side of the room, a thoughtful look on his former lover’s face, and suddenly all Dannyl wanted to do was leave the party.
But he had no choice but to stay, so he stiffened his back and followed Achati to the next group of Sachakans.
Lorkin had been expecting luxury and expensive decoration. He had expected the Traitor equivalent of servants hovering about, ready to do their monarch’s bidding, and guards at every door.
But the rooms of the Traitor queen were not much larger or finer than those of the women he had visited while assisting Speaker Kalia in her visits to the sick or pregnant. The only obvious guard was a single magician sitting in the corridor outside, near the door. Maybe the young woman who had answered his knock on the door was a magician, too, though she seemed too young for the role of royal protector. She had greeted him with a cheerful, welcoming smile, introduced herself as Pelaya, then ushered him inside.
Now he stood within a circle of plain wooden chairs. An old woman was standing before one of them as if she had just stood up. She was not dressed in finery, but then she hadn’t been the day of Tyvara’s trial either. If he hadn’t recognised her face, he might have mistaken her for another visitor waiting for the queen.
But her bright eyes were sharp and her stare very direct, and there was something about her composure and focus that spoke of confidence and command. He put a hand to his chest and waited for a response, as he’d been instructed to do when he had first entered the presence of the queen.
She waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t bother with formality in my own home, Lord Lorkin. I am too old and tired for it. Please sit down.” She reached backwards and, with obvious difficulty, began to lower herself onto a chair. He automatically took a step forward to help her, then stopped, not sure if touching her would be inappropriate.
“Wait for me, Zarala,” Pelaya said, her voice gently scolding, as she hurried forward to assist the old queen.
“I’m fine,” Zarala replied. “Just slow.”
Once she was settled, the queen indicated the chair next to hers. Lorkin sat down. The young woman disappeared into another room. The queen regarded him thoughtfully.
“How are you finding living in Sanctuary?”
“It is a wonderful place, your majesty,” he began. “I—”
“No formality,” the queen interrupted, waving a finger at him. “Call me Zarala.”
He nodded. “Zarala. It is a beautiful name.”
She grinned. “I like flattery. It will gain you nothing, though. I am too old for that sort of thing to influence me. Not that you should stop, if you happen to enjoy it.”
“I do,” Lorkin replied. “And should you happen to enjoy it, you are welcome to send some my way, too,” he added quickly.
To his relief, she laughed. “Go on. Tell me how you are doing.”
“I am amazed at Traitor generosity and friendliness. Your people have welcomed me, given me food and shelter, and duties that make me feel useful.”
“Why would you be surprised at that?”
Lorkin shrugged. “For a people so secretive, I would have expected it to take a long time to be so accepted among you.”
She considered him closely. “You know that you haven’t been, don’t you? Fully accepted, that is. A lot of people like you, and a lot appreciate what you did for Tyvara, but nobody is fool enough to trust you yet.”
He nodded and met her gaze. “Yes, I do sense that. It’s understandable. I suppose I am amazed that it isn’t more obvious.”
“I’ve heard only a few reports of people taking a dislike to you personally, but mostly they don’t like you on principle.”
He looked at her. “Because of my father.”
“Yes – and Riva’s death.” All sign of her lighter mood was gone now. The wrinkles across her brows deepened. “I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what your father did. It is ridiculous to think a child is responsible for what their parent does.”
“I … I am glad you feel that way.”
She leaned forward and patted him on the knee. “I’m sure you are. You’d probably be dead, otherwise.” Humour had re-entered her voice and eyes, and he smiled.
“I don’t resent your father any more either,” she told him, looking away and growing serious again. Serious and sad. “Despite losing a daughter to a sickness that could have been cured. We went about things the wrong way. Something about your father had convinced me he was an honourable man. I thought I’d been wrong, but came to see that perhaps I wasn’t, that I’d failed to see that there would be something he felt a stronger loyalty to.”
“The Guild? Kyralia?” Lorkin suggested.
She looked at him. “You didn’t know about the deal he made, did you?” she said quietly.
He shook his head. “I was appalled to find he made such a bargain and dishonoured it.”
“He died before you were born. I suppose he never got the chance to tell you.”
“And Mother never mentioned it. She couldn’t have known.”
“Why are you so certain?”
“She was determined to stop me going to Sachaka. If she’d had proof I would be in danger from the Traitors, she would have used it.”
“Do you miss her?”
Her stare was very direct. He nodded. “And yet a part of me wants to be … to be …”
“Living your own life? Making your own decisions?”
He nodded.
She waved a hand at the room, or beyond. “And here you are, stuck in Sanctuary.”
“It is a pleasant place to be stuck.”
She smiled approvingly. “I hope you continue to think so.” Her smile faded again. “Because life might not always be so comfortable here for you. I am old. I can’t be certain who will succeed me. All know that Savara is the Speaker I favour to be the next queen, and she likes you, but that does not mean the people will vote for her. They certainly won’t if they come to question my decisions.” She pointed at him. “Like allowing a Kyralian magician into Sanctuary who turned out to be too nosy.”
Her eyes were hard and ever so slightly accusing. His face began to warm and he looked away, not sure what to say.
“But they may be satisfied now that I have brought you in here for a good chiding. Savara has decided that it would be better if she forbids Tyvara from being seen with you, so it is clear that she disapproves of your exploration of the caves.
Lorkin’s heart made a small lurch.
He nodded. “Thank you. I will take your advice. No trouble.”
She looked pleased. “You’re a smart young man. There – I have flattered you in return. Would you like something to eat?” She did not wait for him to reply, but turned in the other direction, toward the inner door.
“Pelaya? Is there anything for our visitor to eat?”
“Of course there is,” the young woman replied. She appeared in the doorway holding a simple wooden tray topped with glasses, water and a bowl of cakes, obviously having been waiting for the queen to call.
the rogue
“Ah, my favourite,” the queen said, rubbing her hands together. She smirked at Lorkin. “Pelaya is a fabulous cook. Does it all with magic.” As the young woman carried the tray into the room, Zarala turned to stare at a
