The Novice

Sonea shook her head, suddenly wishing she hadn’t volunteered an opinion. “No.”

“Then shouldn’t we preserve our knowledge and keep ourselves well practiced in its use?”

“Yes, but...” She paused. Why am I arguing with him?

“But?” he prompted.

“You don’t need every magician to do it.”

“Don’t we?”

She cursed silently. Why was he even bothering to discuss this with her? He didn’t care if she was good at Warrior Skills. He just wanted her occupied and out of his way.

“Perhaps Rothen neglected that part of your training because you are a woman.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps he was right. In the last five years the few young women who considered becoming Warriors were persuaded otherwise. Do you think that is fair?”

She frowned at this question. He knew that she did not want to join the Warriors, so he could only be asking in an effort to draw her into conversation. If she cooperated, would this lead into dangerous territory? Should she refuse to talk to him?

Before she could decide whether to answer or not, the door behind Akkarin opened and Takan entered carrying a large tray. A delicious smell followed him to the table. The servant placed bowls and plates in a line between her and Akkarin, then put the tray under his arm and began to describe each dish.

Sonea’s stomach stirred with hunger. At each savory breath the knots within it untied.

“Thank you, Takan,” Akkarin murmured as the servant finished. Takan bowed. As he left, Akkarin picked up a serving ladle and began to select from the dishes.

From a few formal meals with Rothen, Sonea knew that this was the traditional way the Kyralian Houses entertained guests. In the slums, food was eaten with little preparation, and the only utensils used were the knives each person carried. The uniquely Kyralian tradition of serving food in small, bite-sized pieces required more preparation, and the more formal the meal, the more elaborate the food and utensils for eating it.

Fortunately, Rothen had made her memorize the purposes of all the different forks, ladles, tweezers and skewers. If Akkarin had thought he would humble her by drawing attention to her lack of “proper” upbringing, then he would be disappointed.

She helped herself to the dishes, first ladling onto her plate some of the rassook pieces wrapped in brasi leaves. As she skewered a piece with her fork and placed it between her teeth, she realized Akkarin had paused to watch her.

A delicious flavor filled her mouth. Surprised, she ate another. Soon her plate was empty, and she was eyeing the next dish.

As she sampled each of the dishes, she forgot all else. Slivers of fish were served in a tangy, red marin sauce. Mysterious parcels were stuffed with herbs and harrel mince. Large purple crots, beans she had always hated, were coated with a salty crumb that made them irresistible.

She had never tasted food so delicious. The meals in the University had always been good, and she had listened to the other novices’ complaints in disbelief. This meal, however, explained how they could find the Foodhall wanting.

At Takan’s return, she looked up and discovered Akkarin watching her, his chin resting on one hand. Averting her eyes, she watched Takan gather the empty plates and bowls, then carry them away.

“What did you think of the food?”

Sonea nodded. “Good.”

“Takan is an excellent cook.”

“He made all this himself?” She could not hide the surprise in her voice.

“Yes, though he has an assistant to stir the pots for him.”

Takan returned with two bowls, which he set in front of them. Looking down, Sonea felt her mouth water. Pale crescents of pachi fruit glistened in a thick syrup. The first mouthful revealed a sweetness sharpened with an alcoholic tang. She ate slowly, savoring each mouthful. Meals like this might be worth suffering his company for, she thought.

“I want you to dine here with me every Firstday night.”

Sonea froze. Had he read her mind? Or was this what he had intended all along?

“But I have evening classes,” she protested.

“Takan is aware of the time allowed for the evening meal. You will not miss your lessons.”

She looked down at the empty bowl.

“But you will miss your class tonight, if I keep you any longer,” he added. “You are dismissed, Sonea.”

Relieved, she all but leapt out of the chair, then put a hand on the table to steady herself as her head began to spin. Still a little dizzy, she bowed, then headed for the door.

Pausing in the corridor to catch her balance, she heard a murmur from the room behind her.

“Less wine next time, Takan.”

“It was the dessert, master.”

25 Turning Up in Odd Places

Catching sight of Narron and Trassia heading toward the next class, Sonea sighed. For once she wished she was joining them, but only half of her schedule matched theirs now. Her destination for the morning was a small room deep within the University passages where Lord Yikmo was waiting to give her another Warrior Skills lesson.

Turning from the main corridor into a side passage, she walked slowly, feeling a gloom descend over her. The Arena was occupied for all daytime classes, so Yikmo held his lessons in a magically protected room within the University. Only small surges of magic were used, in complicated games that were supposed to sharpen her wits and reflexes.

Turning another corner, she all but collided with a magician. Keeping her eyes down, she started to mutter an apology.

“Sonea!”

Recognizing the voice, she looked up at Rothen and felt her heart skip. At once, they both glanced over their shoulders. The passage was empty.

“It’s good to see you.” He gazed at her searchingly, his face creasing with lines she could not remember having noticed before. “How are you?”

She shrugged. “Still around.”

He nodded, his expression grim. “How is he treating you?”

“I hardly see him.” She grimaced. “Too many classes. I think that’s what he intended.”

She looked over her shoulder again as she heard distant footsteps drawing near.

“I have to go. Lord Yikmo is expecting me.”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “According to my schedule, I’m teaching your class tomorrow.”

“Yes.” She smiled slyly. “I guess it would seem strange if the High Lord’s novice wasn’t taught by the Guild’s best chemistry teacher.”

His face smoothed a little, but he didn’t smile. Forcing herself to turn away, she continued down the corridor. She heard no footsteps behind her, and knew he was watching her go.

He looks different, she thought as she turned into another passage. So much older. Or has he always looked old, but I didn’t notice? Without warning, tears sprang into her eyes. Stopping, she leaned against a wall, blinking furiously. Not here! Not now! I must get control of myself! She drew a long, ragged breath and slowly let it out, then another.

A gong rang out, the sound vibrating through the wall behind her. Hoping her eyes weren’t red, she hurried