Trudi Canavan - The Ambassador's Mission

She looked at the words on the grave she sat upon. A name, a title, a house name, a family name. Later the words “Father of Lorkin” had been added, in small, begrudging letters. But of her own name there was no mention. And will never be, while your family has anything to do with it, Akkarin. But at least they’ve accepted your son.

Pushing bitterness aside, she turned her mind to Cery and his family for a while, allowing herself to remember grief and feel the ache of sympathy. To allow memories to return, some welcome, some not. After a while the sound of footsteps roused her from her thoughts and she realised the sun had risen completely.

Turning to face the visitor, she smiled as she saw Rothen walking toward her. For a moment his wrinkled face was a mask of concern, then it relaxed into an expression of relief.

“Sonea,” he said, pausing to catch his breath. “A messenger came to see you. Nobody knew where you’d gone.”

“And I bet it caused a lot of unnecessary fuss and excitement.”

He frowned at her. “This is not a good time to be making the Guild question their trust of a common-born magician, Sonea, considering the change of rules about to be proposed.”

“Is there ever a good time for that?” She rose and sighed. “Besides, I didn’t destroy the Guild and turn all Kyralians into slaves, did I? I went for a walk. Nothing sinister at all.” She looked at him. “I haven’t left the city in twenty years, and have only left the Guild grounds to work in the hospices. Isn’t that enough?”

“Not for some. And certainly not for Kallen.”

Sonea shrugged. “I expect that from Kallen. It’s his job.” She hooked her hand around his elbow and they started back down the path. “Don’t worry about Kallen, Rothen. I can handle him. Besides, he wouldn’t dare complain about me visiting Akkarin’s grave.”

“You should have left a message for Jonna, saying where you were going.”

“I know, but these things tend to be a little spontaneous.”

He glanced at her. “Are you all right?”

She smiled at him. “Yes. I have a son who is alive and thriving, hospices in the city where I can do some good, and you. What more do I need?”

He paused to think. “A husband?”

She laughed. “I don’t need a husband. I’m not sure I even want one. I thought I’d be lonely once Lorkin moved out of my rooms, but I’m finding I like having more time to myself. A husband would … get in the way.”

Rothen chuckled.

Or be a weakness an enemy could exploit , she found herself thinking. But that thought had more to do with Cery’s news sitting fresh in her mind than any real threat. While she was hardly without enemies, they merely disliked her for her lowly origins or feared the black magic she wielded. Nothing that would motivate any to the point of harming someone she loved. Otherwise they would have targeted Lorkin already.

As she thought of her son, memories rose of him as a child. Memories mixed together, older and younger, happy and disappointed, and she felt a familiar tight feeling that was part joy and part pain. When he was quiet and brooding, thinking hard or being clever, he reminded her so much of his father. But the confident, charming, stubborn, vocal side of him was so unlike Akkarin that she could only see a person who was unique and utterly himself and like no other. Except that Rothen claimed the stubborn and vocal part of his nature had definitely come from her.

As they emerged from the forest, Sonea looked down at the Guild grounds. Before them stood the Magicians’ Quarters, a long rectangular building that housed those magicians who chose to live in the grounds. At the far end was a courtyard, beyond which another building mirrored the placement and shape of the first – the Novices’ Quarters.

At the far end of the courtyard was the grandest of the Guild buildings, the University. Three storeys tall, it rose above all other Guild structures. Even after twenty years, Sonea felt a small glow of pride that she and Akkarin had saved this building. And, as always, it was followed by sadness and regret at the cost. If they had let the building fall, killing those that remained inside, and instead taken the power of the Arena, Akkarin might have lived.

But it wouldn’t have mattered how much power we’d gathered. Once he had been injured he would have still chosen to give me all his power and die rather than heal himself – or let me heal him – and risk us losing to the Ichani. And no matter how much power we’d taken, I’d never have had the time to defeat Kariko and heal Akkarin as well. She frowned. Maybe it isn’t me Lorkin gets his stubborn side from after all.

“Are you tempted to speak out in favour of the petition?” Rothen asked as they started down the path. “I know you’re in favour of abolishing the rule.”

She shook her head.

Rothen smiled. “Why not?”

“I might do more harm to their cause than good. After all, someone who grew up in the slums then went on to break a vow, learn forbidden magic, and defy the Higher Magicians and king to such a degree they were forced to send her into exile, is hardly going to inspire trust in lower-class-origin magicians.”

“You saved the country.”

“I helped Akkarin save the country. There’s a big difference.”

Rothen grimaced. “You played as great a part – and struck the final blow. They should remember that.”

“And Akkarin sacrificed himself. Even if I wasn’t slum-born and a woman, I’d have a hard time measuring up to that.” She shrugged. “I’m not interested in thanks and recognition, Rothen. All that matters to me is Lorkin and the hospices. And yourself, of course.”

He nodded. “But what if I told you that Lord Regin has offered to represent those opposed to the petition?”

She felt her stomach sink at the name. Though the novice who had tormented her during her early years in the University was now a grown man, married and with two adult daughters, and had only ever treated her politely and respectfully since the Ichani Invasion, she could not help feeling an echo of distrust and dislike.

“It doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “He’s always been a snob.”

“Yes, though his character has improved a great deal since your novice days.”

“So he’s a well-mannered snob.”

Rothen chuckled. “Tempted now?”

She shook her head again.

“Well, you had better expect to have your opinion sought on the issue,” he warned. “Many will want to know your views and seek your advice.”

As they reached the courtyard, Sonea sighed. “I doubt it. But in case you’re right I will consider how I’ll reply to any questions that come my way. I don’t want to be an obstruction to the petitioners, either.”

And if Regin is representing the opposition, I had better be alert to any clever tactics. His manners may have improved, but he’s still as intelligent and devious as ever.

There was a small, neat tailor’s shop in West Gliar Street in the North Quarter that, if you knew the right people, gave access to small, private rooms on the second floor offering entertainment to young, rich men of the city.

Lorkin had been brought here for the first time four years ago, by his friend and fellow novice, Dekker, along with the rest of their friends. As always, it had been Dekker’s idea. He was the boldest of Lorkin’s friends, though that was a typical trait of most young Warriors. Of the rest of the group, Alchemist Sherran had always done whatever Dekker suggested, but Healers Reater and Orlon were not so easily led into mischief. Perhaps it was only natural for Healers to be cautious. Whatever the reason, Lorkin had only agreed to accompany Dekker because the pair hadn’t refused to.