The Traitor Queen tst-3

by Trudi Canavan

  He looked at her and smiled. “You’re too smart for that. You don’t let anything back you into a corner.”

  Sonea felt her cheeks warm. “Except the Guild.”

  “A worthy exception.” He looked away. “I wish I’d had your determination and willingness to defy convention when I was younger.”

  She shook her head. “You? Not determined? I always got the impression you were completely sure of yourself and what you wanted from life.”

  “Yes... but I never had to make any hard decisions. I was told everything had to be a certain way because it kept everyone safe, powerful and wealthy, and I didn’t question that. But as I grew older I did begin to question. I saw that my lack of resistance came out of a fear of not being accepted by my peers. I saw that the only people we were keeping safe, powerful and wealthy were my family and House. That the Houses resist change because they fear it will diminish their power and wealth. And still do.”

  “Kyralia has changed a lot in the last twenty years. The Houses haven’t lost power or wealth as a result.”

  Regin shook his head. “They will. It may take a long time, but it is going to happen. The warning signs are there, if you know what to look for. And you know what I’ve discovered?” He looked at her and shrugged. “I don’t care. Let them fall. They’re built on lies and greed.”

  Sonea felt a pang of sympathy. Since his rather public separation from his wife, Regin had been prone to the occasional sullen and defiant comment about the habits and expectations of the highest class. Part of her approved, another sympathised, yet she wondered how much of his disenchantment would remain once the personal pain faded.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t think so if you wound up a beggar on the street,” she reminded him gently.

  He looked at her and his shoulders sagged a little. “Probably not. But maybe I’d be a better man. Maybe I’d even be a happier man. By taking in lower-class entrants, the Guild has made it possible for people to cross the barriers between classes. I see the newcomers boasting about it, and I want to warn them that there is a cost. Then... then I see that the cost doesn’t apply to them and I feel, well, jealous. Somehow they get to have the wealth and power and magic, but they have no obligations to honour ancient agreements or traditions, or to only associate with the people their House approves of, or marry the woman their family selects.”

  “They may have to eventually.”

  Regin shook his head. “No. Look at you.” His eyes rose to meet hers. “You were never forced to marry.”

  “I’m sure if I’d decided to, plenty would have been said about my choice.”

  “Yet nobody would have dared tell you not to.”

  “That’s only because I am the first black magician. I’m an exception. You can’t make predictions based on me.”

  Regin gave her an odd look, opened his mouth to speak, then frowned and closed it again. His gaze slid away from hers. Sonea felt curiosity rising.

  “What were you going to say?” she asked.

  He glanced at her, his expression uncertain.

  “I... I was going to ask you why you didn’t marry, but I guess it’s obvious – and rather rude of me to ask.”

  She shrugged. “Not rude. Nor is it why you think. It’s true I couldn’t have entertained the idea for a long time after Akkarin died, but not for all of the last twenty years. I might have married Dorrien, if the timing had been better, but he met someone else long before I was ready.” And a good thing that is, too. “I don’t think we would have been well suited. For a start, he loves the countryside and would have had to live in the Guild grounds to be with me, since I could not leave.”

  Regin watched her now with an almost guilty interest. It’s likely a lot of people have wanted to ask that question, she thought.

  “By the time I was ready, nobody seemed interested,” she continued. “Men my own age hadn’t quite got over their prejudice toward magicians from the lower classes, and the only magicians from the lower classes were much too young. All were intimidated by black magic. Some of the Higher Magicians hinted to me that they thought a husband would be a weakness that someone might exploit through blackmail – as if Lorkin wasn’t that already. Then there was Lorkin. He was always very jealous of other men in my life.”

  Regin frowned. “What...?” He paused and shook his head.

  “Yes?”

  He grimaced. “What will you do if King Amakira threatens Lorkin?”

  Not expecting the change of subject, Sonea felt her heart freeze. She paused to draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly, before answering. “I will point out that it is Lorkin who knows about the Traitors, not me. It would be far more sensible to torture me to get Lorkin to speak.”

  Regin’s mouth dropped open, then he swallowed. “Is it wise for you to put the idea of torturing you into the king’s mind?”

  She shrugged. “I’m sure it will occur to him the moment he learns I’m on my way to meet him. If he’s willing to torture me, then we must conclude that he has put aside any reluctance to rouse the anger of the Guild and the Allied Lands. There will be no chance of getting Lorkin back, anyway.”

  She was desperately proud of herself for not letting her voice catch on that last sentence, though it was a close thing. If I can keep this up, maybe I will be able to hide my feelings in front of the Sachakans and Traitors.

  “I hope for all our sakes that it doesn’t come to that,” Regin said, with feeling.

  She nodded in agreement. If King Amakira was willing to torture her, then Regin would not be safe either.

  He shifted across the seat so that he was sitting opposite from her, then held out his hands. “It’s been a full day since the Meet and my strength has recovered. You should take my power now, before we arrive at the Stayhouse.”

  She stared at him as reluctance froze her again. This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t hesitate to take power that’s willingly offered, when I’m allowed to and may need it. She hadn’t felt this embarrassment during the Meet, she realised. What was it about using black magic on another person in private that felt uncomfortably... intimate. And illicit. Perhaps because the only other time I’ve done it privately was with Akkarin.

  Regin was watching her, his brow creased with growing puzzlement. Drawing in a deep breath, Sonea took his hands. She felt magic flow from him and began to store it within herself.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t get used to this,” she told him, shaking her head.

  He nodded. “That’s understandable. You were forbidden to for so long. In fact, I did wonder if you had forgotten how to do it, after all this time.” His mouth briefly widened into a teasing grin.

  Sonea managed a smile. “If only that was possible.”

  * * *

  “It’s all clear,” Gol said.

  Cery nodded. He’d sent Gol ahead to check that their room remained undiscovered. It was hard to give up old habits of caution. They picked up their burdens and carried them through the passages to the room. Cery set down two battered old chairs, Anyi dropped two bales of hay from her shoulders to the floor, and Gol tossed a bundle of sacks next to the box he’d been using as a seat.

  Next, they emptied their pockets of the fruit, vegetables and other items they’d picked up around the farm sheds. Cery looked up at Gol as the man set down a reel of coarse thread.

  “Where’d you find that?”

  Gol shrugged. “In one of the sheds. There was a basket full of them, so I figured nobody would notice if I took one. And this...” He turned one side of his coat out to reveal a long, curved needle piercing the lining. “If I’m going to make mattresses, we’ll need it.”

  Cery regarded his friend dubiously. “You’re going to make mattresses?”

  “Anyi said she doesn’t know how to sew.”

  “Oh, did she?” Cery smiled at his daughter’s lie. “And you do?”

  “Well enough for this. I used to help my da mend his sails.” Gol slipped the end of the thread through the eye of the
needle with telling dexterity.

  “You’re a man with hidden depths, Gol,” Cery said. Sitting down on one of the chairs, he smiled as he thought back to their raid on the farm. His assumption that servants were living in the sheds had been proven wrong. All were empty of occupants. Though free to move about, he, Gol and Anyi had taken care not to leave signs of their passing and hadn’t taken anything that wasn’t already there in abundance. Anyi had suggested relocating some of the other chairs around the place as if someone had simply moved them for some purpose and forgotten to return them, to hide the fact that a few were missing.

  Anyi was poking at the fruit. “They’re not ripe,” she said. “A bit too early in the season. It was hard to tell in the dark. How are we going to cook these vegetables?”

  “I only picked ones that didn’t have to be cooked,” Gol said.

  Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Eat them raw? I’m not that hungry.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Some are better raw, especially when they’re fresh. Give them a try.”

  Anyi didn’t look convinced. “I’ll wait for Lilia. She can cook them with magic.”

  “She might not always be able to bring us food,” Cery reminded his daughter. “The fewer times she has to come see us the less risk of the Guild discovering us here.”

  “Then I need to find us a secret entrance to the Guild kitchens.” Anyi stood up. “I’m going to see if she needs any help carrying something.”

  Gol shook his head as she grabbed a lamp and left. “Doesn’t know what she’s missing,” he muttered.

  Cery looked at his friend. “I hoped you two would take a lot more than three days before you started getting under each other’s skin.”

  “We might not have any choice about the...” Gol stopped as he looked up and saw Cery’s expression. His lips twisted into a smile. “Yeah. I’ll try not to. She doesn’t like being stuck underground, either.”

  “No,” Cery agreed. Hearing a sound, he rose and moved to the room’s doorway. High voices reached him, though he could not hear what they said. “Looks like Lilia was already on her way.”

  Sitting down again, he waited for the girls to arrive. Lilia carried the usual lacquered box, this time full of bread buns stuffed with spiced meat and sticky seed cakes.

  “Now that’s real food,” Anyi said as she seized a bun.

  Lilia grinned. “I’ve made an arrangement with Jonna. She’s going to bring something each night for Anyi to eat and give to poor people, and is going to get me lamp oil and blankets. She thinks I’m being charitable.”

  Cery felt a flash of alarm. “You didn’t tell her about us?”

  “No.” Lilia looked at the chairs, straw and Gol sewing sacks. “All this came from the farm?”

  Anyi must have told her about their raid. “Yes.”

  “They won’t miss it?”

  “We were careful,” Anyi assured her.

  Lilia sat down on one of the boxes. “Well, don’t go back for a few days. I’ll see if I hear anything about trespassers or thieves. Now... I have news from Kallen.”

  Cery’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”

  “He says people in the city are starting to gossip about your absence. Some believe you must be dead. Others think Skellin has you locked up or cornered somewhere.”

  “That’s not far from the truth,” Gol muttered.

  Lilia glanced at him, then looked again as she noticed what he was doing. Her eyebrows rose but she made no comment on Gol’s sewing skills. “Skellin’s men have been taking over your...” She waved a hand. “Whatever it is that you do.”

  “Loan money, protect people, run businesses, introduce people, sell—” Cery began.

  “Don’t tell me,” Lilia interrupted. “As Sonea says, it’s better I don’t know so I can’t be accused of being involved in anything.”

  “I thought I was doing a good job of making it all sound legitimate.” Cery looked at Anyi, who rolled her eyes.

  “Do any of Skellin’s people think Cery’s dead?” Gol asked.

  Lilia shrugged. “Kallen wasn’t that specific. He did want to know if Cery was planning to take back these... businesses.”

  “Tell him I will be in no position to until he gets rid of Skellin. Has he made any progress?”

  The young woman shook her head. “He didn’t say so. I think he was hoping you’d be as useful to him as you were to Sonea.”

  Cery sighed and looked away. “You’d better make it clear to him that I’m no use to anybody now.”

  Anyi made a wordless sound of protest. “You’re useful to us.”

  Cery gave her a disbelieving look. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be stuck here. Down here I’m nothing but a problem for Lilia.”

  Lilia frowned. “You’re not a problem. Not a big one, anyway.” Anyi put a hand on her shoulder.

  He scowled. “The only mark I can make now is to be a nagging worry at the back of Skellin’s mind. People might say I’m dead, but he won’t completely believe it because he hasn’t seen a corpse. He has to consider I may be alive, and up to something.”

  He’ll be moving in on my territory cautiously, and questioning everyone who might know where I am. Cery felt his heart spasm painfully with guilt. My people will want to believe I’m dead, because if I’m alive and not fighting Skellin it’ll seem as though I’ve abandoned them. If they find out I was hiding beneath the Guild, they’ll think I’ve been living in luxury with my magician friends, not this.

  If only there was some gain to be had, other than mere survival, from being here under the Guild.

  We’re isolated from the rest of the city. Magicians are not far away, and one in particular – Lilia – is able to help us. Few people would dare come here, knowing that. Cery frowned. Would Skellin dare?

  Perhaps if he had a good reason to.

  If he did come here, he’d be very wary. He’d send scouts to make sure it was safe first. Then there would have to be a good reason for him to enter the passages personally rather than send others. No matter where or how he learned about the existence of these tunnels, and how to get to them, he’d have to suspect the information was meant to fall into his hands, and was part of a trap.

  After all, I would.

  But if there was something here that Skellin wanted badly enough, perhaps he would take that risk. Cery just had to think of bait powerful enough to lure him into a trap. This time it would have to be something much more tempting than the books on magic.

  Chapter 9

  Friends and Enemies

  Lorkin woke in a rush. He blinked up at the ceiling and puzzled at the unfamiliar bare stone, then a heartbeat later he remembered where he was and why.

  And that he wasn’t alone in the cell.

  He turned to see the young woman lying on the floor near the cell’s gate. Her skin and the rags that were all that was left of her slave garb were stained with blood. She was staring up at the Ashaki interrogator, who stood in the gate’s opening.

  As Lorkin got slowly to his feet the Ashaki bent to grab her arm and yanked her upright. She gave a hoarse cry and sagged as if her limbs wouldn’t support her, but the man laughed.

  “That wouldn’t fool a halfwit,” he said. He ran his free hand down her arm to her shoulders, then through her hair, then looked at Lorkin and grinned.

  “Nice bit of Healing. Considering how much was broken, it must have worn you out.”

  Lorkin met the man’s eyes and shrugged. “Hardly.”

  The interrogator chuckled. “We’ll see.” He looked at the slave girl. “Walk or be dragged.”

  She gave up on pretending to be wounded. Bracing her feet, she stood properly, then looked down at herself in amazement before her wonder at being whole evaporated as the Ashaki pulled her toward the gate.

  “Come with me, Kyralian,” the Ashaki said. “We have more to discuss.”

  Lorkin considered refusing to leave the cell, but he couldn’t see how it would gain him anything. It would force the As
haki to use magic to drag him out, but very little magic and nothing that couldn’t be replaced by taking strength from a slave. He doubted the Ashaki would hesitate to torture the girl here instead. Saying nothing, he followed the interrogator out of the cell. The man’s assistant, as always, fell into step behind him.

  The slave girl walked with slumped shoulders. Lorkin could not stop images and sounds from the day before running through his memory. The Ashaki’s torturing had been slow and brutal, calculated to cause as much pain and damage as possible without killing her.

  It had taken all Lorkin’s determination to stay silent. He could not help trying to think of other ways to stop what was happening, even if temporarily, but none would work for long. These ideas kept taunting him, though. Lying to the Ashaki. Telling him things about the Traitors that were true but irrelevant. Even offering his own life in exchange for the woman’s.

  Eventually he managed an unpleasant detachment from it all. He gave up on any notion that he could do anything to help the woman or himself. Later he shuddered at what he had done, and worried that accepting that he couldn’t help the slave might eventually shift into giving up on protecting the Traitors.

  He tried to keep Tyvara in his thoughts to bolster his determination, but that only led to him thinking about what she must have suffered at the hands of Ashaki while pretending to be a slave. Beatings. Being used as a pleasure slave. Lorkin’s dislike of slavery had deepened into hatred.

  The previous day he had been sure the Ashaki would eventually kill the slave woman. He certainly hadn’t expected the man to toss her into the cell with him. As time passed his detachment had faded. He’d found it harder and harder to bear listening to the woman whimpering and gasping in pain.

  Did they simply hope to wear me down with guilt? Or were they only hoping I’d weaken myself by Healing her? Or see if I’d kill her myself to end her pain.

  Using the extra power Tyvara had given him to Heal the slave would not cost him a lot, he’d decided. It would never be enough to protect him for long, if the interrogator decided to torture or kill him. Only afterwards did it occur to him that Healing her meant the Ashaki would be able to torture her all over again.