Trudi Canavan - The Novice

“Oh?” Akkarin’s gaze sharpened.

“Do you have any more of that wine you’re drinking?”

“It is the last bottle.”

“Oh dear.” Lorlen shook his head. “Then the situation is worse than I thought. I’m afraid that’s the last of it. I chose not to renew our supplies. After today, no more Anuren dark for the High Lord.”

“That’s your news?”

“Terrible, isn’t it?” Lorlen turned to regard his friend. “Are you displeased?”

Akkarin snorted. “Of course! Why didn’t you order any more?”

“They wanted twenty gold a bottle.”

“A bottle!” Akkarin leaned back in his chair and whistled. “Another good decision, though this time you should have mentioned it to me first. I could have said a few words here and there in court... well, I still can.”

“So I’ll expect a more reasonable offer to arrive on my desk in the next few weeks?”

Akkarin smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then Lorlen drained his glass and rose. “I should move on to the Night Room. Are you coming?”

Akkarin’s expression darkened. “No, I have someone to meet in the city.” He looked up at Lorlen. “It was good to see you again. Come by more often. I don’t want to have to arrange meetings with you just to find out Guild gossip.”

“I’ll try.” Lorlen managed a smile. “Perhaps you should visit the Night Room more often. You might hear some gossip yourself.”

The High Lord shook his head. “They’re all too careful when I am around. Besides, my interests lie outside the confines of the Guild. I’ll leave our family scandals to you.”

Placing his wineglass on the table, Lorlen moved to the door, which opened silently. He glanced back to see Akkarin sipping wine contentedly.

“Good night,” he said.

Akkarin lifted his glass in reply. “Enjoy yourself.”

As the door closed behind him, Lorlen drew in a deep breath, then started walking. Thinking back, he reviewed what had been said. Akkarin had expressed only approval of Dannyl’s appointment—which was ironic, considering. The rest of the conversation had been relaxed and unremarkable; it was easy to forget the truth at those times. But Lorlen was always amazed how Akkarin managed to allude to his secret activities during their conversations. “My interests lie outside the confines of the Guild.” That was putting it mildly.

Lorlen snorted softly. No doubt Akkarin was referring to attending court and the King. I just can’t help interpreting what he says in light of what I know.

Visiting Akkarin had never been a trial before Sonea’s Hearing. Now he left the High Lord’s Residence tired and relieved the ordeal was over. He thought of his bed and shook his head. He still had to sit through endless requests and questions in the Night Room before he could slip away to his rooms. Sighing, he lengthened his stride and started through the gardens.

As Sonea waited for the class to begin, she opened her book of notes and started to read. A shadow crossed her desk, and she jumped as a hand flashed in front of her and grabbed one of the sheets of paper. She made a desperate grab for it, but was too slow. The paper was whisked away.

“Well, what do we have here?” Regin strolled to the front of the class and leaned back on the teacher’s desk. “Sonea’s notes.”

She stared at him coldly. The other novices were watching him with interest. Regin scanned the page and laughed with delight.

“Look at this writing!” he exclaimed, holding it up. “She writes like a child. Oh, and the spelling!”

Sonea stifled a groan as he started to read, and made a great show of his “struggle” to decipher words. After a few sentences, he stopped and puzzled aloud over their meaning. She heard several half-smothered laughs and felt her face beginning to burn. Regin grinned and began exaggerating the spelling mistakes on the page by pronouncing each word literally, and the room began to echo with unrestrained laughter.

Placing an elbow on the table before her, Sonea rested her chin in her hand and tried to look unconcerned, while her entire body turned hot, then cold, over and over, as anger and humiliation overtook each other.

Regin straightened suddenly and hurried back to his seat. As the laughter faded, the sound of footsteps could be heard. A purple-robed figure appeared in the doorway. Lord Elben peered down his long nose at the class, then moved to his seat and placed a wooden box on the table.

“Fire,” he began, “is like a living creature and, like a living creature, it has needs.”

He opened the box and lifted out a candle and a small dish. With a quick stab, he speared the candle onto a spike in the center of the dish.

“Fire needs air and food, just as all creatures do. Don’t assume that it is a creature.” He chuckled. “That is foolish, but do keep in mind that it often behaves as though it has a mind of its own.”

Behind her someone choked back a laugh. Sonea turned her head. In the corner of her eye she saw Kano pass something to Vallon, and her stomach turned. Unseen by Lord Elben, her handwriting was entertaining the entire class.

Slowly, she drew in a deep breath and sighed quietly. The second week of lessons showed no improvement on the first. All of the novices—except Shern, who had disappeared completely after a strange outburst in which he claimed to have been seeing sunlight coming through the ceiling—now gathered around Regin at every opportunity. It was clear that she was not welcome in this little gang, and that Regin intended to make her the butt of all his jokes and pranks.

She was the outcast. But unlike the boys who had tried and failed to be accepted in Harrin’s gang, she could not find somewhere else to go. She was stuck with them.

So she had adopted the only defense she could think of: ignoring them. If she didn’t entertain Regin and the others by reacting to their jibes, they would eventually grow bored and leave her alone.

“Sonea.”

She jumped and found Lord Elben frowning at her in disapproval. Her heart began to pound. Had he spoken to her? Had she been so engrossed in self-pity that she hadn’t heard him? Would he chastise her in front of the class?

“Yes, Lord Elben?” she said, bracing herself for further humiliation.

“You will make the first attempt to light this candle,” he said. “Now, I’ll remind you that the production of heat is easier when...”

Relieved, Sonea focused her will on the candle. She could almost hear Rothen’s voice as his instructions repeated in her mind. “Draw a little magic, extend your will, focus your mind on the wick, shape the magic, and release it...” She felt a sliver of her power jump to the wick and a flame spluttered into life.

Lord Elben blinked at it, his mouth still open. “...thank you, Sonea,” he finished. He looked around the rest of the class. “I have candles for you all. Your task this morning is to learn how to light them, then practice lighting them quickly, with as little thought as possible.”

He gathered candles from the box and set them in front of each novice. At once they began to stare at the wicks. Sonea watched, her amusement growing as she saw that no candle, not even Regin’s, began to burn.

Elben returned to his desk and took out a sphere of glass filled with blue liquid. He brought it to Sonea’s table and set it down.

“This is an exercise that will teach you subtlety,” he told her. “The substance in this container is sensitive to temperature. If you heat it slowly and evenly, it will change to red. If you do not, bubbles will form, and it will take several minutes for them to dissipate. I want to see red, not bubbles. Call me when you have achieved that.”