The Traitor Queen

out how bad it would be for Lorkin, the Guild and peace between Sachaka and the Allied Lands if Lorkin didn’t tell him everything about the Traitors. There were only so many questions that could be asked, and versions of the same warning, so the man had repeated himself a lot.

Lorkin had also repeated, apologetically but firmly, his refusal to answer. He did not want to get chatty, and risk inadvertently giving them any information they could use against the Traitors. Eventually he decided his refusals were only going to be ignored, so he stuck to saying nothing. It wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be, but he only had to think about how much harder it would be to resist torture and his resolve hardened. Still, they hadn’t tried to read his mind yet, so they didn’t know it wouldn’t work – so long, that is, as the Traitors’ mind-read- blocking gem lying under the skin of his palm did its job. Perhaps King Amakira remained reluctant to harm relations with the Allied Lands by doing so. Perhaps he hoped Lorkin would give in to questioning and threats.

Reaching the gate to the cell Lorkin had been locked in previously, the interrogator waved him inside. The gate closed. Lorkin turned back to see that the Ashaki in the sombre garb had approached them.

“Done?” he asked.

“For now,” the interrogator replied.

“He wants you to report.”

The interrogator nodded, then led his companion away.

The newcomer looked through the gate at Lorkin, his eyes narrowing, then moved away. Lorkin watched him glance around the room, his gaze resting on a simple wooden chair. The chair rose in the air and floated to a position in front of Lorkin’s cell, then settled upon its legs.

The well-dressed man sat down and proceeded to watch Lorkin.

Being stared at was not something Lorkin particularly relished, but he figured he would have to get used to it. He looked around the cell. It was empty but for a bucket for excrement in one corner. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything all day, so he felt no need to relieve himself strong enough to draw him into using the bucket while being watched.

Eventually I’ll have to. Better get used to that idea, as well.

With no other choice, Lorkin sat down on the dusty floor and rested his back against the rough wall. He’d probably have to sleep on the floor, too. The stone was hard and cold. At least it was sufficiently cool here for his robes no longer to feel uncomfortably hot. It was easy to warm the air with magic, but cooling it involved stirring the air, preferably past water.

He thought back to the moment he had donned robes again after months living as a Traitor. It had been a relief at first. He’d appreciated the generous style of garment and the soft, richly dyed fabric. As the Sachakan spring brought hotter days, he’d begun to find the robes heavy and impractical. When he was alone, in his room at the Guild House, he’d taken off the outer robe and worn only the trousers. He’d begun to long for simple, economical Traitor clothes.

That longing was probably as much to do with wishing he was back in Sanctuary. Immediately memories of Tyvara rose and he felt his heart lighten. The most recent recollection, of the last night they were together, with her naked and smiling as she taught him how lovers used black magic, set his pulse racing. Then older memories rose. Like the way she moved when in Sanctuary, secure and confident – taking for granted the power her society granted her. Like the direct stare that was both playful and intelligent.

He also remembered her before then, as she’d led him across the Sachakan plains toward the mountains, protecting him from Traitor assassins and them both from capture by the Ashaki. She’d been tired and difficult to talk to, yet had impressed him with her determination and resourcefulness.

He sent his mind further back to a memory of her in her guise as a slave of the Guild House. Shoulders hunched and eyes downcast, confused by his attempts to befriend her. He’d been attracted to her even then, though he’d told himself he was only fascinated by her exotic looks. But no other Sachakan woman had drawn his eyes in the same way, and he’d seen plenty of beautiful ones in both Arvice and Sanctuary.

Sanctuary. I actually miss the place, he realised. Now that I’ve left, I can see that I liked it there, despite Kalia. Memories of being abducted, locked away, bound and gagged while Kalia searched his mind for the secret of magical Healing darkened his thoughts, but he pushed them aside. Kalia is no longer a Speaker. No longer in charge of the Care Room, he reminded himself. The Traitors have their flaws, some more than others, but all in all they’re good people. Being stuck working with Kalia in the Care Room, worrying about her manipulations and how he was going to convince the Traitors to trade with the Guild, had distracted him too much to truly appreciate their way of life.

His abduction had been the action of a small number of less scrupulous Traitors. He suspected not all of Kalia’s faction would have condoned her actions. Most of them wouldn’t have been willing to break Traitor laws as Kalia had, even if they agreed with her. They only thought the way they did out of a desire to protect their people. Their fear of the outside world was well ingrained after centuries of hiding in the mountains.

While he wasn’t quite ready to forgive Kalia for stealing Healing knowledge from him, he could hardly begrudge her the desire to be able to use it to save the lives of Traitors. Still, she was planning to kill me and claim I’d attempted to flee Sanctuary and froze in the winter snows. That’s not something I intend to forgive.

As compensation for what was taken from him, Queen Zarala had decreed that he be taught how to make magical gemstones. He’d learned a kind of magic the Guild had never heard of. It was the dream of finding new, powerful magic that had led him to volunteer as Ambassador Dannyl’s assistant in the first place. Looking back, he smiled at his own naivety. The chances of finding something had been ridiculously remote. And yet he had.

His hopes of finding magic that might render black magic obsolete, or at least provide protection against it, hadn’t been fulfilled, however. The potential in magical gemstones to negate the need for black magicians was in turn negated by the fact that a stone-maker needed to learn black magic in order to create them.

He felt his smile fade and a knot of worry form inside his stomach. What will the Guild do when they find out that I know black magic? Will they forgive it, once they understand I could not have learned stone- making otherwise?

He had considered all possible consequences, and had hardened himself to the worst of them: the possibility they would exile him from the Allied Lands, as they had done his father. It would hurt, but would also free him to return to Sanctuary and Tyvara, which wasn’t too bad an outcome. Apart from one thing.

Mother is going to be disappointed in me. No – more than that. She’ll be devastated.

Which was why he hadn’t said anything about it to Ambassador Dannyl or Administrator Osen yet. It was one piece of news he would be putting off for as long as possible. Osen had decided that nobody should be told anything more than necessary, in case the Sachakans did start reading minds. Even so, Lorkin knew he couldn’t avoid Sonea finding out forever.

But when she does, I’d rather she didn’t hear it from anyone else. It’s not going to be easy to tell her, but maybe if I do it myself it’ll be easier for her to hear.

* * *

Cery had lost count of the times he’d woken up, but this time he knew there was something different about the waking even before he gathered enough awareness to name what it was.

Light. After Anyi had returned with a little food and water taken from Sonea’s rooms, which they had given to Gol, they’d decided to sleep. To avoid using up all the candles, they’d blown them out – but not before Cery had tricked Anyi into giving him her matches. He hoped that robbing her of a source of portable light would keep her from exploring the passages while he was asleep. Though she assured him she knew most of them now, she had to agree that the lack of maintenance and repair had left many unsafe.

The pile of old pillows had been divided between the three of them. Though he had enough to protect him from the cold, hard floor, keeping them together was a challenge. If he changed position, one would inevitably skitter off into the darkness, and he’d have to grope around to find it and stuff it back underneath him.

I wonder if anyone is living in my old hiding places, enjoying the fancy furniture and drinking my wine, he thought as he sat up. Though broken sleep had left him aching with weariness, he was relieved to be giving up on trying. The light outlined the doorway and was brightening. He heard a familiar voice call