The Novice (35 page)

Appropriate? She felt a flare of anger. This was not about helping her learn, this was about being seen to favor the High Lord’s novice. He probably expected her to report every little favor to Akkarin. She smothered a bitter laugh. She would be saying as little to her new guardian as possible.

If she had learned anything from the last six months, it was to avoid upsetting the petty social order of the classroom. Taking Poril’s place would mean more than just a change of seats. The novices already disliked her; she didn’t need to give them more reason to. She looked at Elben, standing with his arms crossed, and felt her anger harden into defiance.

“I’ll stay in my usual place,” she told him.

Elben’s eyes narrowed, but he seemed to see something in her gaze that made him pause. He pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“It is easier to see and hear at the front,” he pointed out.

“I’m not deaf, Lord Elben, or short-sighted.”

His jaw clenched. “Sonea,” he moved closer and spoke quietly, “if you will not take the front seat it might be seen as…neglectful of me as your teacher…”

“Perhaps I should tell Akkarin that you would not let me sit where I wished.”

His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t bother him over something so small…”

She smiled. “I doubt he would be interested in my seating arrangements at all.”

He regarded her silently, then nodded. “Very well. You may sit where you wish. Go.”

As she stepped out into the corridor she realized that her heart was racing. What had she done? Novices
never
argued with their teachers.

Then she realized that the corridor was unusually quiet. Looking up, she saw that novices of all years were silently watching her. All satisfaction over her conversation with Elben evaporated. Swallowing hard, she started toward the stairs.

“That’s her,” whispered a voice to her right.

“Yesterday,” someone muttered. “...no warning at all.”

“...High Lord…”

“Why
her?
” someone sneered, a comment clearly meant for her to hear. “She’s just a slum girl.”

“...not right.”

“...should have been…”

“...insult to the Houses.”

She snorted softly.
If they knew the real reason he chose me,
she thought,
they would not be so
—

“Make way for the High Lord’s favorite!”

Her stomach turned as she recognized the voice. Regin stepped out to block her path.

“Great one!” he cried loudly. “Might I ask a tiny, infinitesimally small favor of one so admired and influential?”

Sonea regarded him warily. “What do you want, Regin?”

“Would you…if it would not be a great offense to your high position, that is,” he smiled cloyingly, “would you mend my shoes tonight? You see, I know you are skilled in such great and worthy tasks and, well, if I am to have my shoes mended it should be done by the best shoe-mender in the sl-uh-Guild, wouldn’t you say?”

Sonea shook her head. “Is that all you could come up with, Regin?” She stepped around him and continued down the corridor. Footsteps pursued her.

“Oh, but Sonea—I mean—Oh, Great One. I would be so hon—”

His voice stopped abruptly. Frowning, she resisted the temptation to glance behind.

“She is the High Lord’s novice,” someone muttered. “Are you stupid? Leave her alone.”

Recognizing Kano’s voice, Sonea caught her breath in surprise. Was this what Jerrik had meant when he had said Akkarin had improved her situation? Reaching the stairs, she descended into the Entrance Hall, stepped out of the doors and started toward the Magicians’ Quarters.

Then she stopped.

Where was she going? Rothen’s rooms? Standing still, she tried to gather her thoughts.

Hunger decided her. She would go to the Foodhall. And after the afternoon’s tests? The library. If she stayed there until it closed, she could avoid returning to the High Lord’s Residence until late. With luck Akkarin would have retired for the night, and she could reach her room without encountering him. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for the inevitable stares and whispers, and walked back into the University.

Lorlen’s rooms were on the ground floor of the Magicians’ Quarters. He spent little time in them, rising early and returning long after the rest of the Guild had retired. From day to day he noticed little more in the rooms than the bed and his clothing cupboard.

But in the last day he had rediscovered much about his private space. There were ornaments and objects on the bookshelves that he had forgotten he owned. These mementos of the past, of family and achievements, brought only guilt and pain. They reminded him of people he loved and respected. People he had failed.

Closing his eyes, Lorlen sighed. Osen would not be concerned yet. Only a day and a half had passed. Not long enough for his assistant to panic at the growing list of unattended work. And Osen had been trying for years to persuade Lorlen to take a break from his duties.

If only it
was
a break.
Lorlen rubbed his eyes and wandered into his bedroom. Perhaps he was tired enough to sleep now. He hadn’t been able to for two nights, not since…

As he lay down the memories returned. He groaned and tried to push them away, but he was too tired to fight them, and he knew they would return again as soon as he relaxed anyway.

How did it start? I said something about the Vindo Ambassador expecting to stay in the residence…

“He was surprised to hear that the High Lord does not entertain guests anymore, since his father stayed here with your predecessor,” Lorlen remembered explaining.

Akkarin had smiled at that. He had been standing by the little table he served drinks at, gazing out the window at the night-shrouded grounds.

“The best change I ever made.”

“You do value your privacy,” Lorlen had said absently.

Akkarin then placed a finger on a wine bottle, as if considering whether he would have another glass. His face had been turned away, something Lorlen had been thankful for when Akkarin spoke next.

“I doubt that the ambassador would be comfortable with my…habits.”

There! Another one of those strange comments. Like he was testing me. I thought I was safe, since his back was turned and he couldn’t see my reaction…

“Habits?” Lorlen had affected disbelief. “I doubt he’d care if you had a few late nights, or drank too much. You’re just afraid he’ll drink all your favorite wine.”

“That, too.” Akkarin had then opened the bottle. “But we couldn’t have anyone discovering all my little secrets, could we?”

An image of Akkarin covered in bloodied beggar’s rags had flickered through Lorlen’s mind at that point in the conversation. He had shuddered and pushed it aside, thankful again that Akkarin’s back was turned.

Was this what Akkarin had sensed? Was he listening to my thoughts at that moment?

“No,” Lorlen had replied and, wanting to change the subject, asked about the news of the court.

At that point, Akkarin lifted an object from the table. Catching a glitter of gems, Lorlen looked closer. It was a knife. The knife Sonea had seen Akkarin using for the black magic ritual. Surprised and horrified, Lorlen drew in a breath and choked on the wine.

“You’re supposed to
drink
wine, my friend,” Akkarin said, smiling. “Not breathe it.”

Lorlen looked away, hiding behind his hands as he coughed. He tried to regain his composure, yet seeing Akkarin holding the knife had been like reliving Sonea’s memory. He wondered why Akkarin had brought it into the guestroom.

Then his blood turned to ice, as the thought came that Akkarin might be intending to use it.

“What news do I have?” Akkarin mused. “Let me think.”

Lorlen forced himself to regard his friend calmly. As Akkarin turned back to the bottle, Lorlen caught a corresponding movement on the table. A polished silver tray leaning against another bottle had reflected Akkarin’s eyes. Eyes that were watching him.

So he had been watching me all along. Perhaps he hadn’t tried to read my surface thoughts at that point of the conversation. Only my reaction to his comments, and the knife, would have convinced him that I knew something…

“I’ve heard reports of Dannyl from friends in Elyne and Lonmar,” Akkarin had said next, abruptly moving away from the table. “They speak well of him.”

“That is good to hear.”

Akkarin had then paused in the center of the room. “I’ve been following his progress with interest. He is an efficient researcher.”

So he knew Dannyl was researching something. Did he know
what
Dannyl was researching? Lorlen had forced himself to smile. “I wonder what has caught his attention.”

Akkarin’s eyes narrowed. “Hasn’t he been keeping you informed?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You did, after all, ask him to investigate my past.”

Lorlen considered his next words carefully. Akkarin might know that Dannyl was retracing his travels, but how could he know why when Dannyl didn’t? “Is that what your friends say?”

“Spies would be a more accurate term.”

Akkarin’s hand had moved, and with a flash of fear Lorlen saw that it still held the knife. Realizing that Akkarin could not have missed his reaction, Lorlen stared at it openly.

“What
is
that?”

“Something I picked up during my travels,” Akkarin replied, holding it up. “Something you recognize, I think.”

Lorlen then felt a flash of triumph. Akkarin had all but admitted he had learned black magic during his travels. Dannyl’s research might prove useful yet…

“It is strangely familiar,” Lorlen said. “Perhaps I have seen something like it before in a book, or a collection of antiques—and it is such a vicious-looking thing it would be sure to stick in my memory.”

“Do you know what it is used for?”

A memory of Akkarin cutting his servant’s arm flashed into Lorlen’s mind. “It’s a knife, so something unpleasant, most likely.”

Akkarin, to Lorlen’s relief, set the knife down on a side table, but the relief had been short lived.

“You have been strangely cautious of me these last few months,” Akkarin said. “You avoid mental communication, as if you are afraid I will detect something behind your thoughts. When my contacts told me of Dannyl’s research, I was intrigued. Why did you ask him to investigate my past? Don’t deny it, Lorlen. I have proof.”

Lorlen was dismayed that Akkarin had discovered Dannyl’s orders. But he had prepared for this question. He pretended to be embarrassed.

“I was curious, and after our conversation about your diary I thought I might restore some of what you lost. You’re not free to gather the information again, so…It wouldn’t be as satisfying as going yourself, of course, but I hoped it would be a pleasant surprise.”

“I see.” Akkarin’s voice had hardened. “I wish I could believe you, but I don’t. You see, tonight I have done something to you that I have never done before, and never wanted to. While we spoke I read your surface thoughts. They have revealed much, much more. I know you are lying. I know you have seen things you should never have seen, and I must know how this came about.

“Tell me, how long have you known I practice black magic?”

Just a few words, and everything changed. Was there any remorse or guilt in his voice? No. Just anger…

Appalled, and not a little frightened, Lorlen had grasped at a last, desperate evasion. He had stared at his friend in horror.

“You practice
what?
”

Akkarin’s expression darkened. “Don’t be a fool, Lorlen,” he had snapped. “I have seen it in your thoughts. You know you cannot lie to me.”

Realizing that he could not deny it, Lorlen glanced at the knife on the table. He wondered what would happen now. If he was about to die. How Akkarin would explain it. If Rothen and Sonea would suspect the truth and reveal Akkarin’s crime…

Too late, he realized that Akkarin might have heard his thoughts. He looked up, but Akkarin’s expression had showed no alarm or suspicion, only expectation, and that gave him a little hope.

“How long?” Akkarin had pressed.

“Over a year,” he confessed.

“How?”

“I came here one night. The door was open and I saw a light through the stairs, so I started to come down. When I saw what you were doing…it was a shock. I didn’t know what to think.”

“What exactly did you see?”

With difficulty that he did not need to fake, Lorlen had described what Sonea had seen. As he spoke, he had looked for a hint of shame in the High Lord’s expression, but had seen only a flicker of annoyance.

“Does anyone else know about this?”

“No,” Lorlen answered quickly, hoping to avoid betraying Sonea and Rothen, but Akkarin’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re lying to me, my friend.”

“I’m not.”

Akkarin had then sighed. Lorlen remembered that sigh vividly.

“That is unfortunate.”

Lorlen had then risen to face his old friend, determined to convince Akkarin that his secret was safe. “Akkarin, you must believe me. I have told no one about this. It would cause too much strife in the Guild. I…I don’t know why you are playing with this…this forbidden magic. I can only trust that you have good reason. Do you think you would be standing here if I didn’t?”

“So you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then show me the truth. I must know who you are protecting, Lorlen, and just how much you have learned.”

Akkarin had then reached toward Lorlen’s head. With a shock, Lorlen realized Akkarin intended to read his mind. He grabbed Akkarin’s hands and tossed them away, appalled that his friend might demand such a thing. “You have no right to—”

And then the last of Lorlen’s trust in his friend had died as Akkarin’s fingers flexed in a familiar gesture. A force pushed Lorlen backward. He fell into the chair and felt magic pressing him down.

“Don’t do this, Akkarin!”

But Akkarin’s mouth was set in a thin line. “Sorry, my old friend, but I must know.”

Then Akkarin’s fingers had touched Lorlen’s temples.

It should not have been possible! It was as if he wasn’t there, but he was. How does he do this mind-reading?