The other women made appreciative sounds as the cakes were laid on the table. More chairs were brought by servants, and a silver platter to arrange the cakes on.
The conversation that ensued was every bit as noisy, gaudy and disorientating as the market. Tessia settled on listening, and for some time it seemed everyone had forgotten she was there. The other two women were Kendaria and Lady Zakia. Darya had married the magician son of a rich trader – and his entire family, she joked. Zakia’s husband was a city lord and magician. Kendaria’s was cousin to the king, and they lived with his older brother and their family. They spent a lot of time making fun of their husbands, Tessia noticed.
Then, when a piece of gossip had been milked of all its possibilities and everyone had fallen into a speculative silence, Avaria nodded to her guest.
“Tessia’s father is a healer, and she was his assistant before she stumbled on her powers.”
“You’re a natural!” Zakia nodded approvingly. “You must be very strong.”
Tessia shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but I’m told that is the way things work.”
“Kendaria is training to be a healer,” Avaria said, giving Tessia a meaningful look.
Tessia blinked in surprise, then looked at the small, slim woman sitting beside her. “You are?” She paused. “I thought... aren’t women...?”
Kendaria laughed quietly. “Money,” she said. “Power. And the fact that there is no actual rule or law anywhere that says we can’t
Hope and bitterness swept over Tessia. If her father had been rich and powerful, would she have been able to train as well? Was Kendaria the first woman to defy tradition?
The woman leaned closer. “If you like, I’ll take you to watch a dissection. Would you like that?”
A thrill ran through Tessia. She remembered her father wistfully describing what he’d seen and learned watching dissections, the few times he’d visited Imardin and the Healer’s Guild in order to improve his knowledge. His descriptions had been both horrifying and fascinating, and she’d always wondered whether she, in that situation, would faint, or would lose herself in the mysteries of the human body as he had. She liked to believe she wouldn’t faint, and wondered every time they treated a gory injury or encountered a corpse if that was test enough.
“Eugh!” Zakia said. “I don’t know how you can stand it. Don’t go if you don’t want to, Tessia. Nobody would blame you.”
Tessia smiled and looked at Kendaria.
“I’d love to.”
Dakon’s wagon pulled up in front of the imposing grey stone building, home of the Drayn family for four centuries. Jayan sighed and forced himself out of his seat. As always happened when he visited his childhood home, mixed feelings arose at the first sight of it. Memories washed over him of childish games played with his brother, teasing his younger sisters, the warmth and smell of his mother, and celebrations both formal and informal. They brought a wistful fondness, inevitably followed by a gut-sinking resentment and remembered fear, grief and bitterness as he recalled punishment for mistakes that still seemed too harsh, the terrible feeling of loss and being lost and alone after his mother had gone, and the sour realisation of what being the second son meant.
Magic had offered him an escape in more ways than one. It took him from a home that had become stifling and humiliating, and gave him the means, if needed, to be independent of his family’s wealth.
Still, he wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t cut himself off from them. His father’s nature might never soften, but with the weakness of age it was a blunt weapon. His brother’s arrogance in youth had also faded a little with maturity, perhaps because he knew Jayan, as a magician, would not be the dependent and obedient little brother he’d anticipated pushing around for the rest of his life, perhaps because he’d learned that other people – people he wanted to impress – were repelled by his maliciousness.
The door servant bowed and opened the door. Walking inside, Jayan looked around the greeting hall. Nothing had changed. The same paintings hung on the walls. The same screens framed the windows. Another servant greeted him and led him through the house. Jayan breathed in the sight and smell of familiarity. It was like dust laced with old perfume.
Finally they reached a small room at the back of the house, furnished with two old chairs. This was his father’s favourite room, into which he had always retreated “to think”. It had been a place forbidden to small children, where stern talks and punishments were given to older children, and orders were given to adult children. The significance wasn’t lost on Jayan. His father was in the mood for imposing his will. Jayan would have to be careful.
Yet Lord Karvelan, head of family Drayn, looked smaller and more lined than Jayan remembered, as if he had dried out slightly in the year since Jayan had seen him. There was still strength in the set of his shoulders and the directness of his gaze, though. Jayan met that gaze, smiled politely, and waited for his father to speak. You always waited for Lord Karvelan to speak. It was a right he insisted on.
“Welcome back, Apprentice Jayan,” Karvelan said.
“Thank you, Father,” Jayan replied. “Did you get my message?”
Karvelan nodded. “I gather our notes crossed each other.”
“It appears so,” Jayan replied, holding up the brusque summons he had received that morning, not long after he had dutifully sent his own note informing his father of his presence in the city and enquiring if he should visit.
“Sit down,” Karvelan said, nodding at the other chair. Jayan obeyed. Karvelan was silent a moment, his expression thoughtful.
“How is your training going?” Karvelan asked finally.
“Well.”
“Any closer to finishing?”
“Yes, but I can’t say how close. Only Lord Dakon can answer that question.”
“You were almost done when you last visited.” Karvelan scowled. “Is it true he has another apprentice?”
Jayan nodded. “It is.”
The scowl deepened. “This will surely delay your training. He should have waited until yours was finished.”
“He had no choice. She is a natural and dangerous if left untrained. By law he must train her.”
His father’s eyes narrowed and Jayan almost expected a scolding. Instead the old man grimaced. “Then he should have sent her elsewhere.”
Jayan shrugged. “He probably would have, if I were not close to independence. Even so, I don’t presume to question my master’s decisions. He does, usually, know best.”
Karvelan’s expression changed from approval at Jayan’s subservience to another scowl.
“Does he? What of this group he has joined? This ‘Circle of Friends’. Do you not find it an unwise move? It smells of rebellion.”
Jayan gazed at his father in surprise, then realised he was staring and looked away.
“You didn’t know I knew, did you?” There was satisfaction in Karvelan’s voice.
“Oh, the group isn’t a secret.”
“Then what?”
“That anyone... this idea that . . .” Jayan stopped and shook his head. It was never wise to phrase anything in a way that might be taken as a criticism of his father’s opinion. “Rebellion is a strong word. I assure you, the group has the encouragement and support of the king. Or...do you suggest rebellion against someone else?”
A sullen darkness had entered his father’s eyes – a look Jayan knew all too well. It was the look that Karvelan wore whenever he had reason to dislike his younger son.
“Rebellion against the city
Jayan opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself. He wanted to assure his father that the Circle of
