The Novice

that?”

“I...” Dannyl sighed, then explained about the Healing. “After a couple of years, it became a habit, I suppose. The mind can be a powerful thing, particularly for magicians. We’re trained to focus our minds and achieve deep levels of concentration. I pushed away every dangerous thought. It mightn’t have worked, if I hadn’t been able to smother my physical feelings with magic as well.” He grimaced. “But it didn’t change anything. It made me empty of any feelings of attraction. I desired neither men nor women.”

“That must have been terrible.”

“Yes, and no. I have few friends. I suppose I was lonely. But it was a dull kind of loneliness. There isn’t as much pain in life if you don’t let yourself become entangled with others.” He paused. “But is that really living?”

Tayend didn’t answer. Looking at the scholar, Dannyl read a wariness there.

“You knew,” Dannyl said slowly. “But you couldn’t say anything.” Otherwise I would have reacted with fear and denial.

Tayend shrugged. “It was more like a guess. If I was right, though, I knew there was a chance you’d never confront it. Now that I know the effort you went to, it is amazing that you have at all.” He paused. “Habits are hard to break.”

“But I will.” Dannyl stilled as he realized what he had said. Can I really commit to that? Can I accept what I am, and face this fear of discovery and rejection?

Looking at Tayend, he heard a voice deep within answer: Yes!

The path to the High Lord’s Residence was dusted with tiny fragments of color. As the wind rustled the trees, more blossoms flitted down to join them. Sonea admired the colors. A lighter mood had stayed with her since visiting her aunt and uncle the previous day. Even Regin’s stares in class hadn’t diminished it.

When she reached the door, however, a familiar gloom settled over her. It swung inward at her touch. She bowed to the magician standing in the guestroom.

“Good evening, Sonea,” Akkarin said. Was she imagining it, or was there a difference in his tone?

“Good evening, High Lord.”

The Firstday evening meals had become a predictable routine. He always asked her about her lessons; she replied as succinctly as possible. They didn’t talk about much else. The night after he had discovered her in the passages she had expected him to raise the subject but, to her relief, he hadn’t mentioned it once. Obviously, he felt that she needed no further rebuke.

She trudged up the stairs. Takan, as always, was waiting for them in the dining room. A delicious, spicy odor lingered about him, and she felt her stomach growl with impatience. But as Akkarin sat down opposite her she remembered Ranel’s story about the murderer and her appetite fled.

She looked down at the table, then stole a glance at him. Was she sitting opposite a murderer? His eyes slid to hers, and she quickly averted her gaze.

Ranel had said that the murderer wore a ring with a red gemstone. Looking at Akkarin’s hands, she was almost disappointed to see they were bare. Not even a mark to hint that a ring might have been worn regularly. His fingers were long and elegant, yet masculine...

Takan entered with a platter of food, drawing her attention away. As Sonea began to eat, Akkarin straightened and she knew his usual questions were about to start.

“So how are your aunt and uncle, and their son? Did you have a pleasant afternoon with them yesterday?”

He knows! She sucked in a breath, and felt something catch in her throat. Grabbing a napkin, she covered her face and coughed. How does he know where I went! Did he follow me? Or was he in the slums, hunting for victims, and happened to see me there?

“You’re not going to die on me, are you?” he asked dryly. “That would be inconvenient.”

Pulling the napkin away, she found Takan standing beside her, offering a glass of water. Taking it, she gulped a mouthful.

What should I say? He knows where Jonna and Ranel live. She felt a stab of fear, but pushed it aside. If he had wanted to, he could have found that out easily enough without following her. He might even have read their location from her - or Rothen’s - mind.

He didn’t seem to expect an answer, or gave up waiting for one. “I don’t disapprove of you visiting them,” he told her. “I do, however, expect you to ask me for permission if you intend to leave the Guild grounds at any time. Next time, Sonea,” he stared at her directly, his eyes hard, “I’m sure you’ll remember to ask me first.”

Looking down, she nodded. “Yes, High Lord.”

The door opened just as Lorlen reached the High Lord’s Residence. He stopped as Sonea stepped out, box in hand. She blinked at him in surprise, then bowed.

“Administrator.”

“Sonea,” he replied.

She glanced down at his hand, then her eyes widened. Her gaze flickered to his, her expression questioning, then she quickly looked away and hurried past, toward the University.

Looking down at the ring on his hand, Lorlen felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Clearly, she had heard about the murderer and his red ring. What did she think of him now? Turning to watch her, he felt his chest tighten. Each day she moved from one inescapable nightmare to another. From the shadow of Akkarin to the torments dealt out by the novices. It was a cruel situation.

And an unnecessary one. Clenching his fists, he advanced on the door and stepped through. Akkarin sat in one of the luxurious armchairs, already sipping from a wineglass.

“Why are you letting the novices gang up on her?” he demanded before his anger and courage failed.

Akkarin’s eyebrows rose. “I gather you mean Sonea? It does her good.”

“Good?” Lorlen exclaimed.

“Yes. She has to learn to defend herself.”

“Against other novices?”

“She ought to be able to defeat them. They’re not well coordinated.”

Lorlen shook his head and started to pace the room. “But she isn’t defeating them, and some magicians are wondering why you do not step in and put a stop to it.”

Akkarin shrugged. “It is up to me how my novice is trained.”

“Trained! This isn’t training!”

“You heard Lord Yikmo’s analysis. She’s too nice. Real conflict will teach her to fight back.”

“But this is fifteen novices against one. How can you expect her to stand up to that many?”

“Fifteen?” Akkarin smiled. “The last I saw it was near twenty.”

Lorlen stopped pacing and stared at the High Lord.

“You’ve been watching her?”

“Whenever I can.” Akkarin’s smile widened. “Though it’s not always easy to keep up with them. I would like to know how that last one ended. Eighteen, perhaps nineteen, and she still managed to free herself.”

“She got away?” Lorlen suddenly felt lightheaded. He moved to a chair and sank into it. “But that means...”

Akkarin chuckled. “I’d advise you to think twice if you were planning to take her on in the Arena, Lorlen, though her lack of skill and confidence would ensure you won the fight.”

Lorlen didn’t answer, his mind still struggling to accept that a novice as young as Sonea could already be so powerful. Akkarin leaned toward him, his dark eyes glittering.

“Every time they attack her she stretches herself,” he said quietly. “She’s learning to defend herself in ways neither Balkan nor Yikmo can teach her. I’m not going to stop Regin and his accomplices. They’re the best teachers she has.”

“But... why do you want her stronger?” Lorlen breathed. “Aren’t you afraid she will turn against you? What will you do when she graduates?”

Akkarin’s smile vanished. “She is the High Lord’s chosen novice. The Guild expects her to excel. But she will never grow strong enough to be a threat to me.” He looked away and his expression hardened. “As for graduation, I’ll decide how to deal with that when the time comes.”