The Ambassador's Mission

to him.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

He guided her through a large hall and up a curving staircase. Crossing a hall, they entered a large room filled with cushioned chairs, sunlight streaming in through tall windows on one side. The cloth covering the chairs, the paint on the walls and the paper screens were in bright, clashing colours.

Two people rose from their seats – Regin and a woman Sonea guessed was his wife. The woman approached Sonea with outstretched arms as if she meant to envelop her visitor in them, but at the last moment she clasped her hands together.

“Black Magician Sonea!” she exclaimed. “Such an honour to have you in our home.”

“This is Wynina, my wife,” Regin said.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sonea told Wynina.

The woman beamed. “I have heard so much about you. It’s not often we have a historical figure in our home.”

Sonea tried to think of something appropriate to say in reply, but couldn’t. The woman flushed, then put a hand to her mouth. “Well,” she said, looking from Regin to Sonea. “You two have serious matters to discuss. I’ll leave you be.”

She moved to the door, turned back to smile at Sonea, then disappeared into the corridor beyond. Regin chuckled.

“She’s quite intimidated by you,” he said in a low voice, gesturing to the chairs in an invitation to sit.

“Really?” Sonea moved to one of the chairs and sat down. “She didn’t seem it.”

“Oh, she’s normally much more verbose.” He smiled thinly. “But I imagine there is something more important you have come to discuss?”

“Yes.” Sonea paused to take a deep breath. “I have been questioning Healers and helpers at the hospices, and it has led me to agree with you: it would be harmful to abolish the rule against associating with criminals.”

She had decided not to mention her suspicions about roet’s potential to permanently affect magicians’ bodies. When she had mentioned her suspicion to Lady Vinara the woman had been politely disbelieving. It would take a lot more than one stoneworker’s claims to convince magicians that they couldn’t Heal away the drug’s effects. Until Sonea had the time to test her theory, she would have to keep the idea to herself. And even if she did prove it, there were some in the Guild who would blame the lower classes for the problem, and that would only worsen the situation the rule had put the “lowies” in.

Regin straightened, his eyebrows rising slightly. “I see.”

“But I still believe the rule is unfair to novices and magicians from the lower classes,” Sonea continued, “and that we must do something to resolve that, or we are going to lose talented and powerful novices – or worse, invite rebellion.”

Regin nodded. “I have come to agree with you on this. And for quite opposite reasons I feel we must ensure that those magicians charged with ensuring the rule is obeyed and punishing those who break it do so fairly and without favour.”

“The rule must be changed, not abolished,” Sonea concluded.

“I agree.”

They regarded each other in expectant silence, then Sonea found herself smiling. “Well, that was easier than I thought.”

He chuckled. “Yes. Now we face the hard part. How should the rule be changed and how are we going to convince the Higher Magicians – or the rest of the Guild – to vote the way we want them to vote?”

“Hmm.” Sonea frowned. “It might be easier to plan our approach if we knew who was going to be voting.”

Regin steepled his fingers together. “Osen will be more likely to decide the way we want him to swing if we both suggest the same thing. We must go to him, separately, and tell him our preference. Or you must persuade Lord Pendel to, as he is the leader of those seeking the abolition of the rule.”

Sonea nodded. “I think he will listen to me. But I will have to give him a good reason to suggest one way or the other. And you?”

“I will do what I can to soften the stance of the opposed. We must explore the advantages and disadvantages of both possibilities thoroughly, so we are ready for all arguments raised against us.”

“Yes. Though we need to consider a different approach according to who we need to convince: either the Higher Magicians or the whole Guild. I suspect, given the choice between abolition of the rule, retaining it or changing it, most of the Higher Magicians would vote to keep things as they are.”

“You’re probably right. Putting the vote to the whole Guild may have a less predictable outcome, but will most likely lead to seeking a compromise – which will be to change the rule. How to change the rule will be the main focus of the debate.”

“Yes.” Sonea smiled crookedly. “Which brings us back to the hardest question: how do we want to change the rule?”

Regin nodded. “Well, I have a few ideas. Shall I go first?”

She nodded. “Go ahead.”

As he began to explain the changes he’d considered, Sonea could not help feeling a reluctant admiration for the careful thought he’d put into the problem. It was clear he’d been thinking about it for much longer than the few weeks the issue had been debated around the Guild. Yet, unlike some of the women and men she had questioned, the solutions he was suggesting were practical and unbiased. Where is the arrogant, prejudiced snob that I knew as a novice? Is he simply better at hiding it now?

Or had he changed? Even if he had, it would take more than a few clever solutions to a class problem within the Guild to convince her to trust him. No matter what he said, she would always be waiting for the cruel side she knew Regin possessed to surface again.

After Dannyl had left for the evening, and the slaves had served dinner, Lorkin had returned to his rooms. There wasn’t a lot of work for him to do as Dannyl’s assistant yet. Apart from the one visit to Ashaki Itoki’s home, he hadn’t left the Guild House. Only a small part of the work that Dannyl tackled during the day could be handed on to Lorkin.

He spent the evenings reading or questioning the slaves. The latter was proving harder than he expected. While the slaves always responded to his questions, they offered no more than the most basic answer. If he asked them if there was anything else he needed to know they looked confused and anxious.

But it’s probably impossible for them to know what I need to know, he thought. And they’re reluctant to guess in case they get it wrong and it angers me. Initiative is probably a trait discouraged in a slave.

He had a feeling that the dark-eyed girl who had first taken him to his room – Tyvara – might be more receptive, though he wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t served him since that first night, however. Tonight he had nothing pressing to do, so he’d asked the slave serving him to bring her to him.

They probably all think I want to bed her, he mused, remembering her misunderstanding the first night. Tyvara probably will, too. I’ll have to reassure her that isn’t my intention. Is there any way I can encourage her to talk freely?

He looked around and his eyes settled on the cupboard containing wine and glasses for his own use or entertaining guests. Before he could cross the room to collect them, he saw a movement in the doorway. Tyvara stepped into the room and approached him, stopping several steps away to prostrate herself.

“Rise, Tyvara,” he told her. She stood, and her gaze remained on the floor. Her face was expressionless, and he was not sure if it was his imagination that made her seem a little tense. “Fetch me two glasses and some wine,” he ordered.

She obeyed, her movements quick but graceful. He sat down on one of the stools in the centre of the room and waited for her. She placed the glasses and a bottle on the floor, then knelt beside them.

“Open it,” he instructed. “And fill both of them. One is for you.”

Her hands had begun to reach toward the bottle, but now hesitated. Then they continued in the tasks