Trudi Canavan - The Rogue

Sonea thought back to the meeting. She hadn’t detected anything odd in Anyi’s behaviour. The girl’s description of the events had been halting, but Sonea had assumed it was from a difficulty in putting her suspicions, and the spontaneous decisions she’d made, into words.

“Maybe she was nervous,” Sonea said. “She knows I used to live in the slums, but you are from one of the Houses.” That didn’t seem likely, but perhaps Anyi’s usual forthright manner depended on who she was with.

Dorrien’s frown didn’t ease. He shook his head. “Perhaps. But I think there’s more to this than what she told us. Do you think it’s possible she’s being blackmailed?”

Sonea felt her stomach clench. Oddly, the suggestion brought Lorkin to mind. Though he said he was going to join the Traitors willingly, it still means his life is in someone else’s hands. I wish I had some word from him.

“Anything is possible,” she replied. “But I’d have expected that if Skellin wanted to blackmail anyone it would be Cery. And if he was blackmailing him, he’d have locked Anyi away somewhere and threatened to kill her if Cery didn’t do what he wanted.”

Dorrien looked unconvinced, but didn’t say anything more. The streets of Imardin were quiet. Those people who had the choice were inside, keeping warm. As the carriage swung through the Guild gates a light snow began to fall.

They made their way through the University, across the courtyard and to the Magicians’ Quarters. Sonea led the way to Black Magician Kallen’s door and knocked. As the door swung inward, a fragrant, smoky smell reached her nose.

A chill ran down her spine. She had never encountered roet smoke before, but she had smelled its residue on clothing many, many times. Remembering Anyi’s story of seeing Black Magician Kallen buying roet, she felt shock change to disgust as she saw that Kallen and two of his magician friends and assistants were sitting in his guest room, sucking on elaborately decorated smoking pipes. Kallen removed his from between his teeth and smiled politely.

“Black Magician Sonea,” he said, standing up. “And Lord Dorrien. Come in.”

Sonea hesitated, then forced herself to walk into the room. Knowing what she did about roet, she did not want to breathe any of the smoke, even if it was probably too thin to affect her mind.

“What can we do for you?” Kallen asked.

“We came to tell you of a failed ambush we attempted last night,” Dorrien said. Sonea glanced at him, and he returned her look with a shake of his head.

Turning her mind back to their reason for visiting, she described the planned meeting and why it had failed. Kallen asked all the questions she expected, and she was relieved when it was clear they were done and she could leave. Kallen thanked her for filling him in, and assured her he was doing all he could to find Lilia and Naki.

Back in the corridor, Sonea let her grip on her anger loosen.

“I can’t believe he was sitting there smoking roet in his own quarters !” she said, intending it to be a whisper but it coming out instead as a hiss.

“There’s no law against it,” Dorrien pointed out. “In fact, those pipes almost make it look respectable.”

“But … doesn’t anybody grasp how dangerous it is?”

He spread his hands. “No. Even those who see that it has a bad effect on common people assume it’s no worse than drink if taken in moderation, by sensible people – like magicians.” Dorrien looked at her. “If it really is dangerous, then Lady Vinara ought to state it clearly.”

Sonea sighed. “That isn’t going to happen unless magicians agree to be tested. The ones who use roet refuse, and it isn’t fair to ask those who don’t use it to risk being permanently affected.”

“That might change. All you need is for a magician to try to stop taking it, and find that they can’t.” He looked thoughtful. “I’ll ask around. It could be that there are a few already at that point, too embarrassed to say anything.”

She managed a wan smile. “Thank you.”

“As if you need another urgent matter to tackle,” he added. Then a wary, hesitant look crept over his face.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s just … Well … Did you know that the perfume you wear is made from roet flowers?”

Sonea stopped and stared at him. “No …”

He looked away guiltily. “I should have told you earlier. I was in a perfumery a week or two back, and I recognised the scent. So I asked what it was.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Of all the perfumes I happened to buy. On a whim. Just because I needed to look occupied. I guess I should throw it away.”

“That would be a shame.”

She blinked, and looked at him questioningly. To her amusement, he avoided her gaze.

“You like it?”

He looked at her, then away. “Yes. You never used to wear perfume. It’s … nice.”

Smiling, she started walking again. They left the Magicians’ Quarters and made toward the University.

“So why were you at a perfumery? Buying a present for Alina?”

He shook his head, then seemed to catch himself.

“Seeing what I might get for Tylia. For her Acceptance Ceremony.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Not the usual fancy pen, then?”

“No.”

He was silent for the rest of the way to the carriage, probably contemplating having a daughter grown up enough to become a novice. She remembered how she had felt when Lorkin had made his vow and received his first set of robes. The pride she’d felt had been tinged by the memory of how she had broken that vow, and of the day the entire Guild had filed past, tearing her and Akkarin’s robes in a symbolic gesture of rejection, before sending them both into exile.

As then, she pushed that memory aside. Lorkin might have gone to live in a hidden city of rebels, but there had been no serious discussion about exiling him because of that decision. Which was reassuring. If the Guild still believed he would find his way home, then it was much easier to believe the same thing herself.

Something brushed against Lorkin’s senses. He ignored it, but the sensation came again and something about it made his skin prickle. The interruption was annoying but, as he had been taught, he accepted it and carefully disengaged his mind from the growing gemstone.

As awareness of his surroundings returned, he opened his eyes and looked around the cave for the source of the distraction. It wasn’t the stone-makers sitting nearby. They were glancing around in the same way as he was. He was fairly certain that it wasn’t the two magicians standing by the door, though their postures hinted that they had been talking. He’d learned to block out nearby conversations days ago.

He listened, and realised he could hear a faint, low noise. At the same time he noticed that he could feel, under his hands, feet, and through the chair, a vibration.

At once his heart began to race, and he quickly drew magic and surrounded himself with a strong barrier.

A tremor , he thought. I wonder how bad it is.

Not bad enough to send the other magicians fleeing the city, he noted. Were the non-magicians evacuating right now? The last time he’d seen the valley outside, it had been covered in a deep blanket of snow. The thought of what might happen should the entire city collapse and strand thousands of people out in the savage cold made him shudder.

The city had survived, albeit with a few cave-ins, for many hundreds of years. That didn’t mean there would never be a day when a tremor was severe enough to destroy it, but it did reassure him that the odds of not having to somehow dig his way out from these deep tunnels under the mountain were in his favour.