After her conversation with Dorrien she had been full of confidence and ready to challenge Regin at the first opportunity, but as the day had continued, doubts had begun to grow. Every time she had thought about actually fighting Regin, the idea had seemed less brilliant and more foolish. Warrior Skills was Regin’s best subject, and her worst. She would never see the end of his harassment if she lost. It was not worth the risk.
By the end of the week, she had decided it was the worst move she could make. If she put up with him long enough, he might grow bored with her. She could endure being called names or being waylaid and tormented outside classes.
But not this. As she considered the ruin that was left of her work she felt a dark fury begin to simmer. When Regin did something like this, even if the teachers didn’t penalize her for failing an exercise, he stopped her from learning. And when he stopped her from learning, he lessened the chances that she might, one day, be skilled enough to help the Guild defeat Akkarin.
She felt something shift inside as her fury grew stronger. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to blast Regin into ashes.
“Give him the most public thrashing you can bring yourself to deal out to the stupid boy. If he harasses you afterward, challenge him again. He’ll give you no reason to keep putting him in such a position.”
A formal battle. It was a risk. But waiting was a gamble, too. He might never grow bored and leave her alone. And she didn’t like waiting...
“Make your challenge as public as possible.”
Slowly, she turned to see that Regin and the novices from the earlier class were standing in the doorway, watching her. Walking toward them, she pushed her way through and out of the classroom. Novices and teachers filled the corridor outside. The buzz of voices was loud, but not too loud for a single voice to be heard above it. A magician in purple robes appeared, heading toward the classroom. Lord Sarrin, Head of Alchemy. Perfect.
“What’s wrong, Sonea?” Regin sneered. “Didn’t your experiment work?”
Sonea spun about to face Regin.
“Regin, of the family Winar, House Paren, I challenge you to a formal battle in the Arena.”
Regin’s face froze into open-mouthed surprise.
Silence seemed to spread outward like smoke. In the edges of her vision, Sonea saw faces turning in her direction. Even Lord Sarrin had stopped. She forced aside a nagging feeling that she had just done something she would always regret. Too late now.
Regin managed to close his mouth. His expression became thoughtful. She wondered if he was going to refuse, to say she was not worth fighting. Give him no time to think of it.
“Do you accept?” she demanded.
He hesitated, then smiled broadly. “I accept, Sonea of no family of consequence.”
At once a whispering and murmuring began in the corridor. Afraid that her courage would fail if she looked around, Sonea kept her eyes on Regin. He glanced back at his companions, then laughed. “Oh, this is going to be—”
“The time is yours to choose,” she snapped.
His smile vanished for a second, then returned.
“I guess I had better give you some time to catch up,” he said lightly. “Freeday, a week from tomorrow, an hour before sunset. That sounds generous enough.”
“Sonea,” an older voice said.
She turned to see Lord Elben striding toward her. He glanced at the audience that had gathered, and frowned. “Your experiment has failed. I checked it last night, and this morning, and I can see no cause. I will give you another day to attempt it again.”
She bowed. “Thank you, Lord Elben.”
He considered the novices lingering in the doorway. “Enough chatter, then. Classes are held inside the rooms as far as I’m aware.”
“You drink more siyo than last time, eh?”
Dannyl handed the flask to Jano and nodded. “I think I’m getting a taste for it.”
The sailor looked a little worried. “You not going to do magic wrongly from drink, are you?”
Dannyl sighed and shook his head. “I’m not that drunk yet, but I wouldn’t want us to encounter any sea leeches.”
Jano patted his shoulder. “No eyoma this far south, remember.”
“I’m not likely to forget,” Dannyl muttered. His comment was smothered as the sailors cheered. A member of the crew had just entered the room. The man grinned and moved to his hanging bed. Pulling a small pottery wind instrument from a bag, he strolled over to take his place at the head of the table.
As the man began to play, Dannyl thought of the last week. He and Tayend had made it back to Capia within three days, travelling directly and changing horses several times. Tayend had remained at his sister’s home, while Dannyl continued to the city. Stopping at the Guild House only long enough to pack a small chest of clothing, Dannyl had found and boarded a ship leaving for Imardin that night.
He’d been pleased to find himself back on the Fin-da. Jano had greeted him like an old friend, and assured him that the journey home would be swifter, as they would catch the spring winds.
Jano hadn’t mentioned that the spring winds made for a rougher ride. Dannyl would not have cared, except that the unpleasant conditions kept him inside for most of the day, where he spent hours worrying about the reception that awaited him at the Guild.
His fears that Akkarin had sensed something of his feelings toward Tayend had grown since boarding the ship. During his stop at the Guild House, Errend had handed Dannyl some letters to read. Finding one from Rothen, Dannyl had opened it eagerly, only to find it contained a warning.
...I would not be overly concerned about these rumors. In any case, they concern your assistant, not yourself. But I thought you should be told so that you may judge for yourself whether this might cause you trouble in the future...
Rothen clearly thought that Dannyl didn’t know about Tayend. This was exactly what they had wanted the Elyne court to believe, but now that he had been “informed,” the Elynes—and Kyralians—would expect him to avoid Tayend’s company.
Unless no one knew that Rothen had told him. He could pretend he hadn’t received the letter... but no, as soon as he arrived in the Guild, Rothen would want to know if he had received it, and would repeat the warning if he hadn’t.
But what of Akkarin? Dannyl wasn’t sure how the High Lord had learned of his research. What if those sources had also spoken of Dannyl’s “friendship” with Tayend? What if Akkarin’s suspicions had been confirmed during their brief mental communication?
Dannyl sighed. For a few days, everything had been wonderful. He had been happier than he had ever been in his life. Then... this.
As the flask was passed to him again, he took another sip of the potent liquor. So long as Tayend doesn’t suffer for knowing me, he thought, I will be content.
The Night Room was crowded. Not since the hunt for Sonea had Lorlen seen it so full. Magicians who rarely joined in the weekly social gathering were present now.
The most notable of these was the man at his side. The sea of red, green and purple robes parted before Akkarin as he made his way to the chair that was, unofficially, his.
Akkarin was enjoying himself. To others, his neutral expression suggested indifference, but Lorlen knew better. If Akkarin didn’t want to participate in a discussion about his favorite novice challenging another, he wouldn’t be here. The three Heads of Disciplines were already seated around Akkarin’s chair, and a small crowd began to gather as the High Lord settled into his seat. Among them, Lorlen noted, was Rothen’s son, Dorrien.
“It appears your favorite novice has found a way to entertain us yet again, Akkarin,” Lady Vinara said. “I’m beginning to wonder what we can expect from her after she has graduated.”