Trudi Canavan - The High Lord

“Occupation?”

“She wouldn’t say.”

Then perhaps her name is Savara, Cery mused. If she had lied about her name, why not make up an occupation as well?

“Why’s she come?”

“Says she can help you with a problem, but wouldn’t say what the problem was.”

Cery was thoughtful. So she thinks I have a problem. Interesting.

“Show her in, then.”

Gol nodded, then backed out of the room. Cery closed his desk drawer, then leaned back in his chair to wait. After a few minutes, the door opened again.

He and the newcomer regarded each other in surprise.

She had the strangest face he had ever seen. A broad forehead and high cheekbones angled down to a fine chin. Thick, black hair hung heavy and straight past her shoulders, but her most startling feature was her eyes. They were large and tilted upward at the outer corners, and the same light gold-brown as her skin. Strange, exotic eyes... and they were examining him with barely concealed amusement.

He was used to this reaction. Most customers hesitated when they first saw him, as they noted his stature, and his name, which was also the name of a little rodent common in the slums. Then they reminded themselves of his position and the likely consequences if they laughed out loud.

“Ceryni,” the woman said. “You are Ceryni?” Her voice was rich and deep, and she had spoken with an accent he could not place. Definitely not Lonmar.

“Yes. And you’re Savara.” He did not phrase it as a question. If she had lied about her name, he doubted she would offer the real one now just because he asked for it.

“I am.”

She took a step closer to the desk, her eyes shifting away to note features of the room, then back to him again.

“You say I’ve a problem you can fix,” he prompted.

A hint of a smile crossed her face and he caught his breath. If she fully smiled, she may just turn out to be astonishingly beautiful. No doubt this was the cause of Gol’s suppressed excitement.

“I do.” She frowned. “You do.” Her gaze slipped from his, moved over him as if considering something, then snapped back. “The other Thieves say you are the one hunting the murderers.”

Murderers? Cery narrowed his eyes. So she knows there is more than one.

“How’d you plan to help me?”

She smiled and Cery’s suspicion was confirmed—she was astonishingly beautiful. He hadn’t anticipated the challenge and confidence that came with it, however. This one knew how to use her looks to get her way.

“I can help you find and kill them.”

Cery’s heart began to race. If she knew who these murderers were, and believed she could kill them...

“And how’re you going to do that?” he asked.

The smile vanished. She took another step closer. “Find or kill?”

“Both.”

“I will say nothing of my methods of killing today. As for finding them,” a crease appeared between her brows, “that will be harder, but easier for me than for you. I have ways of recognizing them.”

“So do I,” Cery pointed out. “Why’s your way better?”

She smiled again. “I know more about them. For now, I will tell you that the next one entered the city today. He will probably take a day or two to gather the courage, and then you’ll hear of his first kill.”

He considered her reply carefully. If she didn’t know anything, why offer this proof? Unless she planned to manufacture proof by murdering someone herself. He looked at her closely and his heart went cold as he belatedly recognized the broad facial features and that particular shade of gold-brown skin. How had he not seen it earlier? But he had never seen a Sachakan woman before...

He had no doubt now that she was dangerous. Whether she was dangerous to him, or to the murderers from her homeland, remained to be seen. The more he could get her to reveal of herself, the better.

“So you have watchers in your homeland,” he prompted, “who tell you when a killer has entered Kyralia?”

She paused. “Yes.”

Cery nodded. “Or,” he said slowly, “you’ll wait a few days and kill someone yourself.”

Her gaze became steely. “Then have your tags watch me. I will stay in my room and have food brought to me.”

“We both need to prove ourselves right-sided,” he told her. “You came to me, so you do the proving first. I’ll put a watcher on you now, and we’ll have a chat once this man has done his deed. Happy with that?”

She nodded once. “Yes.”

“Wait in the first room. I’ll set things out, and have a friend take you back to your place.”

He watched, taking in as much detail as possible, as she walked to the door. Her clothes were plain, neither shabby nor expensive. The heavy shirt and trousers were typical of common Kyralians, but from the way she walked he doubted she had been ordered about much in her life. No, this one did the ordering.

Gol returned to the room promptly after she had left, his face tight with the effort of hiding his curiosity.

“Put four tags on her,” Cery told him. “I want to know every move she makes. Keep an eye on whoever brings anything to her, food or otherwise. She knows she’s going to be watched, so let her see two of the tags.”

Gol nodded. “Want to see what she was carrying?”

He held out a bundle of cloth. Cery regarded it with mild surprise. She had offered to kill the murderers, he reasoned. I doubt she plans to do it with her bare hands. He nodded.

Gol carefully unrolled the cloth on the desk. Cery chuckled as he saw the array of knives and daggers. He picked them up one by one, testing their weight. Some were etched with unusual designs and symbols, some with gems set into the metal. He sobered. Sachakan, most likely. He set the largest of the jeweled ones aside, then nodded to Gol.

“Give them back.”

Gol nodded, then rolled up the bundle and took it out of the room. When the door had closed, Cery leaned back in his chair and considered this strange woman. If everything she had said proved true, she could be as useful as she claimed.

If she was lying? He frowned. Was it possible a Thief had sent her? She had mentioned speaking to the “other Thieves.” He could not think of a good reason for one to interfere, however. Time must be spent considering all the possibilities. He would be questioning his watchers closely.

And should I tell him? Cery thought. To communicate anything other than the arranged coded messages would require a meeting, and he was not about to arrange one unless it was absolutely necessary. Was this important enough?

A Sachakan woman who had contacts in her homeland. Of course it was.

But something made Cery pause. Perhaps he should wait and see if she proved herself useful first. And he had to admit, he didn’t like consulting someone else every time he changed his tactics slightly. Even if he did owe that someone a great debt.

It was time he came up with a few strategies of his own.

As Sonea waited for Warrior class to begin she closed her eyes and rubbed them, then fought off the urge to yawn. She had finished Coren’s diary late in the night, drawn on by the architect’s recollections and half afraid that, if she left it there unfinished, she might return the next night to find it gone and never know how the story ended.

As the night turned to the earliest hours of morning, she had read the final entry:

I have decided. When the foundations of the University are complete I will secretly bury the chest, with all its contents, in the soil beneath it. Along with those terrible truths will go my own, in the physical form of this book. Perhaps, by carrying out this act of concealment, I will finally smother this nagging guilt at what I have learned and used.