Trudi Canavan - The Rogue

“Dining room, eh?” Rothen chuckled and opened his mouth to say more, but Dorrien frowned, shook his head and glanced at Alina, who had turned away. Looks like Alina isn’t comfortable with all the luxuries here , Sonea mused. Dorrien doesn’t want Rothen teasing him about it, as it’ll make her feel worse.

They moved into a room featuring a large table and eight chairs. A gong the size of a dinner plate sat in an alcove at the end of the room. When all were settled in the chairs, Dorrien glanced at it and the striker moved, filling the room with a pleasant ringing. Alina’s lips thinned and she shook her head.

It probably seemed like a fancy extravagance, but the sound let the servants know that the family was ready for their meal. Sure enough, a pair of male servants appeared carrying trays laden with bowls and plates of food. As they finished arranging the food on the table they tucked their empty trays under their arms and asked which drinks were required. Dorrien requested wine and water, and the men hurried away.

Foregoing the old-fashioned custom of serving guests himself, Dorrien simply invited them to start. They helped themselves to the dishes and began eating. Alina looked up at Sonea, her expression serious.

“How is your hunt for the rogue going?” she asked.

“Right now it has turned into an exercise in patience,” Sonea told her. “We’re waiting for information. Good information, because we don’t want to endanger our sources by acting too quickly.”

“You mean this spy working for the other Thief. The daughter of your friend?”

Sonea paused and resisted looking at Dorrien. He’d given his wife more information than Sonea would have liked. The fewer people who knew she was still friends with Cery the better, but if the fact became known it would not risk anybody’s life. However, the information that Anyi was Cery’s daughter could definitely put her life at risk, if it were discovered.

“Yes,” she replied. “It is a dangerous task, and I know my friend is very worried about her.”

“If it’s dangerous for her …” Alina looked at Dorrien, then straightened a little and turned back to Sonea. “Is it dangerous for us?”

Sonea blinked in surprise. “No.”

“But none of us are magicians.” Alina gestured to her daughters and herself. “What if these people you’re chasing find out that Dorrien is helping you, and that he has a family, and that we live here, not in the Guild grounds?” Alina’s voice rose a little. “What’s to stop them coming here when Dorrien is out, and threatening us – or worse?”

Sonea schooled her expression to hide the amusement she felt. Alina was genuinely worried. Does she have reason to worry? The scenario Alina imagined was not impossible, just unlikely. It would take a particularly bold and cunning assassin or abductor to enter a magician’s home, especially this one which housed several magicians. Someone as bold and cunning as the assassin who killed Cery’s family? Perhaps, but this was no hidden Thief’s lair, where secrecy also ensured nobody would notice a break-in was occurring and come to help.

“The living arrangements you have here work to your advantage,” Sonea told Alina. “Having other magicians living nearby means that, even when Dorrien isn’t here, you have someone to call upon for help, or the servants can fetch help for you. One magician in a house is a big deterrent, but you have four. Which also makes it harder for an outsider to know if they’re all at home or not.

“You should come up with rules to stick to,” Sonea added as Alina opened her mouth to argue. “Who to let into your rooms and who not to. How to be safe when you’re out in the city. What to do if you think someone is following you, or trying to get into the house.” Sonea looked at Dorrien, who nodded resignedly. “I’m sure you can work it out between you.”

As Sonea had hoped, Alina’s attention now shifted to Dorrien. “We will.” She glanced at Sonea briefly. “And we appreciate the advice.”

“The sooner we find Skellin, the sooner you can stop worrying about this,” Dorrien said.

Rothen hummed in agreement. “And nobody will be safe if we don’t.”

“What will happen if you don’t find him?” Yilara asked.

Sonea looked at the girl and smiled in approval at her interest. “He wants to gain control of …” A knocking from the guest room interrupted her.

“I’ll see who it is,” Dorrien said, rising and hurrying out of the room.

The rest of them continued eating, listening in silent curiosity to the sound of Dorrien opening the door and another male voice, then the door closing again.

Footsteps told them he was returning. He stepped into the dining room doorway and looked at Sonea.

“A message for you. Osen wants you to return to the Guild immediately. Lady Naki has disappeared.”

A day’s sailing had brought Achati, Dannyl and Tayend to a smaller port north of Arvice. Achati had arranged for them to spend the night on shore, at an estate owned by an Ashaki who grew crops of raka. Ashaki Chakori had sent a carriage to fetch them from the docks. The smell of the roasting beans was recognisable long before they reached the estate.

Unlike most Sachakan homes, the mansion and work buildings were not surrounded by walls. The main house stood to one side, and the work buildings were a few hundred paces away from them. From one of two circular structures came a plume of smoke, forming a dark stain against moonlit clouds.

“My dear cousin,” Achati had said when formal introductions were over. “It is good to see you again.”

It had surprised Dannyl that Achati hadn’t told them of his relationship to their host. Since his Sachakan friend had taken on the responsibility of organising the journey it had seemed rude to press for too many details.

Ashaki Chakori radiated a kind of strength mixed with contentment. He was of an old and powerful Sachakan family, which allowed him to live away from the city and do what he most enjoyed – growing and producing raka – without risking losing any standing among the Ashaki.

“Our fathers were brothers,” Achati explained as he noted Dannyl’s curiosity. “The younger inherited a city mansion, the older this estate.” He turned to Chakori. “How are your son and wife?”

“Kavori is in Elyne, exploring trade options. Inaki is well.”

Achati’s eyebrows rose. “In Elyne? How is that going?”

“Not as well as we’d hoped.” He looked at Tayend thoughtfully. “There is a perception that raka is a commoner’s drink. Is this so, Ambassador?”

Tayend nodded. “It is growing in popularity, however, due to magicians returning from their time of learning in the Guild with a new taste for it.”

Chakori’s attention shifted to Dannyl. “So it is not a commoner’s drink in Kyralia.”

“It was,” Dannyl said apologetically. “But the Guild has, for the last twenty years, invited people from all classes to seek entry. Those who came from the common classes introduced raka to the rest, and it is popular with novices studying late into the night.”

“It would be,” Chakori chuckled. “There is another exotic product that Kyralians have embraced in recent years that begins with an ‘r’, isn’t there?”

“Roet.” Dannyl shook his head. “It has become quite a problem.”

The Ashaki nodded. “Slaves of one of the southern estates acquired some, recently, though I do not know how. Perhaps an enterprising trader from Kyralia brought it across the mountains. It had an alarming effect, causing slaves to rebel or refuse to work. Their owner has forbidden its use – and the possession of it, too – and recommended that others do the same.”