The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (7 page)

BOOK: The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy
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“What should I do, Gol?” he murmured. They were in a private room on the top floor of a bolhouse, which overlooked the market his daughter’s stall belonged to.

His bodyguard stirred, started to turn toward the window, then stopped himself. He looked at Cery, his gaze uncertain.

“Don’t know. Seems to me there’s danger in talking to her and danger in not.”

“And wasting time deciding is the same as deciding not to.”

“Yes. How much do you trust Donia?”

Cery considered Gol’s question. The owner of the bolhouse, who offered various “services” on the side, was an old childhood friend. Cery had helped her establish the place when her husband, Cery’s old friend Harrin, died of a fever five years ago. His men prevented gangs from extracting protection money from her. Even if she hadn’t had such a long connection with him, or she’d not been grateful for the help he’d given her, she owed him money and knew the ways of Thieves well enough to know you did not betray them without consequences.

“Better than anyone else.”

Gol gave a short laugh. “Which isn’t much.”

“No, but I’ve already got her keeping an eye on Anyi, though she don’t know why. She hasn’t let me down.”

“Then it won’t seem odd if you ask for the girl to be brought to a face-to-face, right?”

“Not odd, but … she’d be curious.” Cery sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Gol straightened. “I’ll go sort things, and make sure no one’s listening.”

Cery considered the man, then nodded. He glanced out of the window as his bodyguard headed toward the door and noticed a new customer had replaced the last. Anyi watched as the man ran a finger across the blade of one of her knives to test its edge. “And make sure her stall is watched while she’s here.”

“Of course.”

After some minutes had passed, four men emerged from the bolhouse and approached Anyi’s stall. Cery noted that the other stallholders pretended to pay no attention. One of the men spoke to Anyi. She shook her head and glared at him. When he reached out toward her arm she stepped back and, with lightning speed, produced a knife and pointed it at him. He raised his hands, palms outward.

A long conversation followed. Anyi lowered the knife slowly, but did not put it away or stop glaring at him. A few times she glanced fleetingly toward the bolhouse. Finally, she raised her chin and, as he stepped back from her stall, strode past and toward the bolhouse, putting away her knife.

Cery let out the breath he’d been holding, and realised his stomach was all unsettled and his heart was beating too fast. Suddenly he wished he’d managed to sleep last night. He wanted to be fully alert. Not to make any mistakes. Not to miss a moment of this one meeting with his daughter that he hoped he could afford to allow himself. He hadn’t spoken to her in years, and then she had still been a child. Now she was a young woman. Young men probably sought her attention and her bed …

Let’s not think too much about that
, he told himself.

He heard voices and footsteps in the stairwell outside the room, coming closer. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the doorway. There was a moment of silence, then a familiar male voice said something encouraging, and a single pair of footsteps continued.

As she peered around the doorway, Cery considered smiling, but knew that he would not be able to find enough genuine good humour for it to be convincing. He settled on returning her stare with what he hoped was a welcoming seriousness.

She blinked, her eyes widened, then she scowled and strode into the room.

“You!” she said. “I might’ve guessed it’d be you.”

Her eyes were ablaze with anger and accusation. She stopped a few steps away. He did not flinch at her stare, though it stirred a familiar guilt.

“Yes. Me,” he said. “Sit down. I need to talk to you.”

“Well I don’t want to talk to you!” she declared and turned to leave.

“As if you have any choice.”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. Slowly she turned to face him, crossing her arms.

“What do you want?” she asked, then sighed dramatically. He almost smiled at that. The sullen resignation laced with contempt was what many a father endured from youngsters her age. But her resignation came more from the knowledge he was a Thief, not any respect for fatherly authority.

“To warn you. Your life is … in even more danger than it usually is. There’s a good chance someone will try to kill you soon.”

Her expression did not change. “Oh? Why is that?”

He shrugged. “The mere unfortunate fact that you are my daughter.”

“Well, I’ve survived that well enough so far.”

“This is different. This is a lot … wilder.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nobody uses that word any more.”

“Then I am a nobody.” He frowned. “I am serious, Anyi. Do you think I’d risk our lives by meeting with you if I wasn’t sure not meeting could be worse?”

All contempt and anger fled from her face, but left her with no expression he could read. Then she looked away.

“Why are you so sure?”

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly.
Because my wife and sons are dead.
Pain swelled within him at the thought.
I’m not sure I can say it aloud.
He cast about, then took another deep breath.

“Because, as of last night, you are my only living child,” he told her.

Her eyes slowly widened as the news sank in. She swallowed and closed her eyes. For a moment she remained still, a crease between her brows, then she opened her eyes and fixed him with her stare again.

“Have you told Sonea?”

He frowned at the question. Why had she asked? Her mother had always been a touch jealous of Sonea, perhaps sensing that he had once been in love with the slum girl turned magician. Surely Anyi hadn’t inherited Vesta’s jealousy. Or did Anyi know more about Cery’s continuing and secret link to the Guild than she ought to?

How to answer such a question? Should he answer at all? He considered changing the subject, but found himself curious to know how she would react to the truth.

“I have,” he told her. Then he shrugged. “Along with other information.”

Anyi nodded and said nothing, giving frustratingly little away of her reason for asking. She sighed and shifted her weight to one leg.

“What do you suggest I do?”

“Is there somewhere safe you can go? People you trust? I’d offer to protect you except … well, let’s just say it turned out your mother made the right decision leaving me and …” He heard bitterness in his voice and shifted to other reasons. “My own people may have been turned. It would be better if you did not rely on them. Except Gol, of course. Though … it would be wise if we had a way of contacting each other.”

She nodded and he was heartened to see her straighten with determination. “I’ll be fine,” she told him. “I have … friends.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. That was all she was going to tell him, he guessed. Wise move.

“Good,” he said. He stood up. “Take care, Anyi.”

She regarded him thoughtfully, and for a moment the corner of her mouth twitched. He felt a sudden rush of hope that she understood why he had kept away from her all these years.

Then she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room without waiting for permission or saying goodbye.

CHAPTER 4
NEW COMMITMENTS

T
he trees and shrubs of the Guild gardens cooled and slowed the late summer wind to a pleasant breeze. Within one of the garden “rooms,” well shaded by a large ornamental pachi tree, Lorkin and Dekker sat on one of the seats arranged here and there for magicians to rest on. As the last shreds of his hangover began to ease, Lorkin leaned back against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. The sound of birds mingled with that of distant voices and footsteps – and the shrill sound of taunts and protests somewhere behind him.

Dekker turned to look at the same time as Lorkin. Behind them was a screen of shrubs and trees, so they both stood up to peer over the top of the foliage. Over the other side, four boys had surrounded another and were pushing their victim about.

“Stu-pid lo-wie,” they sang. “Got no fam-ly. Al-ways gri-my. Al-ways smel-ly.”

“Hai!” Dekker shouted. “Stop that! Or I’ll get you volunteered to help in the hospices.”

Lorkin grimaced. His mother had never been happy with Lady Vinara’s idea of punishing novices by making them help in the hospices. She said they’d never consider the work worthwhile or noble if they were expected to want to avoid it. But she never had enough volunteers, so she couldn’t bring herself to protest. Some of those sent to her for punishing had actually chosen the healing discipline because working with her had inspired them, but they were mocked quietly by their fellow novices.

The novices muttered apologies and fled in different directions. As Lorkin and Dekker sat down again, two magicians appeared in the entrance to the garden room.

“Ah! I thought I heard your voice, Dekker,” Reater said. Perler’s worried frown faded as he recognised his brother’s friends. “Mind if we join you?”

“Not at all,” Dekker said, gesturing to the opposite bench seat.

Lorkin looked from one brother to another, wondering at the reason for the frown Perler had been wearing. Reater seemed far too glad to have stumbled upon them.

“Perler got some bad news this morning,” Reater said. He turned to his brother. “Tell them.”

Perler glanced at Reater. “Not bad for you, I hope.” His brother shrugged and did not answer, so he sighed and looked at Dekker. “Lord Maron has quit. It’s going to take longer than he thought to fix his family’s troubles. So I’m not going back to Sachaka.”

“You don’t get to assist the new Ambassador?” Lorkin asked.

Perler shrugged. “I could if I wanted to. But …” He looked at his brother. “I have a few family matters to take care of, too.”

Reater winced.

“So who is going to replace him?” Dekker wondered.

“Someone said Lord Dannyl has applied.” Reater grinned. “Perhaps he wants to check out the local—”

“Reater,” Perler said sternly.

“What? Everyone knows he’s a lad.”

“Which doesn’t make it funny when you make crude jokes about it. Grow up and get over it.” He rolled his eyes. “Besides, Lord Dannyl won’t want to go. He’s too busy researching that book of his.”

Lorkin felt his heart skip. “He told me last night that his research was going slowly. Maybe … maybe he’s hoping to do some research there.”

Reater looked sidelong at his brother. “That change your mind? Ow!” He rubbed his arm where Perler had just punched it. “That hurt.”

“Which was the point.” Perler looked thoughtful. “It’ll be interesting to see if anyone volunteers to be his assistant. Most people might be willing to ignore Lord Dannyl’s ways, but risking speculation by offering to assist him is probably beyond most.”

Lorkin shrugged. “I’d go.”

The others turned to stare at him. Lorkin looked around at their shocked faces, and laughed.

“No, I’m not a lad. But Lord Dannyl has always been easy to get along with and his research is interesting – and worthwhile. I’d be proud to take part in it.” To his surprise, they continued to look worried. Except Perler, he noted.

“But … Sachaka,” Reater said.

“Would that be wise?” Dekker asked.

Lorkin looked from one to the other. “Perler survived. Why not me?”

“Because your parents killed some Sachakans a few years back,” Dekker pointed out in a tone suggesting Lorkin was stupid. “They tend to take exception to that.”

Lorkin spread his hands to encompass the Guild. “So did all magicians during the battle, as did the novices. What difference is there in that to what my parents did?”

Dekker opened his mouth, but nothing came out and he closed it again. He looked at Perler, who chuckled.

“Don’t look to me for support on this one,” the older magician said. “Lorkin’s parentage might make him a little more interesting to the Sachakans than other magicians, but so long as he doesn’t point it out all the time, I doubt he’d be in any more danger than I was.” He looked at Lorkin. “Still, I’d let the Higher Magicians decide that. There may be a reason why you shouldn’t go that they’ve kept to themselves.”

Lorkin turned to regard Dekker triumphantly. His friend looked at him, frowned, then shook his head.

“Don’t go volunteering just to prove me wrong.”

Lorkin laughed. “Would I do that?”

“Probably.” Dekker smiled wryly. “Or just to annoy me. Knowing what your family is like, you’ll turn out to be instrumental in convincing the Sachakans to give up slavery and join with the Allied Lands, and within a few years I’ll find myself actually teaching Warrior Skills to Sachakan novices.”

Smothering the urge to grimace, Lorkin forced a smile.
There it is again. This expectation that I’ll do something important. But that’s never going to happen while I sit around in the Guild, doing nothing.

“That’ll do for a start,” he said. “Anything else?”

Dekker made a rude noise and looked away. “Invent a wine that doesn’t cause hangovers and I’ll forgive you anything.”

Stepping inside the University, Sonea and Rothen passed through the rear entry hall into the main corridor. It led directly to a huge room, three storeys high, within the middle of the building known as the Great Hall. Glass panels covered the roof, allowing light to fill the space.

Contained within this room was an older, simpler building: the Guildhall. It had been the original home of the Guild, and when the grander structure of the University had been built around it the old building’s internal walls had been removed and the interior turned into a hall for regular Meets and occasional Hearings.

Today’s gathering was an open Hearing, which meant that while only the Higher Magicians were required to attend, any other magician was free to do so as well. Sonea was both heartened and dismayed to see the large crowd of magicians waiting at the far end of the hall.
It’s good to see so many taking an interest, but I can’t help doubting that many are in favour of the petition.

The Higher Magicians were hovering around the side entrance of the Guildhall. High Lord Balkan stood with his arms crossed and was frowning down at the man speaking to him. His white robes emphasised his height and broad shoulders, but also betrayed a softness and fullness where he had once been muscular. His duties as High Lord kept him away from practising Warrior Skills, she guessed. Not that magical battles kept a magician that fit, anyway.

BOOK: The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy
11.25Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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