The Magician’s Apprentice

lifting the food to his mouth. Then he gestured that she should sample the dish, and the slave would shuffle sideways until he knelt before Stara.

Her mother had described Sachakan meals to her, and warned her that the master of an estate always ate before anyone else. Stara wasn’t sure how much to try, as he wasn’t taking much from each platter and there appeared to be quite a few dishes coming.

Whenever she had finished eating from a plate the slave remained in place until her father spoke. “Done,” he said each time, then he glanced at her and told her to dismiss the slave when she had had enough.

Before her hunger was quite satisfied, but long after the ritual had lost its novelty, he abruptly waved a hand and simply said: “Go.” The slaves hurried away, their bare feet making no sound on the carpets. Her father turned to regard her.

“In a week I will entertain some important visitors and you will attend. You will need some training in Sachakan manners. The slave who nursed you as a child will teach you what you need to know.” He smiled, his expression becoming a little apologetic. “I wish I could have given you more time to settle in first.”

“I’ll be fine,” she told him.

He nodded, his gaze moving over her face. “Yes. Any mistakes you make will be easily forgiven, I think, especially since you have the excuse of a part-Elyne upbringing.” His smile faded. “You should know that I have one of the men in mind to be your husband.”

Stara blinked, then found she could not move. Husband?

“A link between our families would strengthen an alliance that has been tested these last few years. Your slave will tell you what you need to know, but be assured they have plenty of land and the favour of the emperor.”

Husband?

He scowled. “And unfortunately your brother’s wife is incapable of bearing children. If you do not bear us an heir our land will be passed on to Emperor Vochira when your brother dies.”

“Husband?” escaped her throat.

Looking at her, he narrowed his eyes. “Yes. You are a little old to still be unmarried and childless, but your Elyne blood should counter that – unlike Elynes, Sachakans believe a little foreign blood is a strength, not a weakness.”

A little old? She was only twenty-five!

“I thought . . .” She heard the indignation in her voice and stopped to breathe in and out. “I thought you wanted me here to help run the trade.”

His face broke into a smile and he chuckled, at which she could not help bristling. Just as quickly the smile faded into an expression of realisation.

“You really did, didn’t you?” He shook his head and grimaced. “Your mother should not have let you come here with such a misunderstanding. In Sachaka women do not trade.”

“I could,” she said quietly. “If you give me a—”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not only would clients laugh at you, they would stop trading with me. It is not done here.”

“So instead you sell me off like another pot of dye?” she exclaimed. “Without any say in who I marry?”

He stared at her, his expression slowly hardening, and her heart sank.

He means to do this. It was his intention all along. Mother can’t have known. She would never have sent me if she had. All the hopes she’d had of working for her father, of making a new life here with him, crumbled into ashes. She stood up, moved away, then turned to face him.

“I can’t believe it. You sent for me – you tricked me – into coming here. So you can sell me off like stock.”

“Sit down,” he said.

“Surely you didn’t think I’d be happy about it?” she raged. “That after living in Elyne for fifteen years, working for your benefit most of that time, I’d be delighted to become some stranger’s wife? No, a whore. No, a slave, since at least whores get paid for their serv—”

“SIT DOWN!”

She could not help flinching. Still breathing heavily, she closed her eyes and willed the fury inside her to cool and shrink. When it had, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

“Is this truly why you sent for me?”

His eyes were dark with anger now. “Yes,” he growled.

She walked to the chair and sat down with what she hoped was resolve and dignity.

“Then I must, respectfully, refuse. I will return to Elyne.”

He regarded her with narrowed eyes, then a wry smile pulled at his mouth.

“On your own, with no guards and protectors?”

“If I have to.”

“The mountains are full of ichani. They’re outcasts – they don’t care what family they offend or harm. You would never make it back.”

“I’m willing to try.”

He grimaced and shook his head. “You are right. I shouldn’t have left you in Elyne for fifteen years and expected you to return without some foolish ideas in your head – though I’m not sure why you think your future would be so very different in Elyne. Your mother has been telling me for years that it is long past time for you to marry, and that most women your age have already produced more than one child.” He straightened. “You should rest and think about your future, and I clearly need to reconsider my plans for you. Do bear in mind that I still expect you to behave like a proper Sachakan woman for our visitors.”

She nodded. While a part of her wanted to rebel, to leave for Elyne before this meeting – or at least to convince the man her father had picked as her fiance that she was a crazed shrew he’d never want to live with – she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of hope. Perhaps there was a way to convince her father her value was in trading, perhaps in ways acceptable to Sachakan society other than as a womb with legs. She had to try.

He made a small gesture. The gong rang again. A woman with streaks of grey in her hair stepped into the room and prostrated herself, her movements stiff with age.

“This is Vora. You may remember her from your childhood. She is sure to remember you. She will take you to your rooms.”

Stara managed a smile and turned away to look at the woman. There was something familiar about the name, but the wrinkled face did not raise any memories. Vora’s eyebrows rose, but she shrugged and said nothing as she led Stara out of the room.

Twenty horses and their riders made their way up the steep track as quietly as twenty horses and their riders could hope to travel. The chink and flap of harness, the equine snorts and the occasional smothered human cough or sneeze were so familiar to Tessia now that she barely heard them. Instead she heard – or didn’t hear – the lack of sound in the trees surrounding them. No birds chirruped or whistled, no wind rustled the leaves, no animals barked or bellowed or howled.

Perhaps the others had noticed the unusual quiet, or perhaps they felt a strangeness without recognising the source, but they were all searching the trees or staring ahead or behind. Frowns marred foreheads. Nervous glances were exchanged. A magician crooked a finger and his apprentice rode closer so they could have a murmured conversation. Signals like this were becoming a kind of language throughout the group, developing through necessity.

Tessia checked that the magical shield she was holding around herself and her horse was strong and complete. They all rode with barriers in place each day, ready in case of an unexpected attack. At night they took it in turns to shield their camp, if they were forced to sleep outside, or patrol whatever village or hamlet they had reached.

A figure appeared on the track ahead, jogging bravely in full view. Tessia recognised one of the scouts who were sent ahead each day. She knew Lord Dakon was not happy about them using non-magicians to do this work, as they were defenceless if the Sachakans found them, but if any of the magicians ventured out alone and encountered more than one of the enemy, or a Sachakan of greater power, he was just as likely to perish. Magicians were in much shorter supply than non-magicians.

The man’s expression was grim. He met the first of the magicians and spoke quietly, pointing back from where he’d come. Slowly the news was passed on, in a murmur, from one person to the next.

“There’s a house ahead,” Dakon told Tessia and Jayan. “All but one of the occupants has been murdered