Time to stop thinking about that, she told herself.
“Who do you think these people are, then?” she asked.
“Spies.”
“Of the Sachakan king?”
Orton nodded. “Who else could they be?”
Who else, indeed.
Several twisting passages later, they arrived at a dining room large enough to seat ten people. It was laid out with impressively fine tableware. Three women and two men stood waiting to be introduced. Two minor captains and their wives, and the wife of an absent captain. Orton invited them all to sit, took his place and asked a servant to bring the meal.
The food was surprisingly good. Orton explained that he believed good food did wonders for the morale of the people here, who must always live far from Imardin and with the threat of possible invasion. Local farmers and hunters benefited from the trade, too. Yet the meal was not an entirely relaxed one. They were interrupted several times by guards bringing messages or making reports. At first Sonea listened attentively, assuming that something important must have happened, but it became clear that this was simply a routine that was never abandoned – not even during dinner with a high-ranking magician.
The other guests were used to this, and barely paused in their conversation. Sonea only realised that she had stopped paying attention to the reports when Orton interrupted a conversation she was having with Captain Pettur.
“Black Magician Sonea,” he said, his tone grave and formal.
She turned to see that, despite his calm expression, his eyes betrayed anxiety.
“Yes, Watcher Orton?”
“A strange message just arrived.” He handed her a piece of paper, folded in odd, converging lines. “The guards on duty who received it said it glided through the air like a bird, and landed at their feet.”
She looked at the neat writing and her heart skipped a beat, though whether in excitement or trepidation she couldn’t decide.
We advise Black Magician Sonea to remain at the Fort until safe passage can be arranged. Instructions will follow soon.
A symbol had been drawn underneath the writing: a circle with a spiral scrawled within. Lorkin had described it to Administrator Osen, saying that it was one the Traitors had told him they would use to identify themselves. She felt a thrill of excitement. Soon she would be judging for herself the people who had impressed Lorkin so much, and who had helped Akkarin escape slavery all those years ago.
Sonea suspended the paper in the air with magic and set it alight. The other guests murmured in surprise as it quickly turned to ash. She turned to Orton and smiled. “I don’t think those spies are going to be a problem for much longer, Watcher Orton.”
After several nights lying on a cold stone floor I ought to have no trouble sleeping now that I’m in a proper bed. What is wrong with me?
Lorkin could feel that his body was tense. No matter how much he stretched, practised breathing exercises and tried to relax into the soft bedding, he could not settle. It did not help that every time his mind entered that period of wandering just before sleep, memories of the slave girl returned.
He did not want to think about her.
But he did.
She had taken the water so eagerly, as if she knew what it contained. Perhaps she had been a Traitor after all. She’d struggled to conceal the poison’s effects in the beginning. Surely that meant she’d known what she was taking. Eventually she hadn’t been able to stay quiet. If it had not been for the watcher intervening and dragging her out of the cell, Lorkin would have given in and Healed her. In an outburst of frustration and self-loathing, Lorkin had thrown the water jar at the man, but it had struck the bars and shattered.
Afterwards, the Ashaki interrogator had arrived. Lorkin had expected him to gloat and reveal that her death was his intention all long, but he examined the dead girl silently, said nothing to Lorkin and left wearing a frown of worry.
The next morning, men Lorkin had never seen before had taken him from the cell and to a small courtyard. When the carriage they put him in arrived at the Guild House, Lorkin had wondered if he was having a particularly vivid dream.
It wasn’t a dream. The king had released him. No explanation had been given. No apology for his imprisonment. Just the order for him to stay there.
Why?
Lorkin rolled onto his side. His globe light burned softly above, and he’d placed a barrier across the doorway, both slowly using up what was left of the magic that Tyvara had given him. Though he was now sleeping in a different room to the one in which Riva had died, the memory of someone crawling onto his bed in the darkness was surprisingly vivid and unpleasant, despite the fact that the original experience had been rather pleasant to begin with. He could not help imagining someone was lurking in the darkness, or that he was lying next to a corpse.
Eyes staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing. Like the slave in the prison.
He stared up at the glowing sphere and gave up on any hope of sleeping.
Then he opened his eyes and, though nothing had changed, knew that time had passed. He had fallen asleep after giving up on falling asleep. But why had he woken up? He could remember no dream or nightmare.
A thump from the central room sent a chill through his blood and he froze. Forcing his head to turn, he looked beyond the bedroom door and saw light in the room beyond.
Someone is in there...
He dropped the barrier over the doorway and created one around himself, then rose and approached the other room cautiously. Two slaves were in the centre of the room. A young man lay on the floor, a middle-aged woman crouched over him, one hand pressed to his head, the other holding a knife.
Oh, no. Not again.
But then the man blinked. He was alive. She’s reading his mind, Lorkin realised. She looked up at him and he recognised her as one of the kitchen slaves. “Lorkin,” she said. Removing her hands from the man’s brow, she rose to her feet. “I am Savi. The queen sends her regards.”
Lorkin nodded. “How is she?” he asked automatically, then realised he ought to thank her first, since the man she had tackled had probably meant to kill him.
“Dead.” She grimaced. “Two days ago.”
“Oh.” He thought of Zarala’s mischievous eyes and sense of humour and felt a wave of sadness. “I am sorry to hear that. She was nice.” Then something occurred to him. “She wasn’t...? How did she...?”
“She came to the natural end of a long life.” Savi straightened. “Savara was elected in her place.”
Lorkin nodded again, not sure if it was polite to express pleasure at the news of a new queen when the old one had so recently died. The spy had told him in a matter-of-fact way that suggested she didn’t expect him to comment. He was glad to hear Savara had been chosen as the new queen. Not just because she had helped him many times and was Tyvara’s superior, but because she was smart, open-minded and fair.
The spy turned to face the main door to the room. The reason for her distractedness came a moment later when Dannyl and another slave stepped into the room.
Dannyl looked at the man on the floor who, despite being awake and staring at them all, wasn’t moving, then at Savi and Lorkin.