Trudi Canavan - The Novice

“Because the object of this was not for Sonea to win,” Yikmo said quietly. “But for Regin to lose.”

Peakin regarded the Warrior dubiously. “And the difference is?”

Lorlen smiled at the Alchemist’s confusion. “If she had simply beaten him down, she would not have gained anyone’s respect. By winning and losing bouts based on skill, she showed that she was willing to fight fairly despite her advantage.”

Vinara nodded. “She didn’t know how strong she really was, did she?”

Yikmo smiled. “No. She didn’t. Only that she was stronger. If she’d known just how strong she was, it would have been difficult for her to allow herself to lose.”

“So how strong is she?”

Yikmo looked pointedly at Lorlen, then over Lorlen’s shoulder. Turning, Lorlen saw that Balkan and Akkarin were approaching. He knew it was not Balkan that Yikmo had been looking at.

“Perhaps you have taken on more than even you can handle, High Lord,” Sarrin said.

Akkarin smiled. “Not likely.”

Lorlen watched the others exchange glances. Not one face expressed disbelief. A lack of comprehension, perhaps.

“You’ll have to start teaching her yourself soon,” Vinara added.

Akkarin shook his head. “All she needs, she can learn in the University. There is nothing else that I can teach her that she would care to learn—for now.”

Lorlen felt a sudden chill creep up his body. He looked closely at Akkarin, but nothing in the High Lord’s expression hinted at what he feared.

“I can’t see her understanding or liking the battles and intrigues of the Houses,” Vinara agreed, “though the idea of the Guild electing its first High Lady is quite interesting.”

Sarrin frowned. “Let’s not forget her origins.”

As Vinara’s gaze sharpened, Lorlen cleared his throat. “Hopefully that will not be an issue for many years.” He glanced at Akkarin, but the High Lord’s attention was elsewhere. Lorlen followed his gaze and saw Sonea approaching.

As the circle of magicians parted to receive her, Sonea bowed.

“Congratulations, Sonea,” Balkan rumbled. “It was a well-fought battle.”

“Thank you, Lord Balkan,” she replied, her eyes brightening.

“How are you feeling?” Lady Vinara asked.

Sonea tilted her head, considering, then shrugged. “Hungry, my lady.”

Vinara laughed. “Then I hope your guardian has a celebration banquet waiting for you.”

If Sonea’s smile became a little forced, the others did not appear to notice. They were looking at Akkarin, who had turned to face her.

“Well done, Sonea,” he said.

“Thank you, High Lord.”

The pair regarded each other in silence, then Sonea lowered her eyes. Watching the others carefully, Lorlen noted Vinara’s knowing smile. Balkan looked amused and Sarrin was nodding approvingly.

Lorlen sighed. They saw only a young novice awed and intimidated by her powerful guardian. Would they ever see anything more? He looked down at the red gem on his finger. If they do, I won’t be the one to show them. I am as much a hostage as she is .

He looked at Akkarin and narrowed his eyes. When he gets around to explaining himself, he’d better have a very good reason for all this .

Opening the door to his room, Dannyl gestured for Rothen to enter, then followed and closed the door. Inside, it was dark, and though it all looked clean and free of dust there was a smell of neglect in the air. His trunk had been deposited just inside the bedroom.

“So what was so pressing that the High Lord ordered you back to Imardin?” Rothen asked.

Dannyl regarded Rothen closely. No “how are you?” or “how was your journey?” He might have been annoyed, if it hadn’t been for the disturbing changes in his friend’s appearance.

Dark shadows hung under Rothen’s eyes. He seemed older, though Dannyl might simply be seeing his friend through eyes less familiar with the deep creases across Rothen’s brow, or the gray in his hair. The slightly hunched, tense way his mentor walked was definitely new, however.

“I can tell you some of it,” Dannyl said, “but not all. It seems Akkarin learned of my research into ancient magic. He... are you all right, Rothen?”

Rothen had grown very pale. He looked away. “Was he... offended by my interest?”

“He wasn’t,” Dannyl assured him, “because he doesn’t know you have any interest in ancient magic. He had learned of my research, and it appears he approves of it. In fact, I have his permission to continue.”

Rothen stared at Dannyl in surprise. “Then that must mean...”

“You can write your book without worrying about stepping on his toes,” Dannyl finished.

From Rothen’s dismissive frown, Dannyl guessed this wasn’t what had surprised his friend.

“Did he ask you to do anything else?” Rothen asked.

Dannyl smiled. “That is the part I can’t tell you about. Ambassadorial matters. Nothing too dangerous, however.”

Rothen regarded Dannyl speculatively, then nodded. “You must be tired,” he said. “I should leave you to unpack and rest.” He moved to the door, then hesitated and turned around again. “Did you get my letter?”

Here we go, Dannyl thought.

“Yes.”

Rothen made an apologetic gesture. “I thought I should warn you in case it stirs up the gossips again.”

“Of course,” Dannyl said dryly. He paused, surprised at the lack of concern in his own voice.

“I don’t think it will be a problem,” Rothen added. “If this assistant of yours is what they say he is, that is. People aren’t speculating about you, they just think it’s amusing in light of what you were accused of as a novice.”

“I see.” Dannyl nodded slowly, then steeled himself for an unpleasant response. “Tayend is a lad, Rothen.”

“A lad?” Rothen frowned, then his eyes widened with understanding. “So the rumor is true.”

“Yes. The Elynes are a more tolerant people than Kyralians—most of the time.” Dannyl smiled. “I’m endeavouring to adapt to their ways.”

Rothen nodded. “Part of the role of Ambassador, I expect. Along with secret meetings with the High Lord.” He smiled for the first time since they had met that day. “But I am keeping you from your unpacking. Why don’t you have dinner with Dorrien and me tonight? He’s returning to his village tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

Rothen moved to the door again. At a flexing of Dannyl’s will, the door swung open. Rothen stopped, pushed it closed again, and sighed. He turned to stare into Dannyl’s eyes.

“Be careful, Dannyl,” he said. “Be very careful.”

Dannyl stared back. “I will,” he assured his friend.

Rothen nodded. Opening the door again, he stepped out into the corridor. Dannyl watched his friend and mentor walk away.

And shook his head as he realized he had no idea whether his friend was warning him about his affairs with Tayend, or with Akkarin.

The full moon bathed the path to the High Lord’s Residence in blue light. Walking toward the building, Sonea smiled.

Four weeks had passed since the challenge, and not once had she encountered Regin and his allies in the University passages after class. No sniggers had reached her ears in the corridors and not one of her projects had been ruined.

Today she had been paired with Hal in Medicines and, after an awkward start, they had started arguing about the right treatment for nailworm. He had told her about a rare plant his father, a village Healer in Lan, used to treat the disease. When she told him that the dwells used tugor mash, left over from distillation of bol, he had laughed. They started exchanging superstitions and unlikely cures from their homes, and when the lesson ended she realized they had been talking for an hour.