He grinned. “Same old place. Best bolhouse in the slums.”
She nodded. “And your…friend? Is he still giving you work?”
“Yes.” Cery shook his head. “But maybe not once he finds out what I did tonight.”
As she considered that, the familiar lines of worry appeared between her brows. He felt something squeeze his heart so tightly it hurt. Clenching his fists, he looked away. He wanted to pour out all the guilt and fear he’d felt since her capture, but the thought that others might be listening kept the words choked within his throat.
Looking at the luxuries of the room, he consoled himself that she was being treated well, at least. She yawned. It was late, he remembered.
“I guess I had better go.” He rose, then stopped, not wanting to leave her.
She smiled, this time sadly. “Tell everyone I’m well.”
“I will.”
He couldn’t move. Her smile faded a little as he stared at her, then she waved toward the door. “I’ll be fine, Cery. Trust me. Go on.”
Somehow he made himself walk to the door and knock. It swung inward. The three magicians regarded him closely as he stepped into the corridor.
“Shall I escort our visitor to the gate?” Fergun offered.
“Yes, thank you,” the blue-robed magician replied.
A globe of light appeared above Fergun’s head. He looked at Cery expectantly. Glancing back at the blue-robed magician, Cery hesitated.
“Thanks.”
The magician nodded once in reply. Turning away, Cery started toward the stairs, the blonde magician following.
He considered Sonea’s words as he descended. Her signals made sense now. She had to wait until she had learned to control her magic, but once she had she would try to escape. He could do little to help her, except make sure she had a secure place to return to.
“Are you Sonea’s husband?”
Cery glanced up at the magician in surprise.
“No.”
“Her, ah…lover, then?”
Cery felt his cheeks warming. He looked away. “No, just a friend.”
“I see. It was very heroic of you to come here.”
Deciding that he didn’t need to reply to that, Cery stepped out of the magicians’ building into the cold wind, and turned toward the garden. Fergun stopped.
“Wait. Let me take you through the University. It is a warmer journey.”
His heart skipped. The University.
He had always wanted to see inside the great building. Such an opportunity would never come again once Sonea escaped. Shrugging as if it made no difference to him, he started toward the back entrance of the enormous building.
His heart began to race as they climbed the stairs. They entered a room full of elaborately decorated staircases. The magician’s light vanished as he directed Cery through a side door and into a wide corridor which seemed to extend for an eternity.
Doors and passages lined the walls on either side. Looking around, Cery could not find the source of light. It was as if the walls themselves glowed.
“Sonea was quite a surprise to us,” Fergun said suddenly, his voice echoing. “We have never found any talent in the lower classes before. It’s normally restricted to the Houses.”
Fergun looked at Cery expectantly, obviously expecting conversation.
“It gave her a surprise, too,” Cery replied.
“This way.” The magician guided Cery into one of the side passages. “Have you ever heard of other dwells with magic?”
“No.”
They turned a corner, pushed through a door into a small room, then stepped through another door into a slightly wider corridor. Unlike the earlier passages, the walls were panelled with wood, and paintings hung at regular intervals.
“It’s quite a maze in here,” Fergun said, sighing a little. “Come, I’ll take you through a shortcut.”
He stopped beside a painting and reached behind it. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a rectangle of darkness the size of a narrow doorway. Cery looked at the magician questioningly.
“I’ve always loved secrets,” Fergun said, his eyes bright. “Does it surprise you that we, too, have underground passages? This one comes out in the Inner Circle—a dry, windless journey. Shall we?”
Cery looked at the doorway, then at the magician. Passages under the Guild? This was too strange. He stepped back and shook his head.
“I’ve seen plenty of passages before,” he said, “and I don’t mind the cold. The pretty things in this building are more interesting.”
The magician closed his eyes and nodded. “I see.” He straightened and smiled. “Well, it’s good to know you don’t mind the cold.”
Something pressed on Cery’s back, forcing him toward the rectangle. He yelled and grabbed the edges of the hole, but the push was too strong and his fingers slipped on the polished wood. Falling forward, he brought his hands up in time to protect his face as he slammed into a wall.
The force held him firmly against the bricks. He could not even move a finger. Heart racing madly, he cursed himself for trusting the magicians. He heard a click behind him. The secret doorway had closed.
“Yell now if you want.” Fergun chuckled, a low, nasty sound. “Nobody comes down here, so you won’t bother anyone.”
A piece of cloth dropped over Cery’s eyes and was bound tightly. His hands were pulled together behind his back, and bound with more cloth. As the pressure against his back eased, a hand gripped his collar and shoved him forward.
Cery staggered down the passage. After a few steps he reached a steep stairway. He felt his way down, then the guiding hands pushed him along a route that twisted lazily.
The temperature of the air dropped rapidly. After a few hundred steps, Fergun halted. Cery’s stomach sank as he heard the sound of a key turning in a lock.
The blindfold was pulled away. Cery found himself standing at the door of a large, empty room. The cloth about his wrists was untied.
“In you go.”
Cery looked at Fergun. His hands itched for his knives, but he knew he would only lose them if he tried to fight the magician. If he didn’t walk into the room himself, Fergun would push him.
Slowly, numbly, he entered the cell. The door swung shut, leaving him standing in darkness. He heard the lock turn, then the muffled sound of footsteps moving away.
Sighing, he dropped to his haunches. Faren was going to be furious.
21
A Promise of Freedom
As he hurried along the corridor of the Magicians’ Quarters, Rothen received more than a few inquiring looks from the magicians he passed. He nodded to some, and smiled at those he was most familiar with, but did not slow his stride. Reaching the door to his rooms, he grasped the handle and willed the lock to release.
As the door opened, he heard two voices from the guestroom within.
“—my father was a servant of Lord Margen, Lord Rothen’s mentor. My grandfather worked here too.”
“You must have many relations here.”
“A few,” Tania agreed. “But many of them have left to take up positions in the Houses.”
The two women were sitting beside each other on the chairs. Seeing him, Tania leapt to her feet, her face flushed.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Rothen said, waving a hand.
Tania bowed her head. “I have not yet finished my work, my Lord,” she told him. Her face still glowing, she hastened away into his bedroom. Sonea watched, clearly amused.
—She’s not afraid of me anymore, I think.
Rothen considered his servant as she reappeared with a bundle of clothes and bedding under her arm.
—No. You two are getting along well.
Pausing, Tania gave Rothen a hard look, then glanced at Sonea speculatively.
—Can she tell that we’re talking like this? Sonea asked.
—She sees our expressions changing. You don’t have to be around magicians for long to know this is a sure s
ign that a silent discussion is taking place.
“Excuse us, Tania,” Rothen said aloud. Tania’s brows rose, but she gave a little shrug and dropped the bundle of clothes into a basket.
“Is that all, Lord Rothen?”
“Yes, thank you, Tania.”
Rothen waited until the door had closed behind the servant, then sat down beside Sonea. “It’s probably about time I told you that it’s not considered polite to communicate mind to mind while others are present, especially if they haven’t the ability to join in. It’s like whispering behind someone’s back.”
Sonea frowned. “Have I offended Tania?”
“No.” Rothen smiled at her expression of relief. “However, I should also warn you that mind communication isn’t as private as you may think. Mental conversations can be picked up by other magicians, particularly if they are listening for them.”
“So someone might have been listening to us just now?”
He shook his head. “It’s possible, but I doubt it. Listening in is considered to be rude and disrespectful—and it takes concentration and effort. If it didn’t, the distraction of other people’s conversations would probably drive us mad.”
Sonea looked thoughtful. “If you don’t hear until you are listening, how do you know when someone wants to talk to you?”
“The closer you are to a magician, the easier it is to hear them,” he told her. “When you are in the same room you can usually detect the thoughts they project at you. When you are far away, however, they need to get your attention first.”
He placed a hand on his chest. “If you wanted to talk to me while I was in the University, for instance, you would have to project my name loudly. While other magicians will hear, they won’t reply or open their minds to listen to the conversation that follows. When I shout your name in reply you’ll know I’ve heard you, and we can start talking. If we are skilled and familiar with each other’s mind voice, we can make it harder for others to hear us by focusing our projected thoughts, but that is all but impossible over long distances.”
“Has anyone ever ignored this rule?”
“Probably.” Rothen shrugged. “That’s why you must remember that mind communication is not private. We have a saying here: secrets are better voiced than spoken.”
Sonea snorted softly. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Not when taken literally.” He chuckled. “But the words ‘speak’ and ‘hear’ have other meanings here in the Guild. Despite the general rule of courtesy, it is amazing how often people discover that the secret they have tried so hard to hide has become the latest subject of gossip. We often forget that magicians aren’t the only people who can hear us.”
Her eyes brightened with interest. “They aren’t?”
“Not all children found to have magical potential enter the Guild,” he told her. “If the child is the eldest brother, for example, he may be of more value to his family as their heir. There are laws in most lands that discourage magicians from involving themselves in politics. A magician cannot become King, for example. For this reason, it is not wise to have a magician as the head of a family.
“Mental communication is an ability that comes with magical potential. Sometimes, though it is very rare, an individual who did not become a magician will find their ability to communicate mentally has developed naturally. These people can be taught how to truth read, which can be a very useful skill.”
“Truth read?”
Rothen nodded. “It can’t be done with an unwilling recipient, of course, so it’s only useful when somebody wants to show another person what they have seen or heard. We have a law in the Guild concerning accusations. If somebody accuses a magician of falsehood or of committing a crime, they must allow themself to be truth read or withdraw their accusation.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Sonea said. “It was the magician who did something wrong.”
“Yes, but it does prevent false accusations. The accused, whether magician or not, can easily prevent a truth read.” He hesitated. “There is one exception, however.”
Sonea frowned. “Oh?”
Rothen leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers together. “A few years ago, a man suspected of committing particularly malicious murders was brought to the Guild. The High Lord—our leader—read his mind and confirmed his guilt. It takes great skill to get past the blocks in an unwilling mind. Akkarin is the only one of us who has managed it, though I have heard that magicians in the past could do it. He is an extraordinary man.”
Sonea absorbed this. “But wouldn’t the murderer have simply put his secrets behind doors, like you have shown me?”
Rothen shrugged. “Nobody really knows how Akkarin did it, but once inside the man’s mind it would not have been long before his thoughts betrayed him.” He paused, then looked at her closely. “You know yourself that it takes some practice to keep secrets behind doors. The more concerned you are that they will be revealed, the harder it is to hide them away.”
Sonea’s eyes widened, then she looked away, her expression suddenly guarded.
Watching her, Rothen could guess what she was thinking. Each time he had stepped into her mind the objects and people she wanted to keep him from identifying slid into sight. She always panicked and pushed him out of her mind.
All novices reacted as she did to some extent. He did not discuss the secrets he glimpsed. The hidden concerns of the young men he had taught revolved around personal vices or physical habits—and the occasional political scandal—and were easy to ignore. By not speaking of them, he reassured the novice that their privacy was respected.
But silence was not reassuring Sonea, and time was running short. Lorlen would make his first visit at the end of the week, and would expect her to have started Control lessons. If she was ever going to learn Control, she needed to get past these fears.
“Sonea.”
Her eyes met his reluctantly. “Yes?”
“I think we should talk about your lessons.”
She nodded.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Usually I don’t talk about what a novice has shown me in his or her mind. It makes it easier for them to trust me, but that’s not working for us. You know I’ve seen things you wanted to keep concealed, and pretending I haven’t isn’t helping at all.”
She stared at the table, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her grip on the chair.
“For a start,” he continued, “I expected you to search my rooms. I would have if I was in your position. It doesn’t bother me. Forget about it.”
Her cheeks reddened slightly, but she remained silent.
“Secondly, your friends and family are in no danger from us.” She looked up and met his eyes. “You worry that we’ll threaten to harm them if you do not agree to cooperate.” He held her gaze. “We won’t, Sonea. To do so would break the King’s law.”
She looked away again, her expression hardening.
“Ah, but you worry anyway. You have little reason to believe we respect the King’s law,” Rothen acknowledged. “Little reason to trust us. Which brings me to your third fear, that I’ll discover your plans to escape.”
Her face slowly drained of color.
“You don’t need to make such plans,” he told her. “We won’t force you to stay if you don’t want to. Once you have learned Control you can leave or stay as you choose. Becoming a magician involves a vow that we all must make—a vow which holds us for our entire life. It is not a vow to be made unwillingly.”
She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. “You’ll let me go?”
He nodded, then chose his next words carefully. It was too soon to tell her that the Guild would not let her leave unless her powers were blocked first, yet she needed to know that she would lose all her magical abilities.
“Yes, but I must warn you: without training you will not be able to use your powers. What you were able to do before will no longer be possible. You will not be abl
e to use magic at all.” He paused. “You will be of no use to the Thieves.”
To his surprise, she looked relieved. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “That won’t be a problem.”
Rothen looked at her closely. “Are you sure you want to return to the slums? You’ll have no means to defend yourself.”
Sonea lifted her shoulders. “It’ll be no different from before. I got along well enough.”
Rothen frowned, impressed by her confidence and yet alarmed by the idea of sending her back into poverty. “I know you want to be reunited with your family. Joining the Guild won’t mean you have to abandon them, Sonea. They can come and visit you, or you can visit them.”
She shook her head. “No.”
He pursed his lips. “Do you fear that they will be afraid of you, that you will be betraying all dwells by becoming what they hate?”
The quick, penetrating look she gave him revealed that he had come closer to understanding her than she had expected.
“What would it take for you to remain acceptable in their eyes?”
She snorted. “As if the Guild—or the King—would let me do whatever I wanted to please the dwells!”
“I’m not going to deceive you into thinking it would be easy,” Rothen replied. “But it is a possibility you should consider. Magic is not a common gift. Many people would give all their wealth to have it. Think of what you could learn here. Think of how you could use it to help others.”
Her gaze wavered for a moment, then her expression hardened.
“Control is all I’m here for.”
He nodded slowly. “If that is all you want, then that is all we can give. It will be a great surprise to all here when they hear you’ve chosen to return to the slums. Many won’t understand why someone who has lived in poverty all her life would refuse such an offer. I know you well enough to see you don’t place great value in wealth and luxuries.” He shrugged, then smiled. And will not be the only one to admire you for doing so. However, you should know that I’m going to try very hard to convince you to join us.”
For the first time he could remember, she smiled. “Thanks for the warning.”