The Traitor Queen

“But Sonea’s the only one who would defend us if the Guild found out we were down here,” Gol said, shaking his head.

“What about Kallen?” Anyi asked, looking at Lilia.

Lilia shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to rely on him.”

“Then we’d better make sure we aren’t discovered,” Cery said. “Have you spoken to Kallen? Did he have any news for us?”

“I have, and no,” Lilia replied. She sighed. “He doesn’t seem inclined to confide in me.”

“You’ll just have to win him over,” Anyi told her.

As Gol slurped up the last of the sauce in the meat section of the pot, Cery wiped his hands on the edge of the cloth the food had been bundled in.

“In the meantime,” he said to Lilia, “you need to check Gol. If he’s healing up well then you need to come with me to the entrance to the Guild tunnels. None of us is going to be truly safe until we find a way to block it so that no Thief’s man could get through. If that means collapsing the roof, then that’s what we’ll have to do.” He turned to Anyi. “Then I want you to show me these escape routes. Maybe they’ll take us close to where servants toss out things magicians don’t use any more.”

The girls both grinned. “A bit of exploring sounds like fun,” Lilia said.

“Don’t you have some studying to do?” Cery asked.

Her face fell. “Do I ever not have studying to do?” She sighed, then looked at Anyi reproachfully. “You get to have all the fun.”

Anyi shook her head. “You don’t get to say that until I have a nice soft bed down here and regular steamy hot baths.”

Lilia’s eyes widened in mock apology. “Actually, now that you mention baths and body odour—”

Though she was clearly expecting it, she still only just managed to dodge Anyi’s punch to her arm. Chuckling, she slipped out of reach and headed toward Gol.

Chapter 6 Permission Granted

The two middle-aged men were still in their cell when Lorkin returned from his second day with the interrogator, but the couple who had been imprisoned there had gone. Once again water had been left for him, but no food. Hunger had made it difficult to sleep until he gave in again and soothed it away with magic.

It was impossible to tell what time it was. No windows allowed in light to indicate day or night. Lorkin had to rely on the routine of the interrogator and watcher to measure the passing of the days. When he woke he noted that the watcher was still in place, gazing at him with alert eyes but no expression. Sitting with his back to the wall, Lorkin entertained himself with mental games and memories.

A sound eventually drew his attention. Footsteps warned of someone approaching. The watcher turned away, then stood up. Lorkin sighed quietly and got to his feet, bracing himself for another day of questions and hunger.

Instead of the interrogator, a male slave appeared holding a tray on which lay a bowl, a lump of bread and a goblet. Lorkin could not help feeling his heart skip with hope as the watcher examined the items then stepped forward to open the gate to his cell.

The slave’s eyes remained downcast as he stepped inside, lowered the tray to the floor and backed out again.

The watcher paused to regard Lorkin thoughtfully after he’d relocked the gate. Lorkin waited until the man returned to his seat before approaching the tray. He picked it up and carried it to the far side of the cell.

The bowl was full of a cold, opaque soup. The goblet contained wine. There were no utensils.

If any of this is poisoned, I won’t know until I try eating it. I’ve never had to Heal away poison before. It’ll use up more of Tyvara’s power than simply quashing hunger. Should I risk it? Do I need to eat badly enough?

The particles in the soup were settling to the bottom, leaving most of the liquid clear. But the growing sediment was not forming a flat layer. It clung to something lying at the bottom. Something square and thin. He felt a tingle run down his spine.

Aware that the watcher was observing his every move, he drew a tiny amount of magic and used it to gently nudge the particles away from the object. At first the soup clouded at the slightest stirring, but soon it settled allowing him to confirm what he’d suspected.

The object was a piece of paper.

‘Boil soup to make safe. Bread good. Wine bad.’

Beneath was a squiggle. It would have been taken as a flourish or hastily drawn initials by someone else, but Lorkin recognised it as one of the code signs the Traitors had told him to look for.

They know I’m here, he thought, his heart lifting in relief and hope. They’re going to get me out of here. But even as the thought crossed his mind he knew he could not expect that much. The prison was under the very palace itself and guarded by Ashaki and the independent, fiercely loyal guard class that was unique to this place.

It was nice to know the Traitors were trying to help him, though. Drawing more magic, he set the soup boiling. That at least explained to the watcher why he’d been staring at it so intently. He still drank it slowly and paid attention to his body in case the note was a clever lie. The bread was stale, so he dipped it in the soup to soften it.

He didn’t touch the wine. Would the interrogator, or whoever had poisoned it, wonder how Lorkin had known to avoid it, or would he assume Lorkin simply didn’t want his senses fogged by wine during the next session?

Not long after he’d finished eating, the slave returned for the tray. Lorkin held it up for the man to take. The slave’s gaze rose to meet his.

“Lord Dannyl says King Merin wants you to tell them everything,” the man said, his words barely a whisper.

Lorkin nodded to show he understood, and turned away so that the watcher would not see his smile.

As if I’d believe that! They must think I’m stupid, if they think I’d accept such an order from anyone but Dannyl himself. Even then... I’d have to consider that Dannyl was being blackmailed or threatened.

Administrator Osen had given Lorkin a code word as well, in case the Sachakans tried something like this. Forcing the smile from his face, Lorkin leaned back against the wall and waited for the interrogator to arrive and the day’s questioning to begin.

* * *

The Foodhall was almost vibrating with noise, despite the midday meal finishing some time ago. Lilia resisted the temptation to roll her eyes at the other novices. The sudden announcement that lessons had been cancelled for the afternoon while the entire Guild attended a Meet had sent them into a mix of giddy exhilaration at their unexpected freedom and excited speculation as to the cause of the meeting.

Lilia already knew the reason for it, but nobody was asking her and she had much more important things to worry about. Like keeping Cery, Gol and Anyi fed and supplied with lamp oil and candles. Lilia had decided Jonna, Sonea’s servant, was the key to both. She had to find a way to persuade the woman to bring more supplies these things to Sonea’s rooms, without it sounding suspicious.

It was easy enough to smuggle small items into the tunnels. The lacquered boxes that servants used to carry food could be lowered down the gap in the wall of Sonea’s room using magic. Larger items like whole pieces of furniture weren’t going to fit in the narrow space, however. Perhaps they could use other entrances to the