The Rogue

“The ones that were made long before the Traitors discovered the valley?”

“Yes. A friend of yours told me she was going there. Said to tell you.”

Lorkin stared at the old man, then smiled and looked away.

“She did, did she?”

“And I need help getting back to my room.”

Kalia didn’t look suspicious when Lorkin told her the man wanted his help, but she did tell him to return as quickly as possible. Once they had walked a few hundred paces, the old man told Lorkin he was fine to continue on his own, but Lorkin insisted on accompanying him all the way to his room. Only then did Lorkin hurry away to the viewing rooms. He had to climb several stairs to get there, and by the time he arrived at the door to the first room he was breathing heavily.

Once he had passed through the heavy door his exhal ations became billowing clouds of mist. The air was very cold, and he quickly created a magical barrier around himself and warmed the air within it. The room was long and narrow, the only furniture some rough wooden benches stacked up against the back wall. Glassless windows were spaced along the length.

A woman leaned against the window edge, and this time his heart flipped over at the sight of her. Tyvara smiled faintly. He managed to restrain the urge to grin in return.

“Why don’t they fill them in with glass?” Lorkin asked, waving to the openings. “It would be a lot easier to heat the space.”

“We don’t have the materials to make that much glass,” she told him, walking forward to meet him.

“You could bring some up here from the lowlands.”

She shook her head. “It’s not important enough to risk discovery over.”

“Surely you’ve brought materials up here before?”

“A few times. We prefer to find out how to make things ourselves, or do without. We don’t do without much, really.” She beckoned him over to a window. The valley below was now covered in snow, the cliff walls rising stark and grey above the spread of white. “Did Evar tell you that we grow plants in caves lit and heated by stones?”

“No.” He felt his curiosity spark. “Is that also how you protect the animals during winter – keeping them in caves?”

“Yes, though they are mostly fed grain and we will cull some and freeze the meat once it’s cold enough to make ice caves.”

“Ice caves. I would like to see them,” he said wistfully. “But I don’t expect anybody is going to take me on any tours of the caves of Sanctuary for a while.”

She shook her head. “No.” A frown creased her forehead and she looked away. “I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”

“I know. Yet here we are.”

She smiled faintly, then grew serious again.

“Have you seen Evar recently?”

He shook his head. “Have you?”

“Yes. But I am worried about him.”

Lorkin felt a stab of concern. “Why?”

She looked at him, her expression doubtful. But it wasn’t self-doubt, or indecision. She seemed to be weighing up whether to tell him something.

“I have a warning to give you, but I have to be indirect, and I don’t want you interpreting it in other ways.” She glanced around the room, then leaned toward him and lowered her voice despite there being nobody else in the room. “Women may try to lure you into their bed in the next few weeks. Don’t accept any invites – unless you’re absolutely sure they’re not magicians.”

He stared back at her, fighting the urge to grin.

“Some already have. I didn’t—”

“That’s different,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “This is … they won’t be doing it because they like you. More the opposite.” She looked at him closely, her expression serious. “Will you heed my warning?”

“Of course,” he said, smiling and hoping it looked like one of gratitude rather than glee. She’s jealous. She wants me all for herself.

“You’re taking it the wrong way,” she told him, her eyes narrowing. “There truly is a risk. What they could be planning can be dangerous. It can kill.”

At that he felt his smug jubilation melt away and his stomach plummeted as he suddenly understood what she was alluding to: Lover’s Death.

“They’re planning to assassinate me?”

She shook her head. “No. That is against the law. But if you accidentally died, particularly in that way …” She let the sentence hang, merely spreading her hands in a helpless gesture. “The punishment is a lot milder.”

He nodded and met her gaze, now able to keep his face straight with no effort. “I will not bed any Traitors until you say I can.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped away toward the door. “It’s only the magicians you have to be wary of, Lorkin. What you do with the rest is not my business. Though it would be appreciated if you did what’s necessary to prevent siring a whole lot of children, because we already have a lot of mouths to feed.” She looked back at him. “I have to go now.”

“And I must get back to the Care Room, too.” He sighed. “Not for love of Kalia’s company, but I suspect this chill fever is going to get much worse.”

She nodded, her eyes warm with approval, but then her expression became sad. “It happens every year. Always kills a few. Usually the old, young, or those who are already weakened by sickness. You had better be ready for that.”

He nodded to show he understood. “Thanks for the warning.” He smiled. “Both of them.”

She smiled in return. Together they headed for the door and the warmth of the stairs beyond. She told him to go first, so that they wouldn’t be seen re-entering the city together. He glanced back once to see her staring far beyond the walls surrounding her, looking both worried and determined. He felt his heart lift again. She had come to see him, defying orders to avoid him. He hoped her defiance wouldn’t be noticed, and that she would search him out again.

“So when is Lord Dorrien setting out for home?” Jonna asked as she gave the wine glasses a last rub with her polishing cloth.

“Tomorrow morning,” Sonea replied. She looked up at her aunt and servant, and caught a strange look on the older woman’s face. “What?”

Jonna shook her head, set the wineglass down and scanned Sonea’s guest room. She moved to the low table where the evening’s meal would be served and began polishing the cutlery. Again. “Nothing important. Just thinking about ways things could have been.”

Sonea sighed and crossed her arms. “Are you still lamenting that I didn’t marry Dorrien?”

Jonna spread her hands in protest. “He is a very nice man.”

Oh, no. Not this again. “He is,” Sonea agreed. “But if I had married him I’d have moved to the country and you’d have never seen me.”

“Nonsense,” Jonna replied, her eyes flashing with triumph. “The Guild would never have let you out of their sight.”

“Which would have forced Dorrien to stay here, and that would have been a cruel thing to do to him. He doesn’t like the city.”

Jonna shrugged. “He might change his mind when he gets old.”

“That’s a long—”

A knock at the door interrupted Sonea. She abandoned the old argument with relief and sent a little magic to the door latch. It clicked open and the door swung inward to reveal Regin standing outside.

“Black Magician Sonea,” he said. “May I speak with you privately?”

“Lord Regin!” Sonea said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Come in!”

He stepped into the guest room and glanced at Jonna as the woman slipped into Sonea’s bedroom to give