and she found herself at the back of the group. When they had descended the stairs of the University she stopped and watched them walk away without a backward glance.
Issle hadn’t even thanked her. I shouldn’t be surprised, she told herself. They’re rich brats with no manners.
3
Telling Tales
As Rothen’s servant, Tania, set out the morning meal on the table, Sonea dropped into a seat with a sigh. Rothen looked up and, seeing the resigned and unhappy expression on her face, wished that he had been able to return straight after class yesterday, instead of spending hours discussing lessons with Lord Peakin.
“How did it go yesterday?” he asked.
Sonea hesitated before answering. “None of the novices can use magic yet. They’re all still learning Control. Lord Elben gave me a book to read.”
“All novices are unable to use magic when they begin with us. We don’t develop their power until they have spoken the vow. I thought you would have realized this.” He smiled. “There are some advantages in having your power develop naturally.”
“But it will take weeks until they can start lessons. All I did was read the same book - and it was about things I already know.” She looked up, her eyes bright with hope. “Why don’t I stay here until they’ve caught up?”
Rothen suppressed a laugh. “We don’t hold a novice back if he or she is a faster learner than the others. You should make the most of the opportunity. Ask for another book to read, or see if your teacher is willing to go through some exercises with you.”
She grimaced. “I don’t think the other novices will like that.”
He pursed his lips. She was right, of course, but he also knew if he asked Jerrik to keep her out of classes until the others were ready, the Director would refuse.
“Novices are expected to compete with each other,” he told her. “Your classmates will always try to outdo you. It will make no difference if you hold yourself back for them. In fact, you will lose their respect if you sacrifice your learning for fear of upsetting them.”
Sonea nodded and looked down at the table. He felt a pang of sympathy for her. No matter how much he counselled her, it had to be confusing and frustrating to be suddenly confined to the small, petty world of the novices.
“You really haven’t had that much of a head start,” he told her. “It took me weeks to teach you Control because you had to learn to trust me. The fastest learners will be ready by the end of the week, the rest will take up to two. They’ll catch up sooner than you expect, Sonea.”
She nodded. Taking a spoonful of powder from a jar, she mixed it with hot water from a jug. The pungent smell of raka reached Rothen’s nose. He grimaced as she drank it, wondering how she could stomach the stimulant. He had persuaded her to try sumi, the drink popular in the Houses, but she had not acquired a taste for it.
Sonea drummed her fingernails against the side of the cup. “Issle said something strange, too. She said male teachers shouldn’t teach female novices.”
“Is this Issle an Elyne girl?”
“Yes.”
“Ah,” he sighed. “The Elynes. They’re fussier than Kyralians about the interaction of young girls with boys. They insist that their daughters are taught by women, and are so shocked if they see a girl of any race taught by a man that we’ve adopted this ‘rule’ for all female novices. Ironically, they’re quite open-minded about the activities of adults.”
“Shocked.” Sonea nodded. “Yes, that’s how she seemed.”
Rothen frowned. “It might have been wiser to let her assume I’d brought in a female teacher for you. Elynes can be very judgmental about things like that.”
“I wish you’d told me that before. She was friendly at first but...” Sonea shook her head.
“She’ll forget about it,” he assured her. “Give it time, Sonea. In a few weeks you’ll have a few companions, and you’ll be wondering why you were so worried.”
She looked down at her cup of raka. “I’d settle for just one.”
In the large, dimly lit office of the Guild Administrator a globe of magical light floated back and forth, sending shadows marching across the walls. As Lorlen reached the end of the letter he stopped pacing and muttered a curse.
“Twenty gold a bottle!”
Striding back to his chair, he sat down, opened a box and lifted out a sheet of thick paper. The decisive scratching of his pen filled the room as he wrote. He paused now and then, narrowing his eyes as he considered his words. Signing the letter with a flourish, he sat back and regarded his work.
Then, with a sigh, he dropped it into the waste box under his desk.
Suppliers of the Guild had been taking advantage of the King’s money for centuries. Any item was two or three times the usual price when the buyer was the Guild. It was one of the reasons the Guild grew its own medicinal plants.
Placing his elbows on the table, Lorlen rested his chin on his palm and reconsidered the price list in the letter from the wine maker. He could simply neglect to order any of the wine. It would have political consequences of course, but none that couldn’t be avoided if he purchased other goods from the same House.
But the wine was Akkarin’s favorite. Made from the tiniest variety of vare berries, it was sweet and rich in flavor. The High Lord always kept a flask in his guestroom, and he would not be pleased if supplies of it ran out.
Lorlen grimaced and reached for a new sheet of paper. Then he paused. He should not be pandering to Akkarin’s whims like this. It had never been his habit in the past. Akkarin might notice the change. He might wonder why Lorlen was acting so out of character.
But Akkarin must surely have noticed that Lorlen rarely dropped by for an evening chat these days. Lorlen frowned as he considered how long it had been since he had gathered the courage to visit the High Lord. Too long.
Sighing, he rested his forehead in his hands and closed his eyes. Ah, Sonea. Why did you have to reveal his secret to me? The memory ran through his mind. Sonea’s memory, not his own, but the details were still vivid...
“It is done,” Akkarin said, then removed his cloak to reveal bloodstained clothes. He looked down at himself. “Did you bring my robes?”
At the servant’s mumbled answer, Akkarin pulled off his beggar’s shirt. Beneath it was a leather belt strapped to his waist from which a dagger sheath hung. He scrubbed himself down, then moved out of sight and returned wearing his black robes. Reaching for the sheath, he removed a glittering dagger and began to wipe it on a towel. As he finished, he looked up at the servant.
“The fight has weakened me. I need your strength.”
The servant dropped to one knee and offered his arm. Akkarin ran the blade over the man’s skin, then placed a hand over the wound...
Lorlen shuddered. Opening his eyes, he drew in a deep breath and shook his head.
He wished he could dismiss Sonea’s memory as a misinterpretation of something innocent by someone who had believed magicians were bad and cruel, but memories that clear could not be false - and how could she have made it all up when she had not understood what she had seen? He almost smiled at her assumption that the
