The Rogue (25 page)

“What are you thinking about?” Achati asked.

Dannyl looked at his companion and shrugged. “Nothing.”

The Sachakan smiled. “It is a strange habit of Kyralians, claiming to have a void of thoughts when they don’t want to discuss them.”

“Or if their thoughts are too mixed and disjointed – most likely from the wine – to explain – which is probably also because of the wine,” Dannyl added.

Achati chuckled. “Yes, I can see how that might be.” He looked at Dannyl and frowned. “There is something I have to tell you, and I’m not sure if you will be displeased or not.”

Dannyl felt a small pang of disappointment. He had almost convinced himself to accept Achati’s proposal, but now that Achati was being more serious, Dannyl’s doubts were creeping back in.

How would such a connection, if it were discovered, affect our standing in Sachakan society?
Then it occurred to him that they were about to leave Arvice
. Out of sight and out of minds. This trip could be the perfect opportunity …

“I’ve agreed to take another person on our research trip,” Achati said. “He was quite persuasive, and I can’t fault his reasoning. I’d already promised that if things got a bit too intense here I’d help him escape the Ashakis’ interest.”

Dannyl felt his heart sink. Then his disappointment at Achati’s words was followed by a rising suspicion.

“Who?”

Achati smiled. “I’ve agreed to take Ambassador Tayend with us.”

Dannyl looked away to hide his dismay. “Ah,” was all he trusted himself to say.

“You are displeased.” Achati sounded worried. “I thought you two were getting along.”

Dannyl forced himself to shrug. “We are.”
I suppose I can’t ask Achati to leave Tayend behind without causing all sorts of embarrassment and insult.
“There is one possible setback, though. I suspect he has neglected to tell you something very important.”

Achati frowned. “What is that?”

Dannyl did not have to force a chuckle at the memory. “Tayend gets horribly, insufferably, near-mortally seasick.”

Lilia stared at her surroundings, not sure if she was awake or still dreaming. She lay still for some time, then concluded that she must be awake because there was no sense of impending threat in the room, as there had been in her dreams.

Nothing moved, nothing changed, and nothing made a noise or spoke.
Ah. I was wrong. There is a kind of threat here, but it’s more subtle and sinister. It’s the complete lack of anything happening. It’s the threat of endless, unchanging hours going on and on into the future.

It was the threat of boredom and of wasted years. Of never being loved, or loving another. Of being forgotten.

But it could have been worse. Looking around the room, she took in the comfortable, well-made furniture and furnishings. Not many prisons looked like this. Perhaps none but this one did. The meal the night before had been as good, if not better, than those she’d eaten in the University Foodhall. The guards were polite and, if anything, seemed to feel sorry for her. Maybe she reminded them of their daughters.

I bet their daughters never get themselves in as much trouble as I have.

She winced then, as she remembered the brief meeting she’d had with her parents, who had come to the Guild to see her before she was sent off to the Lookout. She’d been too dazed to say much. She remembered saying “sorry” a lot. Her mother had asked simply “why?” and she couldn’t answer. How could she tell her mother that she loved another girl?

There had been tears. The memory was more painful now than the meeting had been at the time. She got up and dressed just to have something else to think about, her breath misting in the chill air. Someone had decided she should wear the sort of simple trousers and tunic that most servants wore, but of a better-quality cloth. A warm undershift was included. Robes would have been too thin and light to ward off the cold, even if she had been allowed to wear them. She shivered and suddenly felt the loss of her magic keenly.

A brazier had been installed in the room, with a flue that sent the smoke out through the exterior wall of the building. Beside it was a pile of wood and kindling. She guessed that, since the Lookout had been built for magicians, no fireplaces or chimneys had been included. When the Guard had taken over they would have worked out that braziers were the easiest non-magical way to keep the rooms warm.

Spark sticks had been provided, so she set about lighting the brazier. She didn’t try to use her powers, sure that the blockage Black Magician Sonea had placed on her mind was impenetrable, and that striving against it would be unpleasant. She could barely remember it being put in place. Her mind had been numb with shock.

Sonea asked me some questions
, she recalled.
I wasn’t of much use to her, but at least she was still trying to help. Or, at least, to find out who killed Naki’s father.

Would the Guild give up trying, now that she was imprisoned? She hoped not. Though Naki hadn’t liked her stepfather, she had been obviously distressed by his death. She deserved to know what had really happened.

Especially since she might be in danger. Whoever killed her father might come after her.

Lilia’s heart began to beat faster, but she took a few deep breaths and told herself that Naki could look after herself. She didn’t entirely believe it though. Naki was too easily distracted by the latest indulgence. How well would she defend herself when caught up in the seduction of roet?

Well, that’s something I won’t have any problems with. No more roet for me, here in my prison.

The thought sent a shiver of anxiety through her. She shook her head. It wasn’t as if she
needed
roet. Or even wanted it that much. But it would have helped her forget everything. To not care about the things she couldn’t change or do. To stop feeling so stupid for trying out the book’s instructions on black magic. To endure not knowing whether Naki was in danger or not. Perhaps even to smother the love she felt for Naki. Didn’t the songmakers and poets say that love only brought pain?

Had she not loved Naki, she might have felt resentment towards the girl getting them into this mess in the first place.
Trouble is, her recklessness is part of what I love about her. Though maybe it isn’t a part I like so much any more.

The brazier was small, and her skin was prickling with cold. Getting up, she drew a blanket from the bed around her shoulders and paced the room. For a while she stood at one of the slim windows, looking down on the forest outside. It was the same forest that backed onto the Guild buildings. She had never explored it. Having grown up in the city, the prospect of entering a wild, animal-filled mass of trees was strange and a little frightening. From her high vantage point – on the second floor of a tower built on a ridge overlooking the forest – she could see that the spaces between the trees were packed with an untidy tangle of dead trunks and vegetation. She tried to imagine how a person might walk through the forest without tripping over.
Probably very slowly.

When she grew bored with staring at the forest, she occupied herself by looking closely at objects in the room. All were practical. There were no books, no paper or writing tools. Would the guards bring her some, if she asked?

The door to the corridor was of heavy, quality wood. A small square of glass had obviously been installed as an afterthought, so guards could check where their prisoner was before they opened the door. There was a door between her room and the next. She had tried the handle the previous night, thinking it might lead to a second room – perhaps a more private washroom – but it would not turn. Approaching it again, she wondered what was beyond. Out of curiosity she pressed her ear to the wood.

To her surprise, she could hear a voice. A woman’s voice. She could not hear what the woman was saying, but the sound was quite musical. Perhaps the woman was singing.

A knock at the main door made her jump violently. Knowing that she would have been observed listening to her neighbour, Lilia stepped hurriedly away from the side door.

The main door opened and a smiling guard entered, carrying a tray. He was young – only a few years older than her. The tray held a typical Kyralian morning meal.

“A good morning, Lilia,” he said, putting the tray on the small dining table. “Did you sleep well?”

She nodded.

“Warm enough? Need more blankets?”

She nodded, then shook her head.

“Would you like me to bring you anything?” His demeanour was strangely compliant for a man wearing a uniform usually associated with authority and force.

She considered.
Better take up the offer. I’m going to be here a long time.

“Books?”

His smile widened. “I’ll see what I can rustle up for you. Anything else?”

She shook her head.

“Well, you’re easy to please. The one next door always wants thread made from reber wool, so she can make blankets and hats.”

Lilia glanced at the side wall between herself and her singing neighbour. “Who …?” she began.

For the first time, the guard’s smile fell away and he frowned. “Lorandra. The rogue magician that Black Magician Sonea found. Strange-looking woman, but polite and no trouble.”

Lilia nodded. She’d heard about this rogue. The woman’s son was also a magician, and he hadn’t been caught yet. He worked for a Thief, or something like that.

“My name’s Welor,” the guard told her. “I’m to make sure you’re comfortable while you stay with us at the Lookout. I’ll get you some books. In the meantime,” he nodded at the tray, “a bit of food will help warm you up.”

“Thanks,” she managed. He nodded and retreated to the door, smiling once more before he closed it.

For all the friendliness and obliging manner, the clunk of the lock turning was firm and unhesitating. With a sigh, Lilia sat down and started eating.

When Lorkin had arrived back at the Care Room that morning, Kalia was in an inexplicable mood. With a neutral tone and a blank expression, she told Lorkin that the old woman suffering from chill fever had died during the night.

She said nothing about Velyla, but he soon found the night’s secret Healing fell to the back of his mind as he began to worry about how the Traitors might react to the old woman’s death. He braced himself for accusations and censure.

None came. As the hours passed, all that was said by the patients and visitors to the Care Room was that the woman was very old already and, while it was sad that she had died, it had not been unexpected. Nobody cast any pointed looks in Lorkin’s direction. If Kalia felt any temptation to hint that he could have saved the old woman, she resisted it.

The teenaged boy was not doing well, however, and as Lorkin began to feel weariness from a short night’s sleep creeping in with the approaching evening, the boy’s parents arrived and told Kalia they were taking him back to their rooms.

The narrowed-eyed look Kalia cast at Lorkin sent a warning chill down his spine. He endeavoured to look puzzled, or at least tired and uncomprehending. She said nothing, and insisted on escorting the family.

Will I be waylaid on the way back to the men’s room tonight?
he wondered.
How long will it be before Kalia works out what’s going on? If she hasn’t already.

Drawing a little magic, he soothed away the tiredness in his body and turned back to the task he’d been engaged in before the family arrived. Not long after, he heard footsteps from the entrance and looked up to see if it was a new patient.

Evar smiled and nodded at Lorkin, glanced around the room, then came over. His nose was red and his eyes puffy.

“What great timing you have,” Lorkin said.

“What do you mean?” Evar asked, blinking with false innocence. He coughed. “Urgh,” he said. “I hate chill fever.”

“
You
have chill fever?”

“I have a sore throat.”

Lorkin chuckled, indicated that Evar should follow him, then headed for the cures Kalia had brought out of her storeroom for the day.

“Where’s Kalia?” he asked.

Evar shrugged. “On her way to somewhere. I didn’t see where exactly. I just saw she was out and about and came straight here.”

Lorkin handed his friend a small measure of the tea. “You know the dosage?”

“Of course. Had it every year for as many years as I can remember.”

“And yet you’re a magician,” Lorkin said. Not that Guild magicians never succumbed to illnesses. They tended to recover quickly though. Even if Evar did have chill fever, Lorkin would not have been surprised if he woke up tomorrow completely well again.

Evar looked around. “How is it going?”

“A little better. We’ll start seeing fewer people soon, mainly because the fever is running out of people to infect.”

“I was starting to think I’d evaded it this y—”

“
Lorkin
.”

They both looked up to see Kalia standing in the entryway. She crossed her arms and strode toward him, her firm footsteps echoing in the room. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips were pressed into a thin line.

“Uh, oh,” Evar breathed. He took a step back as Kalia approached. She stopped a little closer to Lorkin than might be considered normal or comfortable, and glared at him.

Glared
up
at him, Lorkin noted. It was petty, but there was something comical about her trying to physically intimidate him when she was at least a handspan shorter. He hoped his face was as expressionless as he was striving to make it.

“Did you heal Velyla with magic?” she asked, speaking slowly and in a voice that was low, but still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

A rustle of cloth filled the room as the patients and visitors shifted to watch the confrontation; then silence.

“Yes,” Lorkin replied. “With her parents’ permission,” he added.

Kalia’s eyes widened, then narrowed again. “So you went to their rooms without me, despite my orders—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I didn’t go to their room.”