The Traitor Queen (5 page)

And perhaps knowing that I have killed Sachakans before, and would be prepared to do so to save my son, may also nudge Amakira
towards releasing him
.

Of course, the Sachakan king might threaten to harm Lorkin in order to gain something from her, but there wasn’t much he could
gain from that. She did not know what they wanted to find out, and could not order him to speak. All she could do was promise
to try to persuade him to, if they let him go.

Unless, of course, he gives in to torture first
. But she didn’t want to think about that. She turned to Osen.

“So when do I leave?”

*      *      *

Faint light spilling out of a doorway ahead told Lilia that she and Anyi were nearly at their destination. Dodging rubble
in the corridor, she followed her friend to the opening and into the room beyond.

Cery was sitting on one of the old wooden boxes Anyi had found to use as seats. Under his hands, lying on some of the threadbare
pillows from the pile Lilia and Anyi had so often lounged upon, was Gol. Even in the dim candlelight she could see he was
pale. She brought her globe light closer and brightened it. His brow was slick with sweat and his stare was feverish with
pain.

Lilia stared down at him, paralysed with doubt.
Do I know enough of Healing yet to save him?

“Just … try,” Anyi urged.

Glancing at her friend, Lilia nodded. She made herself kneel down beside Gol. Cery’s hands were pressed against Gol’s abdomen,
stained with blood.

“Should I take the pressure off?” Cery asked.

“I … I’m not sure yet,” Lilia admitted. “I’ll just … look.”

She pulled away more of Gol’s shirt, placed a palm on his bare skin, then closed her eyes and sent her senses outward and
into his body.

At first all was chaos, but she drew upon what she had been told or read, and on exercises designed to make sense of all the
signals. The first thing that was obvious was the pain. She nearly gasped aloud as she picked that up, and was proud that
she did not lose focus. Pain was easy to stop. It was one of the early lessons taught to Healers. Once she’d tackled that,
she looked for other information. Her mind was drawn toward the damaged part, where essential liquids were being lost, and
others that were dangerously poisonous were trickling into healthy systems.

His guts have been nicked by the blade that stabbed him. He’d have died already if the leak had been much larger. Clearly
that’s what I have to fix first
…

Drawing magic, she fed it into the rupture so that the edges of the wound knit together, healing faster than they could ever
have done without intervention.

Now I have to stop the blood leaking out. But before I do, there’s this poison from the guts and the blood pooling inside
him to deal with. Use one to help wash out the other
. She hoped Cery and Anyi weren’t panicking as she used magic to force the liquids out of the wound. There was a little more
resistance to this than she’d expected. Then she remembered that Cery was still pressing on the wound. She concentrated on
her own body enough to gain control of her vocal chords.

“You can stop now,” she made herself say.

She saw the blood begin to flow again, and was forced to concentrate hard to align and Heal the separated flesh and skin.
Remembering warnings from her teachers, she checked within to make sure there were no internal rents causing bleeding to continue
within. A few tubes needed fixing. Easily done.

After a final check, she drew her senses back to herself, took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Gol’s face was no longer
rigid with pain. He looked up at her and smiled.

“Better?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes. But … tired. Very tired.” He frowned. “Thirsty.”

“You will be. You’ve lost blood and there might be some inflammation from the poison.”

“The blade was poisoned?” Cery asked, alarmed.

“No, but his gut was sliced into. What’s inside acts like a poison if it gets into the rest of the body.”

Cery regarded the big man thoughtfully. “You’re not going to be any good for fighting practice for a while.” He looked at
Lilia. “How long until he fully recovers?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure, but faster if he can get good food and clean water.” She looked at Anyi. “If you come with me
I’ll see if Jonna left anything back in the room. There’ll be water, at least.”

“You’re already late for classes,” Anyi pointed out. “You should go straight to the University.”

“In these?” Lilia looked down at her novice robes. They were scuffed and dirty from climbing down the narrow gap within the
Magicians’ Quarters walls that allowed her to slip out of Sonea’s rooms and into the underground passages. Normally Anyi brought
some old clothes for her to change into, but this time she’d arrived empty-handed. They couldn’t keep them in Sonea’s rooms
in case Jonna, Sonea’s servant, found them. Lilia hadn’t wanted to risk that Gol might die while she tried to find something
else to change into.

Anyi looked at Lilia’s robes. “Can’t you use magic to fix them?”

Lilia sighed. “I can try. Depends how bad they are. It might take longer than going back.”

Anyi inspected her. “Doesn’t look too bad. Nothing you can’t explain away as having tripped and fallen into a hedge.”

“What about getting food and water?”

Anyi shrugged. “I’ll do it.”

“Sonea will be in her rooms all day.”

“She works the night shift at the hospice, right? So she’ll be asleep.”

“And if she isn’t? Or she wakes up?”

“Then I’ll tell her I dropped in to visit you and I was hungry.”

“If it’s just water we need, I know of a few leaky pipes,”
Cery said. He looked at Lilia sternly. “But we’ll be in a worse situation if you miss classes or someone realises you’ve been
roaming around under the Guild. We’re going to be stuck here for a while, and need you free to visit us, Lilia.”

She looked from him to Anyi. He was right, of course. While classes seemed unimportant compared to keeping her friends safe
and well, skipping them would only rouse suspicion. Once more she cursed herself for giving in to curiosity, and trying the
instructions on using black magic in Naki’s book. Nobody had paid her any attention when she had been an ordinary novice.
She sighed and nodded. “All right. But I’m coming back tonight with dinner for you all.”

“How are you going to manage that?” Cery asked, one eyebrow rising.

“Oh, Jonna is always telling me to eat more, and leaving me little snacks to have while studying. Tonight I’m going to be
unusually peckish.”

L
orkin suspected the relief he felt was premature, as the Ashaki interrogator ushered him out of the room. Their path looked
as if it would be a reversal of the one they’d taken that morning, from the cell Lorkin had been sent to upon leaving the
palace hall, to the room he’d been questioned in. Perhaps they were finished for the day. Perhaps it was night outside. Lorkin’s
stomach had been his only indicator of the passing of time, and it wasn’t a particularly good one. During moments when not
knotted with anxiety it growled quietly with hunger.

The interrogator, who hadn’t introduced himself, led the way, his assistant following behind Lorkin. Lorkin only knew that
he was an Ashaki because a guard had addressed him as such.

They reached a corridor that Lorkin remembered well, because it sloped downward into the prison area. Once again he wondered
why there were no stairs, but now the answer became clear: a prison guard was pushing a trolley towards them. On the trolley
lay a very thin, very old man wearing nothing but a white cloth from his waist to his knees. As the interrogator moved past,
Lorkin stole a look at the old man’s face, then looked closer.

Is he dead?
The chest didn’t rise or fall. The old man’s lips were bluish.
Looks like it
. He scanned hurriedly for wounds but spotted none. Not even marks where manacles might have encircled wrists.
Perhaps he died of old age. Or illness. Or starvation. Or black magic
… He resisted he urge to reach out and touch the corpse, and to use his Healing senses to search for the cause of death.

At the end of the sloped corridor they entered a wide room. Manacles hung from walls, red with rust. A pile of similarly tarnished
metal objects lay in one corner – shapes that might suggest torture devices to frightened imaginations. In contrast, the bars
that criss-crossed the alcoves along two sides of the room were a dull black, without a hint of age or weakness.

Three larger cells took up the longer wall of the room, and five small ones along the shorter. Only two were occupied: one
containing two middle-aged men and the other a young couple. Two guards sat near the main room’s entrance with another man
dressed in a more sombre version of the usual Ashaki male garb. The latter nodded at the interrogator, who returned the gesture.

Prisoners rarely stayed more than a few weeks, Lorkin had been told. Even if judged guilty. Magicians were too much trouble
to keep locked away, and non-magicians were simply sold into slavery. The interrogator hadn’t said whether the magicians were
freed or executed.

That’s part of the game
, Lorkin thought.
Constant hints at dire consequences if I don’t cooperate, but no direct threats. Yet
.

The man had gone on to wonder aloud whether Lorkin qualified as a magician, in the Sachakan sense, since his magical knowledge
was incomplete. Did not knowing higher magic make Lorkin a half-magician? Keeping a half-magician prisoner
might still be more troublesome than it was worth. Still, it had been done before, though not here. With Lorkin’s very own
father.

If he was trying to insult me it was a weak attempt. Surely he knows that Guild magicians don’t see our lack of higher magic
as any kind of deficiency – rather it is a more honourable state. I suppose pointing out that my father was once a slave was
his true aim
.

Even so, that fact wasn’t the source of humiliation to Lorkin that it would have been to a Sachakan noble. Akkarin had been
enslaved by an Ichani, outcasts who were an embarrassment and annoyance to the rest of Sachaka – and an indication of weakness
in their society. Lorkin did not point this out, though.

Aside from a few other attempted jibes, the interrogator had spent the day asking questions and pointing out how bad it would
be for Lorkin, the Guild and peace between Sachaka and the Allied Lands if Lorkin didn’t tell him everything about the Traitors.
There were only so many questions that could be asked, and versions of the same warning, so the man had repeated himself a
lot.

Lorkin had also repeated, apologetically but firmly, his refusal to answer. He did not want to get chatty, and risk inadvertently
giving them any information they could use against the Traitors. Eventually he decided his refusals were only going to be
ignored, so he stuck to saying nothing. It wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be, but he only had to think about how
much harder it would be to resist torture and his resolve hardened. Still, they hadn’t tried to read his mind yet, so they
didn’t know it wouldn’t work – so long, that is, as the Traitors’ mind-read-blocking gem lying under the skin of his palm
did its job. Perhaps King Amakira remained reluctant to harm
relations with the Allied Lands by doing so. Perhaps he hoped Lorkin would give in to questioning and threats.

Reaching the gate to the cell Lorkin had been locked in previously, the interrogator waved him inside. The gate closed. Lorkin
turned back to see that the Ashaki in the sombre garb had approached them.

“Done?” he asked.

“For now,” the interrogator replied.

“He wants you to report.”

The interrogator nodded, then led his companion away.

The newcomer looked through the gate at Lorkin, his eyes narrowing, then moved away. Lorkin watched him glance around the
room, his gaze resting on a simple wooden chair. The chair rose in the air and floated to a position in front of Lorkin’s
cell, then settled upon its legs.

The well-dressed man sat down and proceeded to watch Lorkin.

Being stared at was not something Lorkin particularly relished, but he figured he would have to get used to it. He looked
around the cell. It was empty but for a bucket for excrement in one corner. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything all day, so
he felt no need to relieve himself strong enough to draw him into using the bucket while being watched.

Eventually I’ll have to. Better get used to that idea, as well
.

With no other choice, Lorkin sat down on the dusty floor and rested his back against the rough wall. He’d probably have to
sleep on the floor, too. The stone was hard and cold. At least it was sufficiently cool here for his robes no longer to feel
uncomfortably hot. It was easy to warm the air with magic, but cooling it involved stirring the air, preferably past water.

He thought back to the moment he had donned robes again after months living as a Traitor. It had been a relief at first. He’d
appreciated the generous style of garment and the soft, richly dyed fabric. As the Sachakan spring brought hotter days, he’d
begun to find the robes heavy and impractical. When he was alone, in his room at the Guild House, he’d taken off the outer
robe and worn only the trousers. He’d begun to long for simple, economical Traitor clothes.

That longing was probably as much to do with wishing he was back in Sanctuary. Immediately memories of Tyvara rose and he
felt his heart lighten. The most recent recollection, of the last night they were together, with her naked and smiling as
she taught him how lovers used black magic, set his pulse racing. Then older memories rose. Like the way she moved when in
Sanctuary, secure and confident – taking for granted the power her society granted her. Like the direct stare that was both
playful and intelligent.

He also remembered her before then, as she’d led him across the Sachakan plains toward the mountains, protecting him from
Traitor assassins and them both from capture by the Ashaki. She’d been tired and difficult to talk to, yet had impressed him
with her determination and resourcefulness.

He sent his mind further back to a memory of her in her guise as a slave of the Guild House. Shoulders hunched and eyes downcast,
confused by his attempts to befriend her. He’d been attracted to her even then, though he’d told himself he was only fascinated
by her exotic looks. But no other Sachakan woman had drawn his eyes in the same way, and he’d seen plenty of beautiful ones
in both Arvice and Sanctuary.

Sanctuary. I actually miss the place
, he realised.
Now that I’ve
left, I can see that I liked it there, despite Kalia
. Memories of being abducted, locked away, bound and gagged while Kalia searched his mind for the secret of magical Healing
darkened his thoughts, but he pushed them aside.
Kalia is no longer a Speaker. No longer in charge of the Care Room
, he reminded himself.
The Traitors have their flaws, some more than others, but all in all they’re good people
. Being stuck working with Kalia in the Care Room, worrying about her manipulations and how he was going to convince the Traitors
to trade with the Guild, had distracted him too much to truly appreciate their way of life.

His abduction had been the action of a small number of less scrupulous Traitors. He suspected not all of Kalia’s faction would
have condoned her actions. Most of them wouldn’t have been willing to break Traitor laws as Kalia had, even if they agreed
with her. They only thought the way they did out of a desire to protect their people. Their fear of the outside world was
well ingrained after centuries of hiding in the mountains.

While he wasn’t quite ready to forgive Kalia for stealing Healing knowledge from him, he could hardly begrudge her the desire
to be able to use it to save the lives of Traitors.
Still, she was planning to kill me and claim I’d attempted to flee Sanctuary and froze in the winter snows. That’s not something
I intend to forgive
.

As compensation for what was taken from him, Queen Zarala had decreed that he be taught how to make magical gemstones. He’d
learned a kind of magic the Guild had never heard of. It was the dream of finding new, powerful magic that had led him to
volunteer as Ambassador Dannyl’s assistant in the first place. Looking back, he smiled at his own naivety. The chances
of finding something had been ridiculously remote. And yet he had.

His hopes of finding magic that might render black magic obsolete, or at least provide protection against it, hadn’t been
fulfilled, however. The potential in magical gemstones to negate the need for black magicians was in turn negated by the fact
that a stone-maker needed to learn black magic in order to create them.

He felt his smile fade and a knot of worry form inside his stomach.
What will the Guild do when they find out that I know black magic? Will they forgive it, once they understand I could not
have learned stone-making otherwise?

He had considered all possible consequences, and had hardened himself to the worst of them: the possibility they would exile
him from the Allied Lands, as they had done his father. It would hurt, but would also free him to return to Sanctuary and
Tyvara, which wasn’t too bad an outcome. Apart from one thing.

Mother is going to be disappointed in me. No – more than that. She’ll be devastated
.

Which was why he hadn’t said anything about it to Ambassador Dannyl or Administrator Osen yet. It was one piece of news he
would be putting off for as long as possible. Osen
had
decided that nobody should be told anything more than necessary, in case the Sachakans did start reading minds. Even so,
Lorkin knew he couldn’t avoid Sonea finding out forever.

But when she does, I’d rather she didn’t hear it from anyone else. It’s not going to be easy to tell her, but maybe if I do
it myself it’ll be easier for her to hear
.

*      *      *

Cery had lost count of the times he’d woken up, but this time he knew there was something different about the waking even
before he gathered enough awareness to name what it was.

Light
. After Anyi had returned with a little food and water taken from Sonea’s rooms, which they had given to Gol, they’d decided
to sleep. To avoid using up all the candles, they’d blown them out – but not before Cery had tricked Anyi into giving him
her matches. He hoped that robbing her of a source of portable light would keep her from exploring the passages while he was
asleep. Though she assured him she knew most of them now, she had to agree that the lack of maintenance and repair had left
many unsafe.

The pile of old pillows had been divided between the three of them. Though he had enough to protect him from the cold, hard
floor, keeping them together was a challenge. If he changed position, one would inevitably skitter off into the darkness,
and he’d have to grope around to find it and stuff it back underneath him.

I wonder if anyone is living in my old hiding places, enjoying the fancy furniture and drinking my wine
, he thought as he sat up. Though broken sleep had left him aching with weariness, he was relieved to be giving up on trying.
The light outlined the doorway and was brightening. He heard a familiar voice call out, “It’s just me!”

They could have the wine and the luxuries. All he wanted now was a warm fire and a comfortable bed. And for those he loved
to be safe.

The loved ones of a Thief are never safe
.

A stab of pain went through him, savage despite its familiarity. For a moment all he could see was a memory of his wife’s
and sons’ bodies, but he closed his eyes and willed the vision away.
Will I ever stop remembering? Or will it stop hurting to remember?
Guilt rose at the thought.
I shouldn’t want to, but I can’t do anything to change their deaths and I won’t be able to protect Anyi if I let grief and
anger distract and control me
. He sighed.
And I’d rather remember them whole and happy than … than
that.

The source of the light entered the room. Dazzled, Cery looked away from the globe of magical light to the young woman standing
below it. Lilia smiled at him and held out a basket.

“I told Jonna that Anyi might be visiting. She brought some extra food. I took a bottle of Sonea’s wine – not from the expensive
ones. Well, not the
really
expensive ones.”

Anyi leapt to her feet, kissed Lilia on the cheek and grabbed the basket.