knowing that they would be killed. That did not mean she had Kyralia’s best interests in mind, however. She had told him she worked for another “faction” of Sachakan society, and it was clear that her loyalties lay with her people.
He had made a deal, and so far she had kept her side of it...