The Novice

too anxious to feel hungry. Instead, she sat by one of the small windows, barely noticing the magicians and novices walking about the grounds, and searched for a way out of her situation.

First, she had considered escaping to the slums. The Thieves would be eager to protect her now that she had Control of her magic. They had managed to hide Senfel, the rogue magician Faren had failed to persuade to teach her. They could hide her, too.

If she disappeared, however, Akkarin would do something to Rothen. But if Rothen had sufficient warning, he could tell the rest of the Guild that Akkarin was practicing black magic, before the High Lord realized she’d gone. She would have to warn Lorlen, too, since he would also be in danger if she left. Yes, if she warned both of them she was leaving, and timed it right, Akkarin might not have a chance to prevent Lorlen and Rothen speaking out.

And what then? The Guild would confront Akkarin. Lorlen had believed they couldn’t win such a battle, and Lorlen knew Akkarin better than any other magician. So, if she escaped, she could bring about a confrontation that would devastate the Guild, and possibly the whole of Kyralia.

It had occurred to her, then, that the fate of the Guild rested in her hands. Her, a mere slum girl. This sudden power over the Guild’s fate gave her no pleasure, however. Instead, she felt ill with frustration and fear.

Long after the gardens had disappeared into the night’s shadows, the servant had returned with a drink. Recognizing the aroma of a mild, sleep-inducing medicine, Sonea had drunk it all, curled up on the strange, too-soft bed and welcomed the numbness that slowly crept over her.

In the morning, fussing servants had brought new robes and more food. She managed a few bites, but when Akkarin arrived she regretted it. Feeling ill with fear, she had followed him to the University. To Jerrik’s office. Had she passed novices on the way? Had they fallen silent when he appeared, as they always did? She couldn’t remember.

Jerrik’s movements were hurried, his brows lowered in concentration. The few times she had seen the High Lord among other magicians, she had noted that he was treated with respect and even awe. Was this reverence for the position of High Lord? Or was it something else? Did they fear him instinctively, without knowing the reason?

Watching Jerrik, she shook her head. Schedules and tests seemed so trivial now. If Jerrik knew what had really happened, he wouldn’t be at all interested in all this shuffling of paper and classes. He wouldn’t respect Akkarin at all.

But he didn’t know, and she couldn’t tell him.

Jerrik rose abruptly. Turning to a cupboard, he took out three boxes: one green, one red and the other purple. He moved to the tall, narrow doors that covered one wall of the room and waved a palm over the handle of the first. There was a click, and the door opened to reveal a stack of shelves.

Running his finger down the first of these, he stopped and pulled out a neat folder. He placed it on the table and Sonea saw her name written neatly on the cover. Curiosity stirred in her as he opened the folder and read through several sheets of paper. What is in there? she wondered. Comments from the teachers, probably. And a report about the pen I was supposed to have stolen.

Jerrik opened the three boxes. Inside were more sheets of paper with teachers’ names and tables drawn on them. He selected some of these, then drew a clean sheet from his desk and began drawing up another table. For several minutes all that could be heard in the room were Jerrik’s breathing and the scrape of his pen.

“This is quite a turn of good fortune for you, Sonea,” he said without looking up.

Sonea smothered a sudden, bitter urge to laugh.

“Yes, Director,” she managed.

He looked up at her and frowned, then turned his attention back to his writing. Finishing the table, he drew out another sheet of paper and started making a copy.

“You’re not going to have much time to yourself next year,” he told her. “Lord Yikmo prefers to teach during the day, so you will have to take some private classes in Alchemy instead. You’ll have Freedays for study. If you work efficiently, you may be able to keep Freeday mornings free for personal pursuits.” He paused and considered his work with a sad shake of his head. “If you satisfy Lord Yikmo with your progress you may also regain a few afternoons to yourself.”

Sonea did not answer. What use did she have for free time now? Akkarin had forbidden her to speak to Rothen and she had no friends among the novices. She was dreading the coming few weeks. With no classes to attend until the next year, what was she to do with herself? Stay in her new room in Akkarin’s residence? She shuddered. No, she would stay away from there as much as possible.

If he let her. What if he wanted to keep her close by? What if he wants to use me in his evil work? She began to push the thought away, then stopped herself. No matter how appalling, she had to consider the possibility. He could make her do anything by threatening to harm Rothen. Her stomach knotted with dread. Anything...

Her hands were hurting. Looking down, she unclenched her fists. Four sets of crescent-shaped indents marked each palm. Rubbing her hands on her robe, she made a mental note to trim her nails when she returned to her room.

Jerrik remained totally absorbed in his papers. She watched as his pen worked down the page. Reaching the end, he gave a grunt of satisfaction and handed the page to her.

“As the High Lord’s favorite you will be given preferential treatment, but you’ll also be expected to prove that his choice was well made. Don’t hesitate to take advantage of your new position - you’ll need to if you are to meet his expectations.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Director.”

“You may go.”

Swallowing hard, she rose, bowed and moved to the door.

“Sonea.”

Looking over her shoulder, she found a rare smile lifting the corners of Jerrik’s mouth. “I know you will miss having Rothen as your guardian,” he said. “Akkarin may not be as companionable, but in choosing you he has done much to improve your situation.” The smile vanished. “You may go.”

She forced herself to nod in reply. As she pulled the door closed, she saw that Jerrik was watching her, his expression thoughtful. Turning away, she slipped the schedule into her box and started along the wide, familiar corridor.

A few novices lingered in doorways. They watched her as she passed. Disturbed by their stares, she quickened her pace. How many people know? she wondered. Probably everyone. They’ve had an entire day to find out. The news that the High Lord had finally chosen a favorite would have spread through the Guild faster than the winter cough. A teacher stepped out of a corridor. He looked at her doubtfully, then his eyes dropped to her sleeve. His eyebrows rose and he shook his head slightly as if in disbelief.

She glanced down at the small square of gold on the sleeve of her robe. Incals were family symbols worn by members of the Houses. Magicians did not wear them because once they joined the Guild they were supposed to leave family and political ties behind them. The servant who had brought the robes had explained that the High Lord wore the Guild symbol as an incal because his position was a lifetime commitment. The Guild became his family and House.

And she was his novice. Folding her sleeve against her body to hide the incal, she approached the door of her classroom. She paused just outside to gather her courage.

“Good morning, Sonea.”

Turning, she saw Lord Elben striding down the corridor toward her. He smiled, his mouth widening but his eyes remaining cold.

“Congratulations on your new guardian,” he offered as he reached her side.

Sonea bowed. “Thank you, Lord Elben.”

He strode into the classroom. Steeling herself, Sonea followed.

“Take your seats, please,” Elben boomed. “We have much to do today.”

“Ah!” A familiar voice rose above the clatter and drag of chairs. “The High Lord’s favorite has deigned to honor our humble class with her presence.”