An awful feeling of betrayal had come over her as the dwells shouted and threw missiles at her and Akkarin, but it had quickly faded. The dwells probably saw two bad magicians from a Guild they despised anyway, and had taken advantage of the opportunity to throw stones and insults without reprisal.
Turning in her saddle, Sonea looked back down the road. The city was far beyond the horizon now. The Warriors behind her watched her closely.
Lord Osen was among them. His frown deepened as their eyes met. He had spoken to her several times during the journey, mostly to help her with the horses she had ridden.
A few times he had hinted that the Guild might allow her to return to Imardin if she changed her mind. She had decided not to respond whenever he made any such suggestion.
But fear, discomfort and Akkarin’s silence had worked against her resolve. Turning away from Osen, she considered Akkarin again. Her attempts to talk to him had been met with stony silence. He seemed determined to ignore her.
Yet, now and then, she had seen him watching her. If she gave no indication that she had noticed him, his gaze lingered for a long time, but if she looked in his direction his attention turned to something else.
This was both infuriating and intriguing. It was not his looking that bothered her; it was that he did not want her to see him looking. Sonea smiled wryly. Was she actually beginning to miss the penetrating, hard-to-meet stares that she had avoided for so long?
She sobered. No doubt he wanted her to feel unwelcome, so that she would turn tail and scamper back to the Guild. Or was it something simpler? Did he truly not want her around? She had wondered many times if he blamed her for the discovery of their secret. Would Balkan have forced his way into Akkarin’s underground room if he hadn’t found books on black magic in her bedroom? Akkarin had told her to keep them hidden. She had, but obviously not well enough.
Perhaps he simply thought he would be better off without her.
Then he is wrong, she told herself. Without a companion from whom he could draw strength, he would only grow weaker each time he used his powers. With her there, he might be able to defend himself against an Ichani attack. It doesn’t matter whether he likes having me around.
Ah, but it would be so much better if he did.
Would he be friendlier once they had reached Sachaka, and there was no longer any point in trying to persuade her to leave him? Would he accept her choice, or would he continue to be angry with her for disobeying him? She frowned. Didn’t he understand that she had given up everything to save him?
She shook her head. It didn’t matter. She didn’t want his gratitude. He could be as silent and sulky as he liked. She only wanted to be sure he survived, and not just because this meant he would be able to return and help save the Guild from the Ichani. If she truly hadn’t cared about him, she would have stayed in Imardin, even if it meant becoming a prisoner of the Guild. No, she had come with him because she could not bear the thought of abandoning him after all he’d been through.
I’ve replaced Takan, she thought suddenly. The former slave had followed Akkarin out of Sachaka and become his faithful servant. Now she was following Akkarin into Sachaka. What was it about him that inspired such devotion?
Me, devoted to Akkarin? She almost laughed aloud. So much has changed. I think I might even like him, now.
Then her heart skipped a beat.
Or is it more than that?
She considered the question carefully. Surely, if there was more to it, she would have noticed before now. Abruptly, she remembered the night she had killed the Ichani. Afterward, Akkarin had brushed something out of her hair. The touch had left her feeling so strange. Light. Elated.
But that was just an effect of the battle. Surviving such a close scrape with death was sure to generate feelings of elation. It didn’t mean she was... she felt...
All I have to do is look at him, and I’ll know.
Suddenly she was afraid to. What if it was true? What if he met her gaze and read something foolish in her expression? He’d be even more determined to make her stay in Kyralia.
A murmuring between the escorts saved her. She looked up and saw that the Warrior who had ridden into the village was returning. Across the man’s knees lay a sack and a bundle. He handed the bundle to Balkan as he reached the group.
Balkan untied it, then lifted up a coarsely woven shirt and a pair of narrow-legged trousers and a long woollen shirt like those Sonea had seen village women wearing. He looked at Akkarin.
“Suitable?”
Akkarin nodded. “They will do.”
Balkan rolled up the clothes again and tossed them to Akkarin. Sonea hesitated as Akkarin began to dismount, then forced her aching legs to move. As her feet touched the ground, Akkarin pressed the long shirt and a second pair of trousers into her hands.
“Look away,” Balkan ordered.
Sonea glanced around and saw that the rest of the magicians were turning their backs. She heard a silken rip as Akkarin pulled off the top part of his robe and let it drop to the ground. The material shimmered in the sunlight, the ribbons of torn cloth fluttering as the wind caught them. Akkarin paused to look at it, his expression unreadable, then straightened and reached for the waist of his trousers.
Sonea quickly turned away, her face suddenly hot. She looked down at her robes and swallowed hard.
Best get this over with.
Taking a deep breath, she undid her sash and quickly pulled off the top half of her robes. Her horse edged away nervously as Sonea dropped the garment onto the ground and hurriedly pulled the shirt over her head.
She was grateful for the generous length of the shirt, covering her almost to the knees, as she changed into the trousers. Turning around, she found Akkarin regarding the reins of his horse closely. He glanced at her once, then swung up onto his horse.
Balkan, she saw, had remained facing them. Well, someone had to keep an eye on us, she thought wryly. She stepped over to her horse, put her boot into the stirrup, and managed to haul herself up into the saddle.
Akkarin looked strange in the heavy clothing. His shirt hung awkwardly on his thin frame. His chin was shadowed where a dark stubble was beginning to grow. He looked nothing like the imposing High Lord who had intimidated most of the Guild for so long.
She looked down at herself and snorted softly. She was hardly the picture of elegance herself. The shirt was probably the cast-off of a farmer’s wife. The rough weave felt harsh against her skin, but it was no worse than what she had worn before she had joined the Guild.
“Hungry?”
Sonea started as she realized Lord Osen had brought his horse alongside hers. He held out a chunk of grainy bread and a mug. She took them gratefully and began to eat, washing down the bread with gulps of watered wine. The wine was cheap and sour, but it numbed the ache in her muscles a little. She gave the mug back.
When the escort finished eating, they resumed their journey, and her horse returned to its jolting gait. She smothered a groan and resigned herself to many more hours of riding and sore muscles.
As Gol entered Cery’s guestroom, his eyes strayed to Savara. He nodded politely, then turned to Cery.
“Takan says they’re close to the border,” he reported. “They’ll reach the Fort tomorrow night.”
Cery nodded. He had given Takan a comfortable suite of underground rooms to stay in, but had been careful to hire servants who hadn’t heard of the mysterious foreign woman Ceryni had taken a liking to. Savara had asked him to ensure Takan never learned anything of her. She had rightly guessed that Akkarin was able to communicate with his servant, and if Akkarin was captured by the Ichani, she explained, they might learn from him of her presence in Kyralia. “There is much hatred between my people and the Ichani,” she had said. She did not say why, and Cery knew better than to press for more information.