As Vinara’s gaze sharpened, Lorlen cleared his throat. “Hopefully that will not be an issue for many years.” He glanced at Akkarin, but the High Lord’s attention was elsewhere. Lorlen followed his gaze and saw Sonea approaching.
As the circle of magicians parted to receive her, Sonea bowed.
“Congratulations, Sonea,” Balkan rumbled. “It was a well-fought battle.”
“Thank you, Lord Balkan,” she replied, her eyes brightening.
“How are you feeling?” Lady Vinara asked.
Sonea tilted her head, considering, then shrugged. “Hungry, my lady.”
Vinara laughed. “Then I hope your guardian has a celebration banquet waiting for you.”
If Sonea’s smile became a little forced, the others did not appear to notice. They were looking at Akkarin, who had turned to face her.
“Well done, Sonea,” he said.
“Thank you, High Lord.”
The pair regarded each other in silence, then Sonea lowered her eyes. Watching the others carefully, Lorlen noted Vinara’s knowing smile. Balkan looked amused and Sarrin was nodding approvingly.
Lorlen sighed. They saw only a young novice awed and intimidated by her powerful guardian. Would they ever see anything more? He looked down at the red gem on his finger. If they do, I won’t be the one to show them. I am as much a hostage as she is.
He looked at Akkarin and narrowed his eyes. When he gets around to explaining himself, he’d better have a very good reason for all this.
Opening the door to his room, Dannyl gestured for Rothen to enter, then followed and closed the door. Inside, it was dark, and though it all looked clean and free of dust there was a smell of neglect in the air. His trunk had been deposited just inside the bedroom.
“So what was so pressing that the High Lord ordered you back to Imardin?” Rothen asked.
Dannyl regarded Rothen closely. No “how are you?” or “how was your journey?” He might have been annoyed, if it hadn’t been for the disturbing changes in his friend’s appearance.
Dark shadows hung under Rothen’s eyes. He seemed older, though Dannyl might simply be seeing his friend through eyes less familiar with the deep creases across Rothen’s brow, or the gray in his hair. The slightly hunched, tense way his mentor walked was definitely new, however.
“I can tell you some of it,” Dannyl said, “but not all. It seems Akkarin learned of my research into ancient magic. He... are you all right, Rothen?”
Rothen had grown very pale. He looked away. “Was he... offended by my interest?”
“He wasn’t,” Dannyl assured him, “because he doesn’t know you have any interest in ancient magic. He had learned of my research, and it appears he approves of it. In fact, I have his permission to continue.”
Rothen stared at Dannyl in surprise. “Then that must mean...”
“You can write your book without worrying about stepping on his toes,” Dannyl finished.
From Rothen’s dismissive frown, Dannyl guessed this wasn’t what had surprised his friend.
“Did he ask you to do anything else?” Rothen asked.
Dannyl smiled. “That is the part I can’t tell you about. Ambassadorial matters. Nothing too dangerous, however.”
Rothen regarded Dannyl speculatively, then nodded. “You must be tired,” he said. “I should leave you to unpack and rest.” He moved to the door, then hesitated and turned around again. “Did you get my letter?”
Here we go, Dannyl thought.
“Yes.”
Rothen made an apologetic gesture. “I thought I should warn you in case it stirs up the gossips again.”
“Of course,” Dannyl said dryly. He paused, surprised at the lack of concern in his own voice.
“I don’t think it will be a problem,” Rothen added. “If this assistant of yours is what they say he is, that is. People aren’t speculating about you, they just think it’s amusing in light of what you were accused of as a novice.”
“I see.” Dannyl nodded slowly, then steeled himself for an unpleasant response. “Tayend is a lad, Rothen.”
“A lad?” Rothen frowned, then his eyes widened with understanding. “So the rumor is true.”
“Yes. The Elynes are a more tolerant people than Kyralians—most of the time.” Dannyl smiled. “I’m endeavouring to adapt to their ways.”
Rothen nodded. “Part of the role of Ambassador, I expect. Along with secret meetings with the High Lord.” He smiled for the first time since they had met that day. “But I am keeping you from your unpacking. Why don’t you have dinner with Dorrien and me tonight? He’s returning to his village tomorrow.”
“I’d like that.”
Rothen moved to the door again. At a flexing of Dannyl’s will, the door swung open. Rothen stopped, pushed it closed again, and sighed. He turned to stare into Dannyl’s eyes.
“Be careful, Dannyl,” he said. “Be very careful.”
Dannyl stared back. “I will,” he assured his friend.
Rothen nodded. Opening the door again, he stepped out into the corridor. Dannyl watched his friend and mentor walk away.
And shook his head as he realized he had no idea whether his friend was warning him about his affairs with Tayend, or with Akkarin.
Epilogue
The full moon bathed the path to the High Lord’s Residence in blue light. Walking toward the building, Sonea smiled.
Four weeks had passed since the challenge, and not once had she encountered Regin and his allies in the University passages after class. No sniggers had reached her ears in the corridors and not one of her projects had been ruined.
Today she had been paired with Hal in Medicines and, after an awkward start, they had started arguing about the right treatment for nailworm. He had told her about a rare plant his father, a village Healer in Lan, used to treat the disease. When she told him that the dwells used tugor mash, left over from distillation of bol, he had laughed. They started exchanging superstitions and unlikely cures from their homes, and when the lesson ended she realized they had been talking for an hour.
Reaching the door to the Residence, Sonea touched the handle. Expecting the door to swing open immediately, she stepped forward and banged her knee.
Surprised and annoyed, she touched the handle again, but the door remained closed. Was she to be locked out tonight? Grasping the handle, she turned it and was relieved when the door swung inward.
Closing the door behind her, she turned toward the stairs, then froze as she heard a crash from somewhere beyond the other staircase. A muffled shout reached her ears, then the floor vibrated beneath her feet.
Something was going on below her, in the underground room. Something magical.
Her whole body went cold. Frozen, she considered what to do. Her first thought was to escape to her room, but she realized that if there was a magical battle happening beneath her she would be no safer in her bedroom.
She should leave. Get as far away as possible.
But curiosity kept her still. I want to know what is going on, she thought. And if someone has come to confront Akkarin, they might need my help.
Taking a deep breath, she moved to the door of the stairs and opened it a crack. The staircase beyond was dark, so the door to the room below must be closed. Slowly, every muscle tensed ready for a fast retreat, she crept down the stairs. Reaching the door, she searched for a keyhole or some way to see into the underground room, but found nothing. A man’s voice yelled something. A stranger’s voice. It took her a moment to realize she hadn’t understood him because he was speaking in another language.
The reply was spoken harshly, also in another language. Sonea went cold as she recognized Akkarin’s voice. Then a high wail of desperation sent her heart racing and she backed up the stairs, suddenly convinced she ought to be anywhere but there.