PART TWO

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Chapter 16

Introductions

As the morning grew old, Rothen felt weariness drag at his eyes. He closed them and called upon a little Healing magic to refresh himself, then lifted his book and forced himself to read.

Before he had finished the page, he found himself looking at the sleeping girl again. She lay in a small bedroom that was part of his suite, in the bed that had once belonged to his son. Others had argued with him over his decision to keep her in the Magicians' Quarters. Though he had not shared their concerns, he had kept an eye on her—just in case.

In the darkest part of the night he had allowed Yaldin to take over the watch so that he could get some rest. But instead of sleeping, he had lain awake thinking about her. There was so much to explain. He wanted to be prepared for all the questions and accusations she was sure to have. Possible conversations had repeated themselves over and over in his mind and he had eventually abandoned his attempt to sleep and returned to her side.

She had slept most of a day. Magical exhaustion often affected the young this way. In the two months since the Purge, her dark hair had grown a little longer, but her skin was pale and clung to the bones of her face. Remembering how light she had been to carry, Rothen shook his head. Her time with the Thieves had not improved her health. Sighing, he turned his attention to the book again.

After managing to read another page, he looked up. Dark eyes stared back at him.

The eyes dropped to his robes. In a flurry of movement, the girl struggled from the clinging sheets of the bed. Once free, she looked down in dismay at the heavy cotton nightrobe she wore.

Putting the book on the table beside the bed, Rothen stood up, taking care to keep his movements slow. She pressed her back against the far wall, eyes wide. Moving away, he opened the doors of a cupboard at the back of the room and took out a thick leisure coat.

"Here," he said, taking it down and holding it out to her. "This is for you."

She stared at the coat as if it were a wild animal.

"Take it," he urged, taking a few steps toward her. "You must be cold."

Frowning, she edged forward and snatched the coat from his hands. Without taking her eyes from him, she shrugged her arms into the garment and pulled it close around her thin body, backing away to the wall again.

"My name is Rothen," he told her.

She continued to stare at him, saying nothing.

"We do not intend to harm you, Sonea," he told her. "You have nothing to fear."

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened into a thin line.

"You don't believe me." He shrugged. "Nor would I in your position. Did you get our letter, Sonea?"

She frowned, then a look of contempt crossed her face. He smothered the urge to smile.

"Of course, you wouldn't believe that, either, would you? Tell me, what do you find hardest to believe?"

Crossing her arms, she looked out the window and did not answer. He pushed aside a mild annoyance. Resistance, even this ridiculous refusal to answer, was to be expected.

"Sonea, we must talk to each other," he said gently. "There is a power in you that, whether you want it or not, you must learn to control. If you do not, it will kill you. I know you understand this."

Her brows knitted together, but she continued staring silently out of the window. Rothen allowed himself to sigh.

"Whatever reasons you have to dislike us, you must realize that to refuse our help is foolish. Yesterday we did no more than use up the store of power inside you. It will not be long before your powers grow strong and dangerous again. Think on that," he paused, "but not for too long."

Turning toward the door, he reached for the handle.

"What do I have to do?"

Her voice was high and faint. He felt a thrill of triumph, but quickly schooled his expression. Turning back, he felt his heart twist as he saw the fear in her eyes.

"You have to learn to trust me," he told her.

The magician—Rothen—had returned to his chair. Sonea's heart was still pounding, but not as quickly now. The coat made her feel less vulnerable. She knew it was no protection against magic, it covered the ridiculous thing they had dressed her in.

The room she was in was not large. A tall cupboard stood at one end, the bed filled the other, and a small table fit in the middle. The furniture was made of expensive polished wood. On the table lay small combs and writing implements made of silver. A mirror hung on the wall above it and a painting graced the wall behind the magician.

"Control is a subtle skill," Rothen told her. "To show you I must enter your mind, but I can't if you resist me."

The memory of Guild novices standing in a room, one of each pair pressing hands against his fellow's temples, rose in Sonea's mind. The teacher instructing them had said much the same. Sonea felt an uneasy satisfaction that she knew this magician was telling the truth. No magician could enter her mind uninvited.

Then she frowned, remembering the presence that had shown her the source of her magic, and how to use it.

"You did yesterday."

He shook his head. "No, I pointed you toward your own power, then demonstrated how to use it with my own. This is quite different. To teach you how to control your power, I must go to the place within you where your power resides, and to get there, I must enter your mind."

Sonea looked away. Let a magician into her mind? What would he see? Everything or only what she let him?

Did she have any choice?

"Talk to me," the magician urged. "Ask me any questions you wish. If you learn more about me, you will find that I am a trustworthy person. You don't have to like the entire Guild, you don't even have to like me. You just have to know me well enough to trust that I will teach you what must be taught and do nothing to harm you."

Sonea looked at him closely. He was middle aged or older. Though his dark hair was streaked with gray, his eyes were blue and lively. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth gave him a good-humored expression. He looked like a gentle, fatherly man—but she was no fool. Tricksters always looked honest and appealing. If they didn't, they failed to make a living. The Guild would have arranged for her to meet their most appealing magician first.

She had to look deeper. As she stared into his eyes, he returned her gaze steadily. His confidence disturbed her. Either he was certain that there was nothing she would find objectionable about him, or he believed he could trick her into thinking so.

Either way, he had a difficult task ahead of him, she decided.

"Why should I believe anything you say?"

He lifted his shoulders. "Why would I lie to you?"

"To get what you want. Why else?"

"And what do I want?"

She hesitated. "I don't know yet."

"I only want to help you, Sonea." He sounded genuinely concerned.

"I don't believe you," she told him.

"Why not?"

"You're a magician. They say you vow to protect people, but I've seen you kill."

The wrinkles between his brows deepened, and he nodded slowly. "Indeed you have. As we said in our letter to you, we did not intend to harm anybody that day—you or the boy." He sighed. "It was a terrible mistake. If I'd known what was going to happen I would never have pointed you out.

"There are many different ways to project magic, and the most common is the strike. The weakest of those is the stun-strike, which is designed to paralyze—to freeze up a person's muscles so they cannot move. The magicians who struck the youth all used stunstrike. Do you remember the color of the strikes?"

Sonea shook her head. "I wasn't watching." Too busy running away, she thought, but she wasn't going to say it aloud.

He frowned. "Then you'll have to believe me when I say that they were red. A stunstrike is red. But with so many magicians responding, some of the strikes met and combined to form a stronger firestrike. Those magicians never intended to harm anyone, only to stop the boy running away. I assure you, our mistake has caused us much anguish, and a great deal of disapproval from the King and the Houses."

Sonea sniffed. "Like they care."

His eyebrows rose. "Ah, but they do. I'll admit their reasons have more to do with keeping the Guild in line than sympathy for the boy or his family, but we were chastised for our mistake."

"How?"

He smiled crookedly. "Letters of protest. Public speeches. A warning from the King. It doesn't sound like much, but in the world of politics, words are much more dangerous than whipping sticks or magic."

Sonea shook her head. "Using magic is what you do. It's what you're supposed to be best at. One magician might make a mistake, but not as many as were there."

His shoulders lifted. "Do you think we spend our days preparing for a poor girl to attack us with magically directed stones? Our Warriors are trained in the most subtle maneuvers and strategies of war but no situation in the Arena could have prepared them for an attack from their own people—people who they believed were harmless."

Sonea snorted loudly. Harmless. She saw Rothen's lips tighten at the noise. I probably disgust him, she mused. To the magicians, the slum dwellers were dirty, ugly and a nuisance. Did they have any idea how much the dwells hated them?

"But you've done almost as bad before," she told him. "I've seen people with burns they got from magicians. Then there're those who get crushed when you frighten the crowd into running. But mostly they die from cold afterward, in the slums." She narrowed her eyes at him. "'But you wouldn't see that as being the Guild's fault, would you?"

"Accidents have happened in the past," he admitted. "Magicians who were careless. Where possible, those who were harmed were Healed and compensated. As for the Purge itself …" He shook his head. "Many of us think it is no longer needed. Do you know why it began?"

Sonea opened her mouth to give a tart reply, then hesitated. It wouldn't hurt to know how he believed the Purge started. "Tell me, then."

Rothen's gaze became distant. "Over thirty years ago a mountain in the far north exploded. Soot filled the sky and blocked some of the warmth of the sun. The winter that followed was so long and cold that we had no true summer before the next winter began. All over Kyralia and in Elyne, crops failed and stock died. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of farmers and their families came to the city, but there wasn't enough work or housing for them all.

"The city filled with starving people. The King handed out food and arranged for places like the Racing Arena to be used as shelters. He sent some farmers back to their homes with enough food to last them until the next summer. There wasn't enough to feed everyone, however.

"We told people that the next winter wouldn't be so bad, but many didn't believe us. Some even thought that the world was going to freeze completely, and we would all die. They cast aside all decency and preyed on others in the belief that nobody would be alive to punish them. It became dangerous to walk the streets, even in daylight. Gangs broke into houses, and people were murdered in their beds. It was a terrible time." He shook his head. "One I will never forget.

"The King sent the Guard to drive these gangs from the city. When it was clear that it couldn't be done without bloodshed, he asked the Guild to help. The next winter was also harsh and when the King saw signs of similar trouble rising, he decided to clear the streets again before the situation became dangerous. So it has been ever since."

Rothen sighed. "Many say that the Purge should have stopped years ago, but memories are long and the slums have grown many times larger than they were during that terrible winter. Many fear what will happen if the city isn't cleared every winter, particularly now that the Thieves exist. They fear that the Thieves would use such a situation to take control of the city."

"That's ridiculous!" Sonea exclaimed. Rothen's version of the story was predictably one-sided, but some of the reasons he gave for the first Purge were new and strange. Mountains exploding? There was no point arguing. He would just point out her ignorance of such things. But she knew something he didn't.

"It was the Purge that started the Thieves," she told him. "Do you think all the people you drove out were muggers and gangs? You drove out those starving farmers and their families, and people like beggars and scavengers who needed to be in the city to survive. Those people got together so they could help each other. They survived by joining the lawless ones, because they saw no reason to live by the King's laws anymore. He'd driven them out when he should have helped them."

"He helped as many as he could."

"Not all, and not now. Do you think he's clearing the streets of muggers and gangs? No, they're good people who make a living from what rich people waste, or have a trade in the city but live in the slums. The lawless ones are the Thieves—and the Thieves aren't bothered by the Purge at all because they can get in and out of the city whenever they want."

Rothen nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "I suspected as much." He leaned forward. "Sonea, I don't like the Purge any more than you do—and I'm not the only magician who feels that way."

"Why do you do it?"

"Because when the King asks us to do something we are bound by our oath to obey."

Sonea snorted again. "So you can blame the King for anything you do."

"We are all subjects of the King," he reminded her. "The Guild must be seen to obey him because the people need to be reassured that we will not seek to rule Kyralia ourselves." He leaned back in his chair. "If we are the remorseless murderers you believe us to be, why haven't we done that, Sonea? Why haven't magicians taken over all the lands?"

Sonea shrugged. "I don't know, but it would make no difference to the dwells. When have you ever done anything good for us?"

Rothen's eyes narrowed. "There is much that you would not see."

"Like what?"

"We keep the Marina clear of silt, for example. Without us, Imardin could not receive ships, and trade would move elsewhere."

"How is that good for the dwells?"

"It creates work for Imardians of all classes. Ships bring sailors who buy board, food and goods. Workers pack and carry goods. Crafters make the goods." He considered her, then shook his head. "Perhaps our work is too far removed from your own life for you to see its value. If you would see us helping people directly, consider the work of our Healers. They work hard to—"

"Healers!" Sonea rolled her eyes. "Who's got coin to spare for a Healer? The fee is ten times as much as a good Thief earns in his life!"

Rothen paused. "Of course, you are right," he said quietly. "There are only so many Healers—barely enough to keep up with the number of sick who come to us for help. The high fees discourage those with minor ailments from overusing the Healers' time, and go toward teaching non-magicians about medicines that can treat those minor ailments. These medics treat the rest of Imardin's citizens."

"Not the dwells," Sonea retorted. "We have curies, but they're just as likely to kill you as cure you. I only heard of a few medics when I was living in the North Quarter and they cost a cap of gold."

Rothen looked out of the window and sighed. "Sonea, if I could solve the problem of class and poverty in the city, I would do so without a moment's hesitation. But there is little that we—even as magicians—can do."

"No? If you really don't like the Purge, then refuse to go. Tell the King you'll do anything else he says but that. It's happened before."

He frowned, obviously puzzled.

"Back when King Palen refused to sign the Alliance." She suppressed a smile at his expression of surprise. "Then get the King to build proper sewers and the like in the slums. His great-grandfather did it for the rest of the city, why shouldn't he do it for us too?"

His brows rose. "You wouldn't want to move the slum people into the city?"

Sonea shook her head. "Parts of the Outer Circle are good. The city won't stop growing. Perhaps the King should build another wall, too."

"Walls are obsolete. We have no enemies. But the rest is … interesting." He regarded her appraisingly. "And what else would you have us do?"

"Go into the slums and heal people."

He grimaced. "There aren't enough of us."

"Some's better than none. Why is the broken arm of the son of a House more important than a dwell's broken arm?"

He smiled then, and Sonea suddenly felt a disturbing suspicion that her answers were no more than an amusement to him. What did he care, anyway? He was just trying to get her to believe he sympathized with her. It would take more than that to make her trust him.

"You'll never do it," she growled. "You keep saying that some of you'd help if you could, but the truth is, if any magicians really cared, they'd be out there. There's no law stopping them, so why don't any go? I'll tell you why. The slums are smelly and rough, and you'd rather pretend they weren't there. Here you're real comfortable." She gestured at the room and its fine furniture. "Everyone knows the King pays you a lot. Well, if you're all feeling so sorry for us, then you should put some of that money into helping people but you won't. You'd rather keep it all for yourself."

He pursed his lips, his expression thoughtful. She found herself strangely aware of the silence in the room. Realizing she had allowed him to provoke her, she gritted her teeth.

"If a large amount of money was given to any of the people you know in the slums," he said slowly, "do you think they'd give it all up to help others?"

"Yes," she replied.

He lifted an eyebrow. "So none of them would be tempted to keep it to themselves?"

Sonea paused. She knew some people who would. Well, more than some.

"A few, I suppose," she admitted.

"Ah," he said. "But you would not have me believe all dwells were selfish people, would you? Neither should you believe that all magicians are self-centered. You would also, no doubt, assure me that, for all their law breaking or rough behavior, the people you know are mostly decent folk. It does not make sense, then, for you to judge all magicians by the mistakes of a few, or for their high birth. Most, I assure you, strive to be decent people."

Frowning, Sonea looked away. What he said made sense, but it did not comfort her at all. "Perhaps," she replied, "but I still don't see any magicians helping people in the slums."

Rothen nodded. "Because we know that the slum people would refuse our help."

Sonea hesitated. He was right, but if the dwells refused the Guild's help, it was because the Guild had given the dwells reason to hate them.

"They wouldn't refuse money," she pointed out.

"Assuming you are not one of those who would hoard it, what would you do if I gave you a hundred gold slips to do with as you pleased?"

"I'd feed people," she told him.

"A hundred gold would feed some for many weeks, or many for a few days. Afterward, those people would still be as poverty-stricken as before. You will have made little difference."

Sonea opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was nothing she could say to that. He was right, and yet he wasn't. There had to be something wrong with not even trying to help.

Sighing, she looked down at herself and frowned at the foolish garments she was wearing. Despite knowing that changing the subject might give him the notion that he had won the argument, she plucked at the coat.

"Where are my clothes?"

He looked down at his hands. "Gone. I will give you new ones."

"I want my own," she told him.

"I had them burned."

She stared at him in disbelief. Her cloak, though dirty and charred in places, had been of good quality—and Cery had given it to her.

There was a knock on the door. Rothen rose to his feet.

"I must leave now, Sonea," he told her. "I will return in an hour."

She watched him move away and open the door. Beyond, she glimpsed another luxurious room. As he closed the door she listened for the sound of a key turning, and felt a twinge of hope when it did not come.

Frowning, she stared at the door. Was it locked by magic? She took a step closer, then heard the muffled sound of voices coming from beyond the door.

No sense trying the door now but perhaps later …

Pain squeezed his head tightly, but he could feel something cool was dribbling down behind his ear. Opening his eyes, Cery saw a blurred face within darkness. A woman's face.

"Sonea?"

"Hello." The voice was unfamiliar. "About time you returned to us."

Cery closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. The face became clearer. Long dark hair framed exotically beautiful features. The woman's skin was dark, but not as inky as Faren's. The familiar, straight Kyralian nose added elegance to the long face. It was as if Sonea and Faren had become one person.

I'm dreaming, he thought.

"No, you're not," the woman replied. She looked up, at something above his head. "He must have been hit pretty hard. Do you want to talk to him now?"

"May as well try." This voice was familiar. As Faren moved into sight, memory returned and Cery tried to sit up. The darkness swayed, and his head thundered with pain. He felt hands on his shoulders and reluctantly allowed them to push him back down onto his back.

"Hello, Cery. This is Kaira."

"She looks like you but pretty," Cery murmured.

Faren laughed. "Thanks. Kaira is my sister."

The woman smiled and moved out of sight. Cery heard a door close somewhere to his right. He stared at Faren.

"Where's Sonea?"

The Thief sobered. "The magicians have her. They took her to the Guild."

The words echoed over and over in Cery's mind. He felt something awful tearing at his insides. She is gone! How could he have believed that he could protect her? But, no. Faren was supposed to have kept her safe. A spark of anger flared. He drew a breath to speak …

No. I must find her. I must get her back. I might need Faren's help.

All anger drained out of him. Cery frowned at the Thief.

"What happened?"

Faren signed. "The inevitable. They caught up." He shook his head. "I don't know what I could have done to stop them. I had already tried everything."

Cery nodded. "And now?"

The Thief's lips twitched into a humorless, half smile. "I was unable to honor my side of our bargain. Sonea, however, never had a chance to use her magic for me. We both tried hard but failed. As for you …" Faren's smile disappeared. "I would like you to remain with me."

Cery stared at the Thief. How could he abandon Sonea so easily?

"You are free to go if you wish," Faren added.

"What about Sonea?"

The Thief frowned. "She is in the Guild."

"Not a hard place to break into. I've done it before."

Faren's frown deepened. "That would be foolish. They will guard her closely."

"We'll distract them."

"We'll do no such thing." Faren's eyes flashed. He took a few steps away, then paced back to Cery's side. "The Thieves have never pitted themselves against the Guild, and never will. We're not so stupid as to think we would win."

"They aren't that smart. Believe me, I've—"

"NO!" Faren interrupted. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "It is not as easy as you think, Cery. Get some rest. Heal. Think about what you're suggesting. We will talk again soon."

He moved out of sight. Cery heard the door click open, then close firmly. He tried to rise but his head felt as if it would burst from the pain. Sighing, he closed his eyes and lay flat, breathing hard.

He could try to convince Faren to rescue Sonea, but he knew he would not succeed. No. If she was to be saved, he would have to do it himself.

Chapter 17

Sonea's Resolve

Sonea looked around the room again. Though not large, it was luxurious. She could be in any one of the homes of the Inner City, but she doubted it.

Moving to the window, she pushed aside the finely decorated screen that covered it, caught her breath and took a step backward.

The Guild gardens stretched out before her. The University building loomed to the right, and the High Lord's house lay, half hidden behind the trees, to the left. She was on the second story of the building Cery had called the "magicians' building."

The Guild was swarming with magicians. Everywhere she looked, she saw robed figures: in the garden, in windows, and strolling along the snow-edged path just below her window. Shivering, she pushed the screen back and turned away.

A bleak desperation swept over her. I'm trapped. I'll never leave this place. I won't see Jonna and Ranel, or Cery, ever again.

She blinked as tears blurred her sight. Catching a movement in the corner of her eye, she turned to find herself reflected in a shining oval mirror. She regarded the red-eyed face. The girl's mouth twisted in contempt.

Am I going to give up so easily? she asked the reflection. Am I going to blubber like a child?

No! The Guild might be filled with magicians during the day, but she had seen it at night and knew how easy it was to move around undetected. If she waited until night, and managed to slip outside, nothing would stop her returning to the slums.

Getting outside would be the hard part, of course. The magicians would probably keep her locked up. However, Rothen himself had said that magicians were not incapable of making mistakes. She would wait and watch. When the opportunity came, she would be ready to take it.

The face in the mirror was now dry-eyed and stiff with determination. Feeling better, she moved to the small table. Picking up a hair brush, she caressed the silver handle appreciatively. Something like this, traded at a pawn shop, could buy her new clothes and feed her for several weeks.

Had Rothen even considered that she might steal them? Of course, he wouldn't be worried about theft if he was confident that she couldn't escape. Snatching valuables wasn't going to do her any good while she was stuck in the Guild.

Looking around again, it struck her that this was a very strange prison. She had expected a cold cell, not comfort and luxury.

Perhaps they did truly intend to invite her to join the Guild.

She looked up at the mirror and tried to imagine herself wearing robes. Her skin crawled.

No, she thought, I could never be one of them. It would be like betraying everyone— my friends, all the people of the slums, myself. . .

But she had to learn to control her powers. The danger was real, and Rothen probably did intend to teach her some things—even if it was just to prevent her from making a mess of the city. She doubted he would teach her anything more, however. Remembering the frustration and horrors of the last six weeks, she shivered. Her powers had caused her enough trouble already. She would not be disappointed if she never used them again.

What would happen to her then? Would the Guild let her return to the slums? Not likely. Rothen claimed that the Guild wanted her to join them. Her? A slum girl? Not likely, either.

But why would they offer? Was there some other reason? Bribery? They might promise to teach her magic if she … did what? What could the Guild possibly want from her?

She frowned as the answer leapt into her mind.

The Thieves.

If she escaped would Faren still be interested in hiding her? Yes—particularly if her powers were no longer dangerous. Once she was in his confidence, it would not be hard to work against the Thief. She could use her mental powers to send the Guild information about the criminal groups of the city.

She snorted. Even if she had wanted to cooperate with the Guild, the Thieves would work it out soon enough. No dwell was stupid enough to squimp on the Thieves. Even if she managed to protect herself with magic, she would not be able to stop them harming her friends and family. The Thieves were ruthless when crossed.

But would she have a choice? What if the Guild threatened to kill her if she did not help them? What if they threatened to harm her friends and family? With rising alarm, she wondered if the Guild knew about Jonna and Ranel.

She pushed the thought away, still wary of any strong emotions that might loosen her hold on her magic. Shaking her head, she turned away from the mirror. A book lay on a small table beside the bed. She crossed the room and picked it up.

Flicking through the pages, she discovered that they were covered in neat lines of text. Looking closer, she was surprised to find she could understand most of the words. Serin's lessons had done more good than she had thought.

The text appeared to be about boats. After reading several lines, Sonea realized that the last word in each pair of lines ended in the same sound, like the lyrics of songs the street performers in markets and bolhouses sang.

She froze as a soft knocking came from the door. As it opened Sonea quickly placed the book back on the table. She looked up to see Rothen standing in the doorway, a cloth-covered bundle under one arm.

"Can you read?"

She considered how she should answer. Was there any reason to hide her ability? She couldn't think of one, and it would be satisfying to let him know that not all dwells were illiterate.

"A little," she admitted.

He closed the door and gestured to the book.

"Show me," he said. "Read some aloud."

She felt a little doubt creep in, but pushed it aside. Picking up the book again, she opened it and began to read.

At once, she regretted getting herself into the situation. Conscious of the magician's gaze, she found it hard to concentrate. The page she had selected was more difficult Ťthan the first, and she felt her cheeks warm as she stumbled on unfamiliar words.

"Mareena, not mariner."

Annoyed at the interruption, she closed the book and tossed it onto the bed. Smiling apologetically, Rothen dropped the bundle of cloth down next to it.

"How did you learn to read?" he asked.

"My aunt taught me."

"And you've been practicing recently."

She looked away. "There's always stuff to read. Signs, labels, reward notices …"

He smiled. "We found a book on magic in one of the rooms you occupied. Did you understand any of it?"

A warning chill ran down her spine. He would not believe her if she denied reading the book but if she admitted it, he would ask more questions and she might accidentally reveal which other books she had read. Should he know the books Cery had stolen were missing, he would have to consider it possible that she had slipped into the Guild at night, and he would be more cautious about keeping her locked inside.

Instead of answering, she nodded at the cloth bundle on the bed.

"What's that?"

He considered her for a moment, then shrugged. "Clothes."

Sonea eyed the bundle dubiously.

"I'll give you time to get changed, then send my servant in with some food." He turned to the door.

After he had left, Sonea unwrapped the bundle. To her relief, he had not brought magicians' robes. Instead she found a pair of simple trousers, undershirt and a high-collared shirt— much the same as the clothes she had been wearing in the slums but made of soft, expensive materials.

Shrugging out of the leisure coat and night robe, she pulled on the new clothes. Though she now felt decently covered, her skin still felt strangely bare. Looking at her hands, she saw that her fingernails had been clipped and cleaned. She sniffed them and smelt a soapy fragrance.

A shiver of alarm and indignation ran through her. Somebody had washed her while she had slept. She stared at the door. Rothen?

No, she decided, tasks like that would be left to the servants. Running her hands through her hair she discovered that it, too, had been washed.

A few more minutes passed, then a softer knock came from the door. Remembering that the magician was going to send in a servant, Sonea waited for the stranger to enter. The knock came again.

"Lady?" a woman called, her voice muffled by the door. "May I enter?"

Amused, Sonea sat down on the bed. Nobody had ever called her "Lady" before.

"If you want," she answered.

A woman of about thirty years entered the room. She was dressed in a plain gray smock and matching trousers, and was carrying a covered tray.

"Hello," the woman said, smiling nervously. Her eyes flickered to Sonea's, then quickly away again.

Sonea watched the servant carry the tray to the table and set it down. As the women reached for the cover her hand shook slightly. Sonea frowned. What was the servant afraid of? Surely not a mere slum girl?

The woman adjusted a few items on the tray, then turned and bowed deeply to Sonea before retreating quickly from the room.

For several minutes, Sonea stared at the door. The woman had bowed to her. This was … strange. Disturbing. She could not work out what it meant.

Then the smell of hot bread and something tantalizingly spicy drew her attention to the tray. A generous bowl of soup and a plate of small, sweet cakes beckoned to her, and she felt her stomach rumble.

She smiled. The magicians were going to find that she could not be bribed into betraying Faren, but they didn't need to know that straightaway. If she played with them a little, they might treat her like this for a very long time.

And she had no qualms about taking advantage of them.

Sonea crept into the guest room with all the watchful nervousness of a wild animal emerging from a cage. Her eyes flicked about, lingering longest on the doors, before settling on Rothen.

"That leads to a small washroom," Rothen told her, pointing. "My bedroom is through there, and that door opens to the main corridor of the Magicians' Quarters."

She stared at the main door, then glanced at him before moving closer to the bookshelves. Rothen smiled, pleased to see her attracted to the books.

"Take down anything that interests you," he urged. "I will help you read them, and explain what you do not understand."

She glanced at him again, her brows rising, and bent closer to the books. She lifted a finger to touch the spine of a volume, but froze as the University gong began to ring.

"That indicates to novices that it is time to return to classes," he explained. Crossing to one of the windows, he gestured for her to look outside.

Moving to the next window along, she looked out. At once, her face stiffened with tension. Eyes darting about, she watched the magicians and novices making their way back to the University.

"What do the colors mean?"

Rothen frowned. "Colors?"

"The robes, they are different colors."

"Ah." He leaned on the sill of the window and smiled. "First I should explain about the disciplines. There are three major uses to which magic can be applied: Healing, Alchemy and Warrior Skills." He pointed to a pair of Healers walking slowly through the gardens. "The Healers wear green. Healing involves learning more than just the magical methods of curing wounds and disease. It also includes all knowledge of medicine, which makes it a discipline that one must dedicate one's entire life to."

Glancing at Sonea, he noted the interest in her eyes.

"Warriors wear red," he told her, "and study strategy and the ways that magic can be used in battle. Some also practice traditional forms of fighting and swordplay."

He gestured to his own robes. "Purple represents Alchemy, which is everything else that can be done with magic. It includes chemistry, mathematics, architecture and many other uses for magic."

Sonea nodded slowly. "What about the brown robes?"

"They are novices." He pointed to a pair of youths. "Do you see how the robes fall only to the thigh?" Sonea nodded. "They do not receive full robes until they graduate, by which time they have chosen a discipline to follow."

"What if they want to learn more than one?"

Rothen chuckled. "There just isn't enough time for that."

"How long do they study for?"

"That depends how long they take to learn the required skills. Usually five years."

"That one." Sonea pointed. "He wears a different-colored belt."

Rothen looked down to see Lord Balkan striding by, his harsh face set in a frown as if he was worrying at a difficult problem.

"Ah, very observant of you." Rothen smiled approvingly. "The sash is black. It indicates that the man you are looking at is the Head of his chosen discipline."

"The Head of the Warriors." Sonea glanced at Rothen's robes and her eyes narrowed.

"What sort of Alchemy do you study?"

"Chemistry. I also teach it."

"What is that?"

He paused, considering how best to explain it in terms she would understand. "We work with substances: liquids, solids and gases. We mix them together, or heat them, or subject them to other influences and see what happens."

Sonea frowned. "Why?"

Rothen smiled crookedly. "To see if we can discover anything useful."

Sonea's eyebrows rose. "What useful things have you discovered?"

"Me, or the Chemists of the Guild?"

"You."

He laughed. "Not much! I guess you could call me a failed Alchemist, but along the way I did discover one important thing."

Sonea's brows rose.

"What was that?"

"I'm a very good teacher." Moving away from the window, he considered the bookshelf. "If you would allow me, I could help you improve your reading skills. Would you be interested in working on them this afternoon?"

She regarded him for a long time, her expression guarded but thoughtful. Finally, she gave a stiff nod. "What do you think I should try?"

Approaching the bookcase, Rothen ran his eyes over the volumes. He needed something easy to read, but which would hold her interest. Taking down a book, he flicked through the pages.

She was more cooperative than he had anticipated. Her curiosity was strong, and her ability to read and her interest in his books were unexpected advantages. Both indicated that she might adapt well to a life of study.

He nodded to himself. All he had to do was persuade her that the Guild was not as bad as she thought it was.

Dannyl smiled at his friend. Since joining Yaldin and his wife for the evening, Rothen had been talking without pause. Dannyl hadn't seen Rothen so animated about a potential novice before—though Dannyl rather hoped his friend had been this enthusiastic when taking on his training.

"You're such an optimist, Rothen. You've barely met her and already you're talking as if she'll be the prize of the University."

He smiled as his friend's expression became defensive.

"Am I?" Rothen replied. "If I wasn't, would I have had so many successes with novices over the years? If you give up on them, they have no reason to try."

Dannyl nodded. He hadn't been the most cooperative novice, and had resisted Rothen's early attempts to direct his mind away from bickering with Fergun and his fellow novices. Despite all Dannyl's attempts to prove Rothen wrong, his teacher had never given up on him.

"Did you tell her that we don't intend to harm her?" Ezrille asked.

"I've explained about the death of the youth and that we want to teach her how to control her powers. Whether she believes it or not…" He shrugged.

"Did you tell her that she can join the Guild?"

Rothen grimaced. "I didn't press the issue. She doesn't like us much. It's not that she holds us responsible for the state of the poor, but she feels we should be doing something about it." He frowned. "She says she has never seen us do anything good, which is probably true. Most of the work we do for the city does not affect her or the rest of the dwells. And then there's the Purge."

"Then it's hardly surprising that she doesn't like the Guild," Ezrille said. She leaned forward. "But what is she like?"

Rothen considered. "Quiet, but defiant. She's obviously frightened, but I don't think we'll be seeing any tears. I'm sure she understands that she must learn Control, so I don't think we'll see any escape attempts just yet."

"And after she has learned Control?" Yaldin asked.

"Hopefully by then we will have convinced her to join us."

"What if she refuses?"

Rothen drew in a deep breath and sighed. "I'm not sure what will happen. We can't force anyone to join us, but, by law, we can't allow magicians to exist outside the Guild, either. If she refuses," he grimaced, "we will have no choice but to block her powers."

Ezrille's eyes widened. "Block them? Is that bad?"

"No. It's … Well, it would be distressing for most magicians because they are used to having power to call upon. In Sonea's case, we have someone who isn't used to wielding magic—not in any useful form, anyway." He shrugged. "She won't miss it as much."

"How long do you think it will take to teach her Control?" Yaldin asked. "I feel uneasy knowing there's an uncontrolled magician living only a few doors away."

"It will take some time for me to gain her trust," Rothen replied. "She might take several weeks."

"Surely not!" Yaldin exclaimed. "It never takes more than two weeks, even for the most difficult novices."

"She is no spoilt or nervous child from the Houses."

"I suppose you're right." Yaldin shook his head and sighed. "I'll be shaking with nerves by the end of a week."

Rothen smiled and lifted his cup to his lips. "Ah, but the longer she takes, the more time I have to convince her to stay."

Sitting on the bed, Sonea peered at the gardens through a narrow gap in the window screen and toyed with a slender hair pin. It was night outside and the moon had risen. The snow edging the paths glowed softly in the subtle light.

An hour earlier, the gong had rung again. As magicians and novices hurried back to their Quarters, she had watched and waited. All was quiet now apart from the occasional servant hurrying by, breath streaming behind in the chilly night air.

Rising, she crept to the door and put her ear to it. Though she listened until her neck ached, she heard no sounds coming from the room beyond.

She looked down at the handle. It was smooth, polished wood. Set into it were pieces of darker timber, forming the lines of the Guild symbol. Sonea traced the pattern, marvelling at the skill and effort spent on a mere door handle.

Slowly, quietly, she began to turn the handle. It rotated only slightly before something blocked its movement. She carefully pulled the door inward, but the latch was still caught.

Unperturbed, she started to rotate the handle in the other direction. Once more it only moved a little before stopping. She tugged the door but it remained in place.

Bending down, she raised her hand to insert the hair pin in the lock, then paused. There was no keyhole.

Sonea sighed and sat back on her heels. She hadn't heard the sound of a key turning any of the times Rothen had left the room, and she had noticed earlier that there were no bolts on the other side of the door. The door was locked by magic.

Not that she could go anywhere. She had to stay until she had learned to Control her magic.

But she needed to test her boundaries. If she didn't look for ways to escape, she might never find any.

She rose and moved to the table beside the bed. The book of songs still lay there. Picking it up, she opened it to the first page. Something was written there. Moving to the table, she lit the candle Rothen had left.

"For my darling Rothen, to mark the birth of our son. Yilara."

Sonea pursed her lips. So he was married and had at least one child. She wondered where his family was. Considering Rothen's age, his son was probably a grown man.

He seemed a decent sort of person. She had always thought herself a good judge of character—something she had learned from her aunt. Her instincts told her that Rothen was kind and well-meaning. But that didn't mean she could trust him, she reminded herself. He was still a magician, bound to do whatever the Guild wanted.

A faint high-pitched laugh came from outside, drawing her attention to the window again. Pushing aside the screen, Sonea watched as a couple strode through the garden, the green robes under their cloaks shining in the glow of a floating light. Two children ran before them, tossing snow at each other.

Sonea watched them pass, her eyes following the woman. She had never seen female magicians in the Purge. Did they choose not to go, she wondered, or was there a rule that prevented them?

She pursed her lips. Jonna had told her that the daughters of rich families were carefully watched until they married the husband their fathers chose for them. Women made no important decisions within the Houses.

In the slums no one arranged marriages. Though women tried to find a man who could support a family, they usually married for love. While Jonna believed this was better, Sonea was cynical. She had noticed that women often put up with a lot when in love, but, at some stage, love tended to wear off. Better to marry a man you liked and trusted.

Were female magicians cosseted away? Were they encouraged to leave the running of the Guild to the men? It would be frustrating to be magically powerful, but still completely under the control of others.

As the family moved out of sight, Sonea began to draw away from the window, but, as her eyes flickered across the grounds, she caught a movement in one of the windows of the University. Looking up, she saw a pale oval face.

From the neckline of the stranger's clothes, she guessed this figure was a magician. Though she could not be sure in the dark and at the distance, she had a strong suspicion that he was watching her. A chill crept up her spine and she quickly pushed the screen closed.

Unnerved, she crossed the room and blew out the candle, then lay down on the bed and curled up in the blankets. She felt drained, tired of thinking, tired of being afraid. Tired of being tired …

But as she stared at the ceiling, she knew that sleep was not going to come easily.

Chapter 18

Away from Prying Eyes

A delicate, faint light had settled on the trees and buildings of the Guild. Cery frowned. Last time he had looked, everything had been shrouded in darkness. He must have dozed off, but he couldn't even remember closing his eyes. Rubbing his face, Cery looked around and considered the long night he had just passed.

It had begun with Faren. Recovered and fed, Cery had asked again if the Thief would help him retrieve Sonea. Faren's refusal had been firm.

"If she had been captured by the Guard, or even imprisoned in the Palace, I would have snatched her back already—and enjoyed proving that I could do it." Faren had smiled briefly, but then his expression had hardened. "But this is the Guild, Cery. What you suggest is out of my reach."

"It's not," Cery had insisted. "They don't set guards, or magical barriers. They—"

"No, Cery." Faren's eyes flashed. "It is not a matter of guards or barriers. The Guild has never had a good enough reason to get off their backsides and do something about us. If we stole her back from their own grounds, it might give them reason to try. Believe me, Cery, nobody wants to find out whether we could evade them or not."

"The Thieves are afraid of them?"

"Yes." Faren's expression had been unusually sober. "We are. And with good reason."

"If we made it look as if someone else rescued her …"

"The Guild may still believe it was us. Listen to me, Cery. I know you well enough to guess that you will try to rescue her on your own. Consider this instead: the others will kill you if they believe you are a threat. They're watching us closely."

Cery had said nothing to that.

"Do you want to continue working for me?"

Cery had nodded.

"Good. I have another job for you, if you want it."

Faren's job had taken Cery to the Marina, as far from the Guild as he could get. Afterwards, Cery had made his way across the city, climbed the Guild wall, and settled himself down in the forest to watch.

As activity had dwindled and the night deepened, Cery had seen a movement in one of the windows of the University. A face appeared. A man's face, staring at the magicians' building intently.

The watcher remained at his post for half an hour. Finally, a pale face had appeared in a window of the magicians' building and Cery's heart had leapt. Even from a distance, he recognized her.

Sonea had looked down at the gardens for several minutes, then she had looked up toward the watcher. Seeing him, she had quickly retreated from view.

The watcher had disappeared soon after. Though Cery had stayed all night, he had seen no other movement, either from magicians or Sonea. Now that dawn was close, he knew he should return to Faren. The Thief would not approve of Cery's spying, but Cery had planned for that. An admission that Sonea was too well guarded would be enough to mollify the Thief. Faren had forbidden a rescue attempt, not information gathering, and he must have expected Cery to look for evidence that she was still alive.

Cery rose and stretched. He wouldn't be telling Faren what he had learned from the night's watching, however. Aside from the mysterious watcher, the magicians had set no external guard on the buildings. If Sonea was alone in that room, there was hope for her yet.

Smiling for the first time in days, Cery started through the forest toward the slums.

* * *

Sonea woke with a start to find Rothen's servant staring down at her.

"Excuse me, Lady," the woman said hastily. "But when I saw the bed was empty I thought… Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

Rising, Sonea disentangled herself from the blankets.

"The bed," she said. "It sinks so much. I feel like I'm going to fall right through it."

"Sinks?" The woman blinked in surprise. "You mean it's too soft?" She smiled brightly. "But you've probably not slept on a reber-wool mattress before. Here."

She pulled the sheets from the bed to reveal several layers of thick, spongy mattress. Grasping half, she pulled them from the bed.

"Do you think that would be comfortable for you?" she asked, pressing down on the remaining layers.

Sonea hesitated, then pressed on the mattress. The bed was still soft, but she could feel the wooden base underneath. She nodded.

"Wonderful," the servant cooed. "Now, I've brought water for you to wash in, and—Oh! You've slept in your clothes. No matter. I've brought fresh ones. Once you've done, come out into the guest room. We'll have some cakes and sumi to start the day."

Amused, Sonea watched the woman gather up the mattresses and bustle out of the room. When the door had closed, she sat down on the end of the bed and sighed.

I'm still here.

She ran through the previous day in her mind: the conversations with Rothen, her determination to escape, the people she had seen through the window last night. Sighing, she rose and examined the basin of water, soap and towel that the servant had brought. .

With a shrug, she stripped off, washed and changed, then moved to the door. As she reached for the handle she hesitated. No doubt Rothen was waiting beyond the door. She felt a small twinge of anxiety, but no fear.

He was a magician. That ought to scare her more, but he had said he would not harm her, and she had chosen to believe him—for now.

To let him into her mind, however, was not going to be so easy. She had no idea if he could harm her that way. What if he could change the way she thought, and make her love the Guild?

What choice do I have? She was going to have to trust that he couldn't, or wouldn't, mess around with her mind. It was a risk she had to take and worrying about it would not make it any easier.

Straightening her back, she opened the door. The room beyond appeared to be the one Rothen spent most of his time in. A set of chairs was arranged around a low table in the center of the room. Bookshelves and higher tables stood against the walls. Rothen sat in one of the cushioned chairs, his blue eyes darting back and forth over the pages of a book.

He looked up and smiled. "Good morning, Sonea."

The servant woman stood beside one of the side tables. Sonea settled into the chair opposite Rothen. Bringing a tray to the table, the servant placed a cup before Rothen and another in front of Sonea.

Rothen lay the book on the table. "This is Tania," he said, looking up at the woman. "My servant."

Sonea nodded. "Hello, Tania."

"Honored to meet you, Lady," the woman replied, bowing.

Feeling her face warming with embarrassment, Sonea looked away. To her relief, Tania returned to the food table.

Watching the woman arranging cakes on a tray, Sonea wondered if she was supposed to be flattered by the obeisance. Perhaps they hoped she would gain a liking for it, as well as the luxuries, and be more willing to cooperate.

Sensing Sonea's gaze, the woman looked up and smiled nervously.

"Did you sleep well, Sonea?" Rothen asked.

Looking at him, she shrugged. "A little."

"Would you like to continue with your reading lessons today?"

She looked at the book that he had been reading and frowned as she realized that it was familiar.

He followed her gaze. "Ah, Fien's Notes on Magic Usage. I thought I should know what you've been reading. This is an old history book, not a textbook, and the information in it may be outdated. You may—"

A knock on the door interrupted him. Rising, he approached the main door and opened it slightly. Knowing that he could easily stop her from escaping, she realized he was deliberately stopping her from seeing the visitor—or was he preventing the visitor from seeing her?

"Yes? Lord Fergun. What can I do for you?"

"I wish to see the girl."

The voice was smooth and cultured. Sonea started as Tania draped a dining napkin over her lap. The servant frowned at Rothen's back before moving away.

"It is too early for that," Rothen replied. "She is …" He hesitated, then stepped through the door and closed it behind him. From behind the door, Sonea could hear the faint murmur of voices as the discussion continued.

She looked up as Tania approached again, this time holding a platter of sweet cakes. Sonea chose one, and took an experimental sip from the cup in front of her.

A bitter taste filled her mouth and she grimaced. Tania's eyebrows rose, and she nodded toward the drink in Sonea's hand.

"I'd wager that means you don't like sumi," she said. "What would you like to drink?"

"Raka," Sonea replied.

The servant looked genuinely apologetic. "We don't stock raka here, I'm sorry. Can I get you some pachi juice instead?"

"No, thanks."

"Water then?"

Sonea gave her an incredulous look.

Tania smiled. "The water here is clean. Here, I'll get you some." She returned to the table at the back of the room, filled a glass from a jug and brought it to Sonea.

"Thank you," Sonea said. Lifting the glass, she was amazed to find the liquid was clear. Not even the tiniest particle floated in it. Taking a sip, she tasted nothing but a faint sweetness.

"See?" Tania said. "I'll tidy your room now. I'll be gone for a few minutes but if you need anything don't hesitate to call."

Sonea nodded and listened to the servant's footsteps as she walked away. She smiled as the bedroom door closed. Taking the glass, Sonea gulped the water down and dried the inside quickly with the dining napkin. Stepping quietly to the door, she placed it against the wood and rested her ear on the base.

"… to keep her in there. It is dangerous."

This voice belonged to the stranger.

"Not until she regains her strength," Rothen replied. "Once that happens I can show her how to spend her power safely, as we did yesterday. There is no danger to the building."

There was a pause. "Nevertheless, there is no reason to keep her isolated."

"As I told you, she is easily frightened, and not a little confused. She doesn't need a crowd of magicians telling her the same thing in a dozen different ways."

"Not a crowd, just myself—and I only wish to make her acquaintance. I'll leave all the teaching to you. Surely there is no harm in that?"

"I understand, but there will be time for that later, when she has gained some confidence."

"There is no Guild law saying that you can keep her from me, Rothen," the stranger replied, a warning tone entering his voice.

"No, but I believe most would understand my reasoning for it."

The stranger sighed. "I have as much concern for her well-being as you, Rothen, and I have searched for her as long and hard as well. I think many would agree that I have earned a voice in the matter."

"You will have your opportunity to meet her, Fergun," Rothen replied.

"When?"

"When she is ready."

"And only you shall decide that."

"For now."

"We'll see about that."

Silence followed, then the door handle began to turn. Sonea darted back to her seat and spread the napkin over her lap again. As Rothen stepped back into the room, his expression changed from annoyance to good humor.

"Who was that?" Sonea asked.

He shrugged. "Just someone who wanted to know how you were doing."

Sonea nodded, then leaned forward to take another sweet cake.

"Why does Tania bow and call me Lady?"

"Oh," Rothen dropped into his chair and reached for the cup of bitter liquid Tania had left for him. "All magicians are addressed as Lord or Lady." He shrugged. "It's always been that way."

"But I'm not a magician," Sonea pointed out.

"Well, she is a bit premature." Rothen chuckled.

"I think …" Sonea frowned. "I think she's afraid of me."

He frowned at her over the lip of his cup. "She's just a little nervous of you. Being near a magician who has not learned Control can be dangerous." He smiled crookedly. "It seems she's not the only one who's worried. Knowing the dangers better than most, you can imagine how some magicians feel about having you living in their own Quarters. You're not the only one who slept lightly last night."

Thinking back to her capture, to the broken walls and rubble she had glimpsed before falling unconscious, Sonea shivered. "How long till you can teach me Control?"

His expression became sober. "I don't know," he admitted. "But don't be concerned. If your powers begin to manifest again, we can use them up as we did before."

She nodded, but as she looked at the cake she was holding, she felt her stomach clench. Her mouth suddenly seemed too dry for such a sweet thing. Swallowing, she set it aside.

The morning had been murky and dim and by mid-afternoon, heavy clouds hung low and threatening over the city. Everything was shrouded in shadows, as if night had become too impatient to wait for the end of the day. On days like this, the faint glow from the interior walls of the University was more noticeable.

Rothen sighed as, once they were in the University corridor, Dannyl's stride lengthened. He struggled to keep pace, then gave up.

"How strange," he said to Dannyl's back. "Your limp appears to have disappeared."

Dannyl turned, then blinked in surprise as he saw how far Rothen had fallen behind. As he slowed his pace, the slight hesitation in his stride returned.

"Ah, there it is." Rothen nodded. "Why the hurry, Dannyl?"

"I just want to get it over with."

"We're only handing in our reports," Rothen told him. "I'll probably end up doing most of the talking."

"I was the one the High Lord sent off in search of the Thieves," Dannyl muttered. "I'll have to answer all his questions."

"He's only a few years older than you, Dannyl. So is Lorlen, and he doesn't frighten all sense out of you."

Dannyl opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again and shook his head. They had reached the end of the corridor.

Stepping up to the door of the Administrator's room, Rothen smiled when he heard Dannyl take a deep breath. At Rothen's knock, the door swung inward, revealing a large, sparsely furnished room. A globe light hovered above a desk at the far end, illuminating the dark blue robes of the Administrator.

Lorlen looked up and beckoned to them with his pen.

"Come in, Lord Rothen, Lord Dannyl. Take a seat."

Rothen looked around the room. No black-robed figure reclined in any of the chairs or lurked in the dim corners. Dannyl let out a long sigh of relief.

Lorlen smiled as they settled into the chairs in front of his desk. Leaning forward, he took the leaves of paper that Rothen offered. "I've been looking forward to reading your reports. I'm sure Lord Dannyl's will be fascinating."

Dannyl winced but said nothing.

"The High Lord sends his congratulations." Lorlen's eyes flickered from Rothen's to Dannyl's. "And I offer mine as well."

"Then we offer our thanks in return," Rothen replied.

Lorlen nodded, then smiled crookedly. "Akkarin is particularly pleased that he can sleep uninterrupted now there are no crude attempts at magic waking him through the night."

Seeing Dannyl's eyes widen, Rothen smiled. "I guess there are drawbacks to having such fine senses."

He tried to imagine the High Lord pacing his rooms at night, cursing the elusive slum girl. The image didn't quite suit the solemn Guild leader. He frowned. How much interest was Akkarin going to take in Sonea now that she had been found?

"Administrator, do you think the High Lord will be wanting to meet Sonea?"

Lorlen shook his head. "No. His main concern was that we might not find her before her powers became destructive— and the King had started to question our ability to take care of our own." He smiled at Rothen. "I think I understand why you are asking. Akkarin can be quite intimidating, especially to the younger novices, and Sonea will be easily frightened."

"That brings me to another point," Rothen said, leaning forward. "She is easily frightened, and also very suspicious of us. It will take time for me to overcome her fear. I'd like to keep her isolated until she has gained some confidence, then begin introducing her to people one at a time."

"That sounds sensible."

"Fergun asked to see her this morning."

"Ah." Lorlen nodded and drummed his fingers on the table. "Hmmm. I can see all the arguments he'll use to get his way. I could rule that nobody shall see her until she is ready, but I don't think he'll be satisfied until I specify what 'ready' is, and I've set a date."

He rose and began to pace back and forth behind his desk. "The two guardianship claims have complicated matters, too. People accept that, since you have plenty of experience in teaching Control, you should be the one to teach that to her. But if Fergun is excluded from Sonea's early training, people will support Fergun's claim for guardianship out of sympathy." He paused. "Can Fergun be one of these people you introduce to her?"

Rothen shook his head. "She is observant and quick to pick up people's feelings. Fergun has little fondness for me. If I am to convince her that we're all friendly, well-meaning people, then it won't help if she notices conflict between any of us. Also, she may mistake his determination to see her as an intention to do harm."

Lorlen regarded him for a moment, then crossed his arms.

"Everyone wants Sonea to learn Control as quickly as possible," he said. "I don't think anyone will disagree if I decide that nothing shall distract her from that. How long do you think it will take?"

"I don't know," Rothen confessed. "I've taught uninterested, easily distracted novices, but I've never tried to teach Control to somebody who distrusts magicians as much as she does. It may take several weeks."

Lorlen returned to his chair. "I can't give you that much time. I'll give you two weeks, during which time you can decide who will see her. After that, I will begin visiting every few days to check how close she is to gaining an acceptable level of Control." He paused and tapped the table-top with a fingernail. "If you can, introduce her to at least one other magician by then. I will tell Fergun that he may see her after she has learned Control, but remember, the longer it takes, the more sympathy he will gain."

Rothen nodded. "I understand."

"People will expect the Hearing to occur during the first Meet after she has learned Control."

"If I can convince her to stay," Rothen added.

Lorlen frowned. "Do you think she will refuse to join the Guild?"

"It is too early to say," Rothen replied. "We can't force her to say the vow."

Leaning back in his chair, Lorlen regarded Rothen thoughtfully, his brow creased with concern.

"Is she aware of the alternative?"

"Not yet. Since I'm trying to gain her trust, I felt it better to leave that news until later."

"I understand. Perhaps, if you choose the right moment, it will convince her to stay." He smiled wryly. "If she leaves, Fergun will be convinced you talked her out of staying just to spite him. Either way, you are facing some tough battles, Rothen."

Dannyl frowned. "He has a strong claim, then?"

"It is hard to say. Much may depend on the strength of support each of you gain. But I should not speak about it before the Hearing." Lorlen straightened and looked from Rothen to Dannyl. "I have no more questions. Do either of you have anything else you wish to discuss?"

"No." Rothen rose and inclined his head. "Thank you, Administrator."

Once in the corridor, Rothen considered his companion.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Dannyl shrugged. "He wasn't there."

"No." As another magician stepped out into the corridor Dannyl checked his stride, his steps becoming halting. Rothen shook his head. "You are playing up that limp!"

Dannyl looked hurt. "It was a deep cut, Rothen."

"Not that deep."

"Lady Vinara said that it would be some days before the stiffness disappeared."

"She did, did she?"

Dannyl's brows rose. "And it doesn't do you any harm if I remind people what we went through to catch that girl."

Rothen chuckled. "I am most grateful for the sacrifice you are making to your dignity."

Dannyl made a small noise of disgust. "Well, if Fergun can walk around for a week with a bandage over that tiny cut on his temple, then I can have my limp."

"I see." Rothen nodded slowly. "Then it's all right then."

They reached the back doors of the University and stopped. The air outside was thick with falling snow. Exchanging mutual looks of dismay, they stepped out into the swirling whiteness and hurried away.

Chapter 19

Lessons Begin

A week of worsening weather had buried the Guild grounds in a thick layer of snow. Lawns, gardens, and roofs had vanished under a sparkling white blanket. Cozy within the protection of his own magical shield, Dannyl could appreciate the spectacle without enduring the discomfort.

Novices hovered around the University entrance. As he entered the building a trio hurried past him, their cloaks wrapped tightly around their shoulders. Part of the midwinter intake, he surmised. It took several weeks of training before the new novices learned how to ward off the cold.

Climbing the stairs, he found a small group of novices waiting outside the Alchemy room where Rothen taught his classes. Waving them through the door, he started to follow.

"Lord Dannyl."

Recognizing the voice, Dannyl suppressed a groan. He turned to find Fergun strolling along the corridor toward him, Lord Kerrin at his side.

Stopping a few paces from Dannyl, Fergun eyed the classroom door. "Is that Rothen's class you're entering?"

"Yes," Dannyl replied.

"You're teaching them?"

"Yes."

"I see." Fergun turned away, Kerrin following. In a quiet voice, pitched loud enough for Dannyl to hear, he added, "I'm surprised they allow it."

"What do you mean?" Kerrin asked, his voice growing fainter as the pair walked away.

"Don't you remember all the trouble he got into as a novice?"

"Oh, that!" Kerrin laughed, the sound echoing in the corridor. "I suppose he might be a bad influence."

Gritting his teeth, Dannyl turned away and found Rothen standing in the doorway.

"Rothen!" Dannyl exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just visiting the library." Rothen's gaze remained on Fergun's back. "It amazes me how long you two have kept this grudge going. Are you ever going to leave the past behind you?"

"It's not a grudge to him," Dannyl growled. "It's sport and he enjoys it too much to stop."

Rothen raised his brows. "Well, if he behaves like a spiteful novice, people will treat his words accordingly." He smiled as three novices hurried along the corridor and darted through the classroom door. "How are my novices doing?"

Dannyl grimaced. "I don't know how you cope, Rothen. You're not going to abandon me to them for long, are you?"

"I don't know. Weeks. Months, maybe."

Dannyl groaned. "Do you think Sonea is ready to begin Control lessons yet?"

Rothen shook his head. "No."

"But it's been a week already."

"Only a week." Rothen sighed. "I doubt she'd trust us if we gave her six months to settle in." He frowned. "It's not that she dislikes us as individuals, but that she doesn't believe the Guild means well—and she won't until she sees proof. We don't have time for that. When Lorlen visits, he'll expect us to have begun lessons already."

Dannyl grasped his friend's arm. "For now all you have to do is teach her Control, and for that she only has to trust you, Rothen. You're a likeable sort. You've got her best interests at heart." He hesitated. "If you can't tell her, then show her."

Rothen frowned, then his eyes widened in understanding. "Let her see into my mind?"

"Yes. She will know you've been telling her the truth."

"It's … it's not necessary when teaching Control, but the circumstances are hardly usual." Rothen frowned.

"There are some things I'll have to keep her from learning, though…"

"Hide them." Dannyl smiled. "Now, I have a classroom of your novices waiting, all eager to try out their latest pranks and teacher-torturing antics on me. Lorlen is nothing, I expect to hear you've made considerable progress when we meet tonight."

Rothen chuckled. "Be reasonable to them, and they'll be reasonable to you, Dannyl."

As his friend turned away, Dannyl uttered a short, humorless laugh. Somewhere above them, a striker rang the University gong. Sighing, Dannyl straightened his shoulders and entered the classroom.

Leaning on the window sill, Sonea watched the last of the magicians and novices hurry out of sight. Not all had responded to the University gong, however. Two distant figures remained standing at the other side of the gardens.

One was a woman in green robes with a black sash—the Head of Healers. So women did have some influence in the Guild, she mused.

The other was a male dressed in blue robes. Thinking back to Rothen's explanation of the robe colors, she could not recall him mentioning blue. The color was uncommon, so perhaps he, too, was a magician of influence.

Rothen had explained how the magicians in high positions were selected by a vote among Guild members. This method of choosing leaders by the agreement of the majority was intriguing. She had expected that the strongest magicians would rule the others.

According to Rothen, the rest of the magicians spent their time teaching, experimenting, or working on public projects. This included work that ranged from the impressive to the ridiculous. She had been surprised to learn that the magicians had built the Marina, and amused to hear how one magician had spent much of his life trying to make stronger and stronger glues.

Drumming her fingers, she looked around the room again. In the last week she had found opportunities to examine everything, even the room Rothen slept in. A careful search of all cupboards, chests, and drawers had revealed clothes and everyday items. The few locks she had encountered succumbed easily to her picking skills, but old documents had been her only reward.

Catching a movement at the edge of her vision, she turned back to the window. The two magicians had parted, and the blue-robed man was now walking along the edge of the garden toward the two-story residence of the High Lord.

Remembering the night she had peeked into that building, she shivered. Rothen had mentioned nothing of assassin magicians, but that was hardly surprising. He was trying to convince her that the Guild was friendly and useful. If the black-robed magician wasn't an assassin, then what else could he be?

A memory of a man in bloodstained clothes flashed into her mind.

"It is done," the man had said. "Did you bring my robes?"

She jumped as the main door clicked open behind her. Turning, she let out a breath as Rothen strode into the room in a swirl of purple robes.

"Sorry I took so long."

He was a magician, and yet he was apologizing to her. Amused, she shrugged in reply.

"I've brought some books from the library." He straightened and regarded her earnestly. "But I thought we might start working on some mind exercises. What do you think?"

"Mind exercises?" She frowned, then felt herself go cold as she realized what he was suggesting. Did he think she trusted him after only a week?

Do I?

He was watching her closely. "We probably won't start Control lessons," he told her. "But you should gain a familiarity with mental communication in preparation for the lessons."

Thinking about the past week, she considered what she had learned of him.

He had spent most of the time teaching her to read. At first she had been suspicious, and had expected to find something in the content of the books that he might use as a lure or bribe. She had been almost disappointed to find herself reading simple adventure stories, with little reference to magic at all.

Unlike Serin, who had been anxious to avoid angering her, Rothen did not hesitate to correct her when she made a mistake. He could be quite stern, but she had found, to her surprise, that he was not at all frightening. She had even caught herself wanting to tease him a little when he was being so serious.

When he was not teaching her, he tried to chat. She knew she wasn't making this easy for him when there were so many subjects she refused to discuss. Though he was always willing to answer her questions, he hadn't tried to trick or force her into revealing anything about herself in return.

Would mental communication be like this? Would she still be able to hide parts of herself?

The only way to find out is to try it, she told herself. Swallowing, she nodded quickly. "How do we start?"

He gave her a searching look. "If you don't want to, we can wait a few more days."

"No." She shook her head. "Now is fine."

He nodded, then gestured to the chairs. "Sit down. Make sure you're comfortable."

She lowered herself into a chair, then watched as he pushed the low table aside and moved a chair forward to face hers. He would be sitting close, she noted with dismay.

"I'm going to tell you to close your eyes," he said. "Then I'm going to take your hands. While it's not necessary for us to touch when we speak to each other, it helps to focus the mind. Are you ready?"

She nodded.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, "and relax. Breathe deeply and slowly. Listen to the sound of your breathing."

She did as he said. For a long time he was silent. After a while, she realized that the rhythm of their breathing was the same, and she wondered if he had changed his breath to follow hers.

"Imagine that, with every breath, a part of you relaxes. Your toes first, then feet, then ankles. Calves, knees, upper legs. Rest your fingers, hands, wrists, arms, your back. Let your shoulders drop. Let your head hang forward a little."

Though she felt his instructions were a little peculiar, she did as he said. As she felt the tension leave her limbs, she grew aware of a fluttering in her stomach.

"Now I'm going to take your hands," he told her.

The hands that enclosed hers seemed much larger. She resisted the urge to open her eyes to check.

"Listen. Think about what you can hear."

Sonea was suddenly aware that she was surrounded by constant small noises. Each noise leapt out at her and demanded to be identified: the sound of footsteps outside, the distant voices of magicians and servants coming from both inside and outside the building …

"Now let the sounds outside the room fade away. Instead, concentrate on the sounds within this room."

It was quieter inside. The only sound was their breathing, now at different rhythms.

"Let those sounds fade away, too. Now listen to the sounds within your own body. The slow pounding of your heart…"

She frowned. Aside from her breathing, she could hear no sounds in her body.

"… The rush of blood circulating through your body."

Though she was concentrating hard, she could not hear …

"… The sound of your stomach …"

… or could she? There was something …

"… The vibration within your ears …"

Then she realized that the noises he described were not heard so much as felt.

"… and now listen to the sound of your thoughts."

For a moment Sonea was puzzled by his instruction, then she sensed a presence at the edge of her mind.

— Hello, Sonea.

—Rothen?

— That's right.

The presence grew more tangible. The personality she could sense was surprisingly familiar. It was like recognizing a voice, a voice so individual that it could never be confused with another.

— So this is mind communication, she mused.

— Yes. Using it, we can speak to each other from great distances.

She realized that she was not hearing words, but sensing the meaning of thoughts that he had projected toward her. They flashed into her mind, and were understood so quickly and completely that she knew with certainty exactly what he wanted her to know.

— It's so much faster than talking!

— Yes, and there's less chance of a misunderstanding.

— Could I talk like this to my aunt? I could let her know I'm still alive.

— Yes and no. Only magicians can communicate mind to mind without physical contact. You could speak to your aunt, but you'd need to be touching her. There is no reason why you can't send your aunt an ordinary message, however…

Which would reveal their location, she realized. Sonea felt her enthusiasm for mind communication waver. She must be careful.

— So … do magicians talk like this all the time?

— Not often.

—Why not?

— There are limitations to this form of communication. You sense the emotions behind the thoughts others send you. It's easy to detect when someone is lying, for example.

— That is a bad thing?

— Not in itself, but imagine if you had noticed that your friend was going bald. He would sense your amusement behind your thoughts and, while not knowing what you found so funny, he would know it was at his expense. Now imagine it was not your forgiving friend, but somebody you respected and wanted to impress.

—I see what you mean.

— Good. Now for the next part of your lesson, I want you to imagine your mind is a room— a space with walls, a floor and a ceiling.

At once she found herself standing in the center of a room. There was something familiar about it, though she could not remember seeing one like it before. It was empty, and had no doors or windows and the walls were bare wood.

— What do you see?

— The walls are wooden, and it's empty, she replied.

— Ah, I see it. This room is the conscious part of your mind.

— So … you can see into my mind?

— No, you just projected an image at me. Look, I'll send it back.

An image of the room flashed through her mind. It was indistinct and hazy, the details no longer visible.

— It's… different, and kind of fuzzy, she told him.

— That is because a little time had passed, and my memory of it had faded. The difference you sense is from my mind filling in details that were missing from my memory, such as color and texture. Now, your room needs a door.

At once a door blinked into existence before her.

— Go to the door. Do you remember what your power looked like?

— Yes, a glowing ball of light.

— That is a common way to visualize it. I want you to think of how it looked both when it was strong and dangerous, and after it had faded. Can you remember?

—Yes…

— Now open the door.

As the door swung open she found herself standing on the threshold of darkness. A white sphere hung before her, glowing brightly. It was impossible to judge how far away it was. One moment it seemed to hover just beyond arm's reach, the next she was sure it was a colossal size, and hung an inconceivable distance away.

— How big is it compared to what you remember?

— Not as big as it was when it was dangerous. She sent him an image of it.

— Good. It is growing faster than I expected, but we have some time before your magic begins to surface unasked for. Close the door and return to the room.

The door closed and vanished, and she found that she was standing in the center of the room again.

—I want you to imagine another door. This time it's the door to the outside, so make it larger.

Double doors appeared in her room, and she recognized them as the main doors of the stayhouse she had been living in before the Purge.

— When you open the doors, you'll see a house. It should look something like this.

An image of a white house, not unlike the large merchant homes in the West Quarter, flashed through her mind. As she pushed open the double doors in her mind, she found herself facing the building. Between her room and this house was a narrow street.

— Cross to the building.

The house had a single red door. The scene shifted and she found herself standing in front of it. As she touched the handle, it swung inward and she stepped into a large white room.

Paintings hung from the walls and cushioned chairs were arranged neatly in the room's corners. It reminded her a little of Rothen's guestroom, but grander. The sense of his personality was strong, like a powerful perfume or the warmth of sunlight.

— Welcome, Sonea. You are in what you might call the first room of my mind. I can show you images here. Look at the paintings.

She approached the closest picture. In it she saw herself in magicians' robes, talking earnestly with other magicians. Disturbed, she backed away.

— Wait, Sonea. Consider the next painting.

Reluctantly, she moved along the wall. The next picture showed her in green robes, healing a man with an injured leg. She turned away quickly.

— Why does this future repel you?

— It is not who I am.

— But it could be, Sonea. Do you see now that I have told you the truth?

Looking back at the paintings, she suddenly understood that he was speaking the truth. He could not lie to her here. He was showing her real possibilities. The Guild truly wanted her to join them …

Then she found a black door that she had not seen before. As she looked at it, she knew that it was locked and she felt her suspicions return. He might not be able to lie, but perhaps he could conceal some truths.

— You are hiding things from me! she accused.

— Yes, he told her. We all have the ability to hide those parts, of ourselves we wish to keep private. Otherwise, none of us would ever permit another into our minds. I will teach you to do this, for your need for privacy is stronger than most. Watch, and I will give you a glimpse of what is behind that door.

The door swung inward. Through it Sonea saw a woman lying on a bed, her face deathly pale. A feeling of intense grief spilled out. Without warning, the door slammed shut again.

— My wife.

—She died…?

— Yes. Do you understand, now, why I hide that part of me?

— Yes. I am … sorry.

— It was a long time ago, and I understand that you must see that I speak the truth.

Sonea turned from the black door. A gust of perfumed air had entered the room, a mix of flowers and something crisp and unpleasant. The paintings of her in robes had swelled to fill the walls, but the colors were muted.

— We have achieved much. Shall we return to your mind?

At once the room began to slide under her feet, propelling her to the red door. Stepping outside, she looked up. The face of her house rose before her. It was a plain wooden building, a bit worn, but still sturdy—typical of the better areas of the slums. Crossing the road, she re-entered the first room of her mind. The doors swung shut behind her.

— Now turn back and look outside.

As she pushed the doors open again she was surprised to find Rothen standing in front of her. He looked a little younger, and perhaps shorter, too.

"Are you going to invite me in?" he asked, smiling.

Stepping back, she gestured for him to enter. As he stepped over the threshold, the sense of his presence filled the room. He looked around, and she suddenly realized that it was no longer empty.

She felt a flush of guilt as she saw that, on a table nearby, was a box. It was one that she had broken into. The lid hung open and the documents inside were clearly visible.

Then she saw that Cery was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding three familiar books.

And in another corner stood Jonna and Ranel…

"Sonea."

She turned to find that Rothen had placed his hands over his eyes.

"Put anything you don't want me to see behind doors."

Glancing around the room, she concentrated on pushing everything away. They slid backward through the walls and disappeared.

— Sonea?

Turning around, she realized that Rothen had disappeared.

— Did I push you out too?

— Yes. Let's try that again.

Once more she opened the door and backed away to allow Rothen into the room. Catching a movement in the corner of her eye, she looked away, but whatever she had seen sank back into the walls. Turning back, she discovered that a new room had appeared beyond the door. A door stood open on the far side of this room and Rothen now stood in the doorway.

He stepped through the door and everything shifted. There were two rooms between them, then three.

— Enough!

She felt his hands release hers. Abruptly aware of the physical world, she opened her eyes. Rothen was leaning back in his chair, grimacing and rubbing his temples.

"Are you all right?" she asked, concerned. "What happened?"

"I'm well." He let his hands drop and smiled wryly. "You pushed me right out of your mind. It's a natural reaction, and one you can learn to control. Don't worry, I'm used to it. I've taught many novices before."

She nodded and rubbed her hands. "Do you want to try again?"

He shook his head. "Not now. We'll rest and work on your reading. Perhaps we'll try again this afternoon."

Chapter 20

The Guild's Prisoner

Cery yawned. Since Sonea had been taken, sleep had become a coy thing. It evaded him when he needed it, and stalked him when he didn't. Right now, he needed to be more awake than he had ever been before.

A freezing wind whipped the trees and hedges, filling the air with noise and the occasional twig or leaf. The cold crept into his muscles, making them cramp. Shifting his weight carefully, he stretched and rubbed first one leg, then the other.

Looking up at the window again, he decided that if he thought "look outside" any harder his head was going to explode. Obviously Sonea's talent for sensing minds didn't extend to detecting unexpected visitors outside her window.

He regarded the snowballs he had made, and doubt returned. If he threw one at her window it would have to hit it loud enough to wake her, but not loud enough to attract anyone else's attention. He had no idea if she was still in the room, or if she was alone.

A light had been on when he had first arrived, but it was extinguished soon after. The windows on the left of hers were dark, but those on the right still glowed. He looked nervously at the University building towering to his left. The windows were dark. Since the first night when he had glimpsed Sonea, Cery had seen no sign of the mysterious watcher.

Somewhere in the corner of his eye, a light blinked out. He looked up at the magicians' building. The light in the rooms beside Sonea's had vanished. Cery smiled grimly and massaged his numb legs. Just a little longer …

When a pale face appeared at the window he thought, for a moment, that he had fallen asleep and was dreaming. He watched, heart pounding, as Sonea peered down at the gardens, then looked up at the University.

Then she moved out of sight.

All weariness was gone. Cery's fingers closed around a snowball. His legs protested as he wriggled out of the hedge. He took aim and, as the snowball left his fingers, ducked back into the hedge.

The faintest thud reached his ears as the snowball struck the window. His heart sang with triumph as Sonea's face appeared again. She stared at the splash of frost on the glass, and she looked out at the garden again.

Checking the other windows, Cery saw no other watchers. He wriggled out of the hedge a little, and saw Sonea's eyes widen as she spotted him. Surprise was followed by a wide grin.

He waved, then signalled a question to her. She returned with a "yes." No harm had been done to her. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The Thieves' code of signals was limited to simple meanings like "ready?," "now," "wait," "get out of here," and the usual "yes" and "no." There was no sign for "I'm about to rescue you. Is the window locked?" He pointed to himself, then made climbing movements, mimed opening the window, pointed at her, then himself, and finished with the sign for "get out of here."

She returned with "wait," then pointed at herself, signed "get out of here," and shook her head.

He frowned. Though she knew more than most dwells about the Thieves' signals, she had never been as well versed as he was. She could be telling him that she wasn't allowed to leave, or that she didn't want to leave now, or that he should return later in the night. He scratched his head, then signalled "get out of here" then "now."

She shook her head, then something to his left caught her attention and her eyes widened. Moving away from the window a little, she began signalling "get out of here" over and over. Cery crouched and retreated into the hedge, hoping the wind would hide the rustle of leaves.

No footsteps reached his ears, and he began to wonder what had spooked her, then warm air slid over his skin, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

"Come out," a cultured voice said, uncomfortably close. "I know you're in there."

Looking through the hedge, Cery could see the soft folds of robes only an arm's reach away. A hand snaked through the leaves. Cery twisted away, pushing out of the hedge and pressing himself against the building, his heart racing. The magician straightened quickly. Knowing that he was in full sight, Cery bolted along the side of the building toward the forest.

Something slammed into his back and he pitched forward into the snow. A weight held him there, pressing so firmly he could hardly breathe and the chill of the snow burned his face. He heard footsteps approaching and felt panic rising.

Calm. Stay calm, he told himself. You've never heard of them killing intruders … You've never heard of them finding intruders either…

The crushing pressure eased. As he pushed himself to his hands and knees, Cery felt a hand grip his arm. It pulled him to his feet and dragged him through the hedge to the path.

Looking up, he turned cold as he recognized the magician.

The magician's eyes narrowed. "You look familiar … Ah, now I remember. The filthy dwell that tried to strike me." He glanced back at Sonea's window and smirked. "So Sonea has an admirer. How sweet."

He regarded Cery thoughtfully and a gleam crept into his eyes. "What am I going to do with you, then? I believe intruders are usually questioned and then escorted out of the Guild. We best get started then."

Cery struggled as the magician began to pull him along the path toward the University. The magician's thin hand was surprisingly strong.

"Let me go!" Cery demanded.

The magician sighed. "If you insist on jerking my arm like that, I will be forced to use less physical means to hold you. Please cooperate. I am as anxious to see this business finished as I am sure you are."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Out of this noisy wind for a start." They reached the end of the magicians' building, and started toward the University.

"Lord Fergun."

The magician stopped and looked over his shoulder. Two robed shadows were approaching. Feeling a sudden tension in his captor's grip, Cery was not sure whether to be relieved or worried about the newcomers. Obviously, Fergun didn't welcome their intrusion.

"Administrator," Fergun said. "How fortunate. I was just coming to rouse you. I have discovered an intruder. He appears to have been attempting to reach the slum girl."

"So I have been told," the taller newcomer glanced at his companion.

"Will you question him?" Fergun sounded hopeful, yet his grip on Cery's arm tightened.

"Yes," the tall magician replied. He made a lazy gesture, and a ball of light flared into existence above them.

Cery felt warmth slide over him and the wind disappeared. Looking around, he could still see trees twisting about, but the three magicians stood undisturbed.

In the strong light, the magicians' robes were brightly colored. The tall magician wore blue, his companion, an older man, wore purple, and Cery's captor wore red. The tall magician looked down at Cery and smiled faintly.

"Do you want to talk to Sonea, Cery?"

Cery blinked in surprise, then frowned. How did this magician know his name?

Sonea must have told him. If she had wanted to warn Cery, she would have given them another name … unless they had tricked it out of her, or read it from her mind, or …

What did it matter? They had caught him. If they intended to do him harm, he was doomed anyway. He may as well see Sonea.

He nodded. The tall magician looked at Fergun. "Let him go."

Fergun's grip tightened before his fingers uncurled from Cery's arm. The blue-robed magician gestured for Cery to follow, then started toward the magicians' building.

The doors opened before them. Aware of the two magicians pacing behind like guards, Cery followed the tall magician up a short flight of stairs to the upper floor. They strode down a wide corridor to one of many plain doors. The older magician stepped forward to touch the handle, and the door swung inward.

Inside was a luxurious room with cushioned chairs and fine furniture. In one of the chairs sat Sonea. When she saw Cery, she smiled.

"Go on," the blue-robed magician said. Heart still racing, Cery stepped into the room. As the door closed, he looked back and wondered if he had just walked into a trap.

"Cery," Sonea breathed. "It's so good to see you." He turned to study her. She smiled again, but it quickly disappeared.

"Sit down, Cery. I asked Rothen to let me talk to you. I told him you would keep trying to rescue me unless I explained why I can't leave." She pointed to a seat.

He sat down reluctantly. "Why can't you leave?" She sighed. "I don't know if I can tell you in a way that makes sense." She leaned back in the chair. "Magicians have to be taught how to control magic, and only another magician can teach it, because it has to be taught mind to mind. If they don't learn to control it, the magic works whenever the magician feels something. The magic takes simple, dangerous forms, always stronger as it grows. Eventually …" She grimaced. "I… I nearly died the day they found me, Cery. They saved me."

Cery shivered. "I saw it, Sonea. The buildings—they're gone." "It would have been worse if they hadn't found me. People would have been killed. Lots of people." He looked down at his hands. "So you can't come home." She chuckled, a sound so unexpectedly cheerful that he stared at her in astonishment.

"I'll be fine," she told him. "Once I've learned Control I won't be in danger anymore. I'm getting to know how things work here." She gave him a wink. "So where are you hanging out now?"

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.

Chapter 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 sign 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 able 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."

Feeling pleased with himself, Rothen rubbed his palms together. "Well, that's that. Shall we start your lessons?"

She hesitated, then pushed her chair around to face his. Bemused by her eagerness, he took her offered hands.

Closing his eyes, he slowed his breathing and sought the presence that would lead him to her mind. She was well practiced at visualizing now, and he instantly found himself standing before an open doorway. Moving through, he entered a familiar room. Sonea stood at the center.

A feeling of determination imbued the air. He waited for the usual disturbance in the scene, but nothing unwanted appeared in the room. Surprised and pleased, he nodded at the image of Sonea.

— Show me the door to your power.

She looked away. Following her gaze, he found himself standing in front of a white door.

— Now open it and listen carefully. I am going to show you how to control this power of yours.

Sinking to his knees, Cery let out a hiss of frustration.

He had examined his prison thoroughly, his breath catching in his throat whenever he felt the scuttle of eight-legged faren under his hands. His search had revealed that the walls were made of large stone bricks and the floor of hard dirt. The door was a thick slab of wood with large iron hinges.

As soon as the magician's footsteps had faded beyond his hearing, he had taken a pick from his longcoat and groped for the door. Finding the keyhole, he had manipulated the lock until he heard the mechanism turn, but when he had pulled on the door it would not open.

He remembered laughing, then, as he realized that the magician hadn't locked the door. He had just picked the lock closed.

Manipulating the lock again, he found that the door was still held fast. Recalling that he had heard the sound of a key turning, he had decided that there must be another lock. He searched for another keyhole.

Finding none, he decided that the lock holding the door must only have a keyhole on the outside. Taking his pick, he inserted it in the crack between the door and its frame. It had seemed to catch on something.

Feeling pleased that he had found the lock at the first try, he had tugged at the pick to remove it, only to discover that it was stuck.

It had flexed as he tried to twist or wiggle it free. Afraid he would damage it, he left the tool lodged in the crack and reached for another. This he inserted slightly higher than the first.

Before he'd had a chance to prod around to find what was holding his first tool, the second had locked into place. Cursing, Cery had pulled at it with all his strength, but he only succeeded in bending it.

Reaching into his coat for a third pick, he had slipped it in the gap between the floor and door. At once it became stuck. No matter how hard he pulled, the pick remained in place. He tried removing the others, with no success.

As dark hours passed, he had tried several times to retrieve his tools. He could think of no device that would grab and hold a pick so fast. Nothing except, of course, magic.

His legs began to cramp with the cold, so he rose to his feet. He put a hand out to the wall to steady himself as his head began to spin. His stomach growled, telling him it had been far too long since he had eaten, but his thirst was worse. He longed for a mug of bol or a glass of pachi juice, or even a little water.

He wondered, again, if he would be left to die in the cell. If the Guild had wanted him dead, however, he was sure they would have arranged it before hiding his body somewhere. That gave him some hope. It meant that their plans probably relied on him being alive—for now. If those plans failed, however, he might find himself getting very hungry.

Thinking of the other magician—the blue-robed one—he could not remember any signs of deceit in the man's demeanor. The magician was either skilled at projecting trustworthiness, or he had known nothing about Cery's impending captivity. If the latter was true, then this was Fergun's game.

Whether the blonde magician was the sole plotter or not, Cery could see only two reasons for his imprisonment: the Thieves or Sonea.

If the magicians intended to use Cery to manipulate the Thieves, they would be disappointed. Faren didn't need or care about Cery that much.

They might try torture to get information out of him. While he preferred to think that he could resist such persuasion, he was not going to fool himself. He would not know if he was capable of remaining silent until he faced such a trial.

It was possible that the magicians could read his mind anyway. If they did, they would discover he knew little that could be used against the Thieves. Once they realized that, they would probably leave him in the dark permanently.

But he doubted that the Thieves were their target. They would have questioned him by now.

No, the only questions he had been asked concerned Sonea. During his journey to the University, Fergun had asked what kind of relationship Cery had with her. If the magicians wanted to know if Cery was important to her, they probably meant to use him to blackmail her into doing something she didn't want to do.

The thought that he might have made her situation worse tormented him as much as, sometimes more than, the fear of being left to die. If only he hadn't been tempted to see the University. The more Cery thought about it, the more he cursed himself for his curiosity.

Between one breath and the next he heard the sound of footsteps in the distance. As they grew louder his anger subsided and his heart began to race.

The footsteps stopped outside the door. There was a dull metallic click, followed by the lighter patter of his tools falling to the floor. A long slice of yellow light appeared as the door opened.

Fergun slipped through, his light following. Blinking at the brightness, Cery saw the magician regard him with narrowed eyes, then look down at the floor.

"Well, look at this," Fergun murmured. Turning to one side, he let go of the plate and bottle he was carrying. Instead of falling, they descended slowly to the floor. He spread his fingers out and the picks rose obediently to his hand.

As he examined them, the magician's eyebrows rose. He looked up at Cery and smiled.

"You didn't really think these would work, did you? I expected you to have a little experience with such things, so I took precautions." His eyes dropped to Cery's clothes. "Do you have any more of these hidden away somewhere?"

Cery swallowed the denial that came to his lips. Fergun would never believe it. The magician smiled and held his hand out.

"Give them to me."

Cery hesitated. If he gave up several of the objects hidden within his clothes, he might be able to retain a few of his more valuable possessions.

Fergun stepped closer.

"Come now, what use are they to you here?" He wiggled his fingers. "Give them to me."

Slowly, Cery reached into his coat and pulled out a handful of his less-useful tools. Glaring at the magician, he dropped them into the outstretched hand.

Fergun looked thoughtfully at the picks, then his eyes rose to meet Cery's. A malicious smile thinned his mouth.

"Do you really expect me to believe this is all you have?"

His fingers flexed. Cery felt something invisible push against his chest and he staggered backward until he hit the wall. A force wrapped itself over him, pressing him against the bricks.

Fergun drew closer and examined Cery's coat. With a jerk, he ripped open the lining to reveal hidden pockets. He plucked out the contents, then turned his attention to the rest of Cery's clothes.

As he drew the knives out of Cery's boots, Fergun made a small grunt of satisfaction, then a more appreciative "ah" as he found Cery's daggers. Straightening, he pulled one of the weapons out of its sheath. He examined the widest part of the blade, where a rough picture of the small rodent that was Cery's namesake had been etched.

"Ceryni," the magician said. He looked up at Cery.

Cery stared back defiantly. Fergun chuckled and stepped away. Taking a large square of cloth from his robes, he wrapped up the tools and weapons, then turned to the door.

Realizing that the magician was going to leave without giving any explanation, Cery's heart skipped.

"Wait! What do you want from me? Why am I here?"

Fergun ignored him. As the door closed, the magical restraints vanished and Cery stumbled forward onto his knees. Panting with fury, he felt his coat, cursing as he confirmed that most of his tools had been taken. He regretted the daggers most, but it was hard to hide weapons of that size.

Sitting back on his heels, he let a long sigh escape him. He still had a few items. They might come in handy. He would just have to come up with a plan.

Chapter 22

An Unexpected Offer

"Do I have to?"

"Yes." Dannyl grasped Rothen's shoulders, turned him about and pushed him out of his rooms. "If you hide yourself away you'll only add strength to what Fergun's supporters are saying."

Rothen sighed and followed Dannyl down the corridor. "You're right, of course. I've barely spoken to anyone for the last two weeks—and I should ask Lorlen to delay visiting for a few days. Wait …" Rothen looked up, his brow creasing. "What have Fergun's supporters been saying?"

Dannyl smiled grimly. "That she learned control in a few days, and you've been keeping her locked away so Fergun can't see her."

Rothen made a rude noise. "What nonsense. I'd like to see them suffering some of the headaches I've had in the last week." He grimaced. "I guess this means I can't delay Lorlen for long."

"No," Dannyl agreed.

They reached the entrance to the Magicians' Quarters and stepped outside. Though the snow was melted from the paths and pavement by novices each morning and evening, the courtyard was already covered in a thin white powder. It crunched under their boots as they crossed to the Seven Arches.

As they stepped into the warmth of the Night Room, several heads turned in their direction. Dannyl heard his companion give a low groan as several magicians began to move toward them. Sarrin, the Head of Alchemists, was the first to arrive.

"Good evening, Lord Rothen, Lord Dannyl. How are you both?"

"Well, Lord Sarrin," Rothen replied.

"Any progress with the slum girl yet?"

Rothen paused as several magicians moved in to hear his answer. "Sonea is doing well," he told them. "It took some time before she was able to stop pushing me from her mind. She was, as you'd expect, quite suspicious of us."

"Doing well?" a magician in the crowd muttered. "Few novices take as long as two weeks."

Dannyl smiled as Rothen's expression darkened.

His friend turned toward the speaker. "You must remember that she is not a reluctant novice sent to us by coddling parents. Until two weeks ago, she believed we intended to kill her. It has taken some time to gain her trust."

"When did you begin Control exercises?" another magician asked.

Rothen hesitated. "Two days ago."

A muttering began among the magicians. Several frowned and shook their heads.

"In that case, I'd say you've made impressive progress, Lord Rothen," said a new voice.

Dannyl turned to see Lady Vinara moving through the crowd. Magicians stepped aside respectfully as the Head of Healers approached.

"What did you see of her power?"

Rothen smiled. "When I first saw what was contained within her I did not believe it. The strength she has is remarkable!"

The muttering among the audience grew louder. Dannyl nodded to himself. Good, he thought. If she's strong people will favor Rothen as her guardian.

An older magician near the front of the gathering gave a shrug. "But we knew she had to be strong or her powers would not have developed on their own."

Vinara smiled. "Of course, strength is not the ultimate test of a novice. What talents has she displayed?"

Rothen pursed his lips. "Her visualization ability is good. That will help her in most disciplines. Her memory is good, too. I've found her to be an intelligent and attentive student."

"Has she tried to use her powers at all?" asked a red-robed magician.

"Not since she arrived. She understands the danger very well."

The questions continued. Glancing around the crowd, Dannyl caught a glimpse of a smooth blonde head in a group of approaching magicians. He shifted closer to Rothen, waiting for an appropriate moment to whisper a warning.

— Lord Dannyl.

A few magicians in the crowd blinked and looked at Dannyl. Recognizing the mind voice, Dannyl searched the room and found Administrator Lorlen sitting in his usual chair. The blue-robed magician pointed to Rothen, then beckoned.

Smiling, Dannyl nodded and leaned close to Rothen's ear.

"I believe the Administrator wishes to rescue you."

As Rothen turned to look at the Administrator, Dannyl saw that Fergun had reached the crowd. A familiar voice joined the chatter, and a few faces turned in the warrior's direction.

"Excuse me, all." Rothen said. "I must speak to Administrator Lorlen." He inclined his head politely, then nudged Dannyl in Lorlen's direction.

Looking back, Dannyl's gaze locked with Fergun's for a moment. The Warrior's lips were stretched in a satisfied smile.

As they reached Lorlen's chair, the Administrator waved to neighboring seats. "Good evening, Lord Rothen, Lord Dannyl. Sit down and tell me how Sonea is progressing."

Rothen remained standing. "I was hoping to have a private word with you about that, Administrator."

Lorlen's brows rose. "Very well. Shall we talk in the Banquet Room?"

"Please."

The Administrator rose and led them to a nearby door. As they stepped through, a globe light flared above his head, illuminating a huge table that filled most of the room.

Lorlen pulled out one of the chairs arranged around the table and sat down. "How is your leg, Lord Dannyl?"

Dannyl looked up, surprised. "Better."

"Your limp seems to have returned this evening," Lorlen observed.

"It is the cold," Dannyl replied.

"Ah, I see." Lorlen nodded, then turned to Rothen. "What is it that you would like to discuss?"

"I began Control exercises two days ago," Rothen told him. Lorlen frowned, but remained silent as Rothen continued. "You wanted to check on her progress after two weeks, and asked that I introduce her to another magician before then. Because of her lack of progress, I haven't wanted to distract her with visitors, but I feel she may be ready soon. Can you put off your visit for a few days?"

Lorlen regarded Rothen steadily, then nodded. "Only a few days, though."

"Thank you. There is another matter, however. A possibility we will have to start considering sooner rather than later."

Lorlen's brows rose. "Yes?"

"Sonea does not want to join the Guild. I have …" He sighed. "To gain her trust, I have told her that, if she wishes to return to the slums, she may go. We can't, after all, force her to take the vow."

"Did you tell her that we would block her powers?"

"Not yet." Rothen frowned. "Though I don't think she will care. I warned her that she would not be able to use her powers at all and she seemed pleased by the prospect. I believe she would rather be rid of them."

Lorlen nodded. "I am not surprised. She has only experienced magic as an uncontrollable, destructive force." He pursed his lips. "Perhaps if you taught her a few useful tricks she would start to like it better."

Rothen frowned. "She should not use her power until she has full control of it, and once she has Control she will expect us to let her go."

"She does not know the difference between a Control lesson and a magic lesson," Dannyl pointed out. "Just let the instruction evolve from control into magic usage. That will also give you more time to convince her to stay."

"Not much," Lorlen added. "Fergun doesn't need to know exactly when she achieved Control, but you won't fool him for long. You might gain an extra week."

Rothen looked at Lorlen expectantly. The Administrator sighed and ran a hand over his brow. "Very well. Just make sure he doesn't find out, or I'll never hear the end of it."

"If he does, we'll say we were testing her Control," Dannyl said. "She is, after all, unusually strong. We would not want her to make any mistakes."

Lorlen gave Dannyl an appraising look. He seemed about to say something, but instead he shook his head and turned to Rothen. "Is that all you wish to discuss?"

"Yes, thank you, Administrator," Rothen replied.

"Then I will arrange to visit in a few days. Have you considered who you will introduce her to first?"

Dannyl blinked as Rothen looked pointedly at him.

"Me?"

Rothen smiled. "Yes. Tomorrow afternoon, I think."

Dannyl opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again as he realized Lorlen was watching him closely.

"All right," he said grudgingly. "Just make sure you hide the cutlery."

Sonea was bored.

It was too early to sleep. Tania had left with the dirty plates not long after dinner and Rothen had disappeared soon after. Having finished the book Rothen had brought for her to read that morning, Sonea paced the room, examining ornaments and the bookcase.

Finding nothing interesting or within her ability to understand, she moved to the window and looked out. There was no moon, and the gardens were shrouded in darkness. Nothing stirred.

Sighing, she decided to go to bed early. Sliding the window screen back, she started toward the bedroom—and froze as a knock came from the main door.

She turned to stare at the door. Rothen never knocked before entering, and Tania's knock was soft and polite, not this insistent rapping. A few visitors had knocked before, but Rothen had never invited them in.

A fleeting chill prickled her skin as the visitor knocked again. Sonea crept across the room to the door.

"Who is it?"

"A friend," came the muffled reply.

"Rothen's not here."

"I don't want to talk to Rothen. I want to talk to you, Sonea."

She stared at the door, her heart starting to race.

"Why?"

The reply was fainter. "I have to tell you something important, something he won't tell you."

Rothen was keeping something from her? Alarm and excitement set her heart beating even faster. Whoever this stranger was, he was willing to defy the magicians for her sake. She wished she could see through the door to see who the visitor was.

But was it a good idea to learn something disturbing about Rothen right now, when she needed to trust him?

"Sonea. Let me in. The corridor is empty, but it won't be for long. This is my only chance to talk to you."

"I can't. The door's locked."

"Try it again."

She regarded the door handle. Though she had tried it several times during her first days in the rooms, it had always been locked. Reaching out, she twisted the handle, then drew in a surprised breath as the door swung open.

A red sleeve appeared, then the full red robes of a magician. Backing away, she stared at the magician in dismay. She had expected a servant, or a rescuer disguised as a servant— unless this man had dared to don robes so he could reach her…

The man closed the door gently behind him, then straightened and looked at her.

"Hello, Sonea. We meet at last. I am Lord Fergun."

"You're a magician?"

"Yes, not a magician such as Lord Rothen is." He placed a hand on his chest.

Sonea frowned. "You're a Warrior?"

Fergun smiled. He was much younger than Rothen, she noted, and quite attractive. His hair was pale and neatly combed, and his facial features were both fine and strong. She knew she had seen him before, but couldn't remember where.

"I am," he said. "But that is not the difference I speak of." He placed a hand over his heart. "I am on your side."

"And Rothen isn't?"

"No, though he means well," he added. "Rothen is the sort of man who believes he knows what's best for others, particularly a young woman like yourself. I, however, see you as an adult who ought to be allowed to make her own choices." He raised an eyebrow. "Will you listen to me, or shall I leave you in peace?"

Though her heart was still racing, she nodded and gestured to the chairs. "Stay," she said. "I will listen."

Inclining his head politely, he glided to a chair. Taking the seat opposite, she looked at him expectantly.

"Firstly, has Rothen told you that you may join the Guild?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And has he told you what you must do to become a magician?"

She shrugged. "A little. There is a vow, and years of training."

"And do you know what you must vow?"

She shook her head. "No, but it doesn't matter. I don't want to join the Guild."

He blinked. "You don't want to join the Guild?" he repeated.

"No."

He nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair. For a while he was silent and thoughtful, then his gaze shifted to hers again.

"May I ask why?"

Sonea considered him carefully. Rothen had told her that many of the magicians would be surprised when she refused the Guild's offer.

"I want to go home," she told him.

He nodded again. "Do you know that the Guild does not allow magicians to exist outside its influence?"

"Yes," she replied. "Everybody knows that."

"So you know they will not just let you walk out of here."

"I won't be able to use my powers, so I won't be a threat."

He raised his eyebrows again. "So Rothen has told you that the Guild will block your powers?"

Sonea frowned. Block her powers?

He nodded slowly. "No, I thought not. He is only telling you part of the truth." He leaned forward. "The Higher Magicians will cage your powers within you so that you cannot reach for them. It's … not a pleasant procedure, not at all, and the cage will be there for the rest of your life. You see, even though you will not know how to use your powers, there is always a chance you will discover how to use them yourself, or encounter a rogue magician willing to teach you—though that is highly unlikely. By law, the Guild must make sure you cannot use magic, even if you had all the help you needed."

A chill had grown within Sonea as he spoke. Looking down at the table, she considered what Rothen had told her. Had he deliberately phrased the truth so that it sounded less frightening? Probably. Her suspicions grew stronger as she realized that Rothen had only voiced the revelation that she would be freed. She had not seen it in his mind and known it to be true …

She looked up at the red-robed magician. How could she trust anything he said? She could not think what he had to gain from lying, however, since she would discover the truth once she had learned Control.

"Why are you telling me this?"

He gave her a lopsided smile. "Like I said, I'm on your side. You need to know the truth and … I can offer you an alternative."

She straightened. "What alternative?"

He pursed his lips. "It will not be easy. Has Rothen explained about guardianship yet?"

She shook her head.

He rolled his eyes. "He hasn't told you anything! Listen." He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. "Guardianship allows magicians to control the training of novices. Rothen has claimed guardianship of you since the Purge. When I heard this, I decided to place a counter-claim. This forces the Guild to hold a Hearing—a meeting—where it will be decided which of us will be your guardian. You will help me win my claim, then—"

"Why would they hold a Hearing when I'm not going to join the Guild?" Sonea injected.

He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Hear me out, Sonea." Taking a deep breath, he continued. "If you refuse to join the Guild, your powers will be blocked and you'll be sent back to the slums. If you agree to stay, however, and I win your guardianship, I can help you."

Sonea frowned. "How?"

He smiled. "You'll simply vanish one day. You can go back to the slums if you want. I'll teach you how to make your magic undetectable—and your powers will not be blocked. They will hunt for you at first, but if you are smart, they won't find you this time."

She stared at him in disbelief. "But you'd be breaking the Guild's laws."

He nodded slowly. "I know." Different emotions shifted over his face. He rose and walked to the window. "I don't like to see people forced to be what they don't want to be," he told her. "Look." Turning, he crossed the room and held out his hand to her. The skin of his palm was callused and scarred.

"Swordplay. I am a Warrior, as you so astutely noted. It's the closest I can get to what I once wanted to be. When I was a boy, I dreamed of being a swordsman. I practiced for hours each day. I dreamed of learning under the greatest teachers."

He sighed and shook his head. Then my magical potential was discovered. It wasn't much, but my parents wanted to have a magician in the family. I would bring their House great prestige, they said.

"So I was made to join the Guild. I was too young to refuse, too full of doubts to know that magic wasn't my real calling. My powers aren't strong and, though I have learned to use them well, I don't enjoy them. I have kept up my fighting skills, though most other magicians regard honest, face-to-face battle with disdain. That is as close as I can get to the life I dreamed of."

He looked up at her, his eyes bright. "I won't let Rothen do the same to you. If you do not want to join the Guild, then I will help you escape. But you must trust me. Guild politics and laws are convoluted and confusing." He moved back to his chair, but did not sit down. "Do you want me to help you?"

Sonea looked down at the table. His story, and its passionate delivery, had impressed her, but parts of it made her uneasy. Was keeping her magic worth becoming a fugitive again?

Then she considered what Cery would say. Why should the higher classes have a monopoly on magic? If the Guild would not accept anyone from the lower classes, then why shouldn't those classes have their own magicians?

"Yes." She looked up and met his eyes. "But I need to think about it. I don't know you. I want to check this guardianship thing before I agree to anything."

He nodded. "I understand. Think on it, but do not take too long. Rothen has managed to convince Administrator Lorlen that he must keep everyone away from you—to keep the truth from you, no doubt—until you have learned Control. I risk much by defying that decision. I will try to visit again soon, but you must have an answer for me. I may not have a third opportunity."

"I will."

Looking at the door, he sighed. "I had better go. It would do you no good if he found me here with you."

Moving to the door, he opened it a crack and peered out. Pausing only to give her one last, grim smile, he slipped out. The door clicked shut behind him.

Alone again, Sonea sat and stared at the table, the magician's words running circles in her mind. She could not see any reason for Fergun to lie to her, but she would check every claim he had made: the blocking of powers, guardianship, and his story of broken dreams. By questioning Rothen carefully, she might trick him into confirming much of what Fergun had said.

But not tonight. She was too unnerved by the visit to be able to put on a calm face if Rothen returned. Rising, she entered her bedroom and closed the door.

Chapter 23

Rothen's Friend

"There were no classes today."

Rothen looked up from the book he was reading. Sonea was leaning on the window sill, a small circle of mist forming on the glass from her breath.

"No," he replied. "It's a Freeday. We don't have classes on the last day of the week."

"What do you do, then?"

He shrugged. "That depends on the magician. Some visit the races, or pursue other sports and interests. Some visit their families."

"What about novices?"

"The same, although the older novices usually spend the day studying."

"And they still have to clear the paths."

Her eyes were following the progress of something beneath the window. Guessing what it was, Rothen chuckled. "Clearing the paths is one of many duties they're given during their first year of study. After that, they do chores only as punishment."

She looked at him, her eyebrows rising. "Punishment?"

"For childish pranks or being disrespectful to their elders," he explained. "They're a bit old for smacking."

The corner of her mouth twitched, and she looked back out of the window. "So that's why he looks so grumpy."

Noting that her fingers were drumming softly on the frame of the window screen, Rothen sighed. For two days she had been learning rapidly, grasping the Control exercises faster than any novice he had taught before. Today, however, her concentration had failed several times. Though she kept it well hidden, showing that her mental discipline had improved, it had been clear that something was on her mind.

At first he had blamed it on himself. He had not told her of Dannyl's visit, believing that the prospect of meeting a stranger would distract her from her lessons. She had sensed that he was keeping something from her, and had become suspicious.

Realizing his error, he told her of the visit.

"I was wondering when I'd meet more of you," she had said.

"If you don't want visitors tonight, I can tell him to come another time," he had offered.

She had shaken her head. "No, I'd like to meet your friend."

Surprised and pleased by her reaction, he had tried to resume the lessons. She still had trouble keeping her attention on the exercises and he had sensed her frustration and impatience growing. Each time they had taken a break, she had returned to the window to stare outside.

He looked at her again and thought about how long she had been locked in his rooms. It was easy to forget that his living quarters were a prison to her. She must be tired of her surroundings, and was probably bored.

Which made it a good time to introduce her to Dannyl, he decided. The tall magician intimidated those who didn't know him, but his friendly manner usually put them quickly at ease. He hoped she would grow accustomed to Dannyl's company before Lorlen visited.

After that? Watching her drumming fingers, he smiled. He would take her out and show her the Guild.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. Rising, he opened the main door. Dannyl stood outside, looking a little tense.

"You're early," Rothen noted.

Dannyl's eyes brightened. "Should I come back later?"

Rothen shook his head. "No, come in."

Looking back, Rothen watched Sonea's face as Dannyl stepped into the room. She gave the tall magician an assessing look.

"Dannyl, this is Sonea," he said.

"Honored to meet you," Dannyl said, inclining his head.

Sonea nodded. "And I you." Her eyes narrowed slightly, and a smile crept over her face. "I think we've met before." She looked down. "How is your leg?'"

Dannyl blinked, then his mouth twitched into a half smile. "Better, thank you."

Covering his mouth, Rothen tried unsuccessfully to choke back a laugh. Pretending to cough, he waved toward the chairs. "Sit down. I'll prepare some sumi."

Sonea left the window and took a seat opposite Dannyl. The pair regarded each other warily. Moving to a side table, Rothen placed the utensils for making sumi onto a tray.

"How are your lessons going?" Dannyl asked.

"Good, I think. What about you?"

"Me?"

"You're teaching Rothen's class, aren't you?"

"Oh. Yes. It's … challenging. I haven't taught anyone before, so I almost feel as if I've got more to learn than the novices."

"What do you normally do?"

"Experiments. Small projects, mostly. Sometimes I assist with larger work."

Rothen carried the tray to the table and sat down. "Tell her about the thought imprinter," he suggested.

"Oh, that's just a hobby." Dannyl waved a hand dismissively. "Nobody's interested in it."

"What is it?" Sonea asked.

"A way to transfer images from the mind onto paper."

Sonea's eyes brightened with interest. "Can you do that?"

Dannyl accepted a cup of sumi from Rothen. "No, not yet. Lots of magicians have tried over the centuries, but nobody's been able to find a substance that can hold a picture for long." He paused to sip the hot drink. "I've made up a special paper out of the leaves of anivope vines which can hold the image for a few days, but the edges blur and the colors start to lose their intensity after about two hours. Ideally, the picture would be permanent."

"What would you use them for?"

Dannyl shrugged. "Identification, for a start. It would have been handy to be able to do this when we were looking for you, for example. Rothen was the only one of us who had seen you. If he'd been able to make pictures of you, we could have carried them with us to show people."

Sonea nodded slowly. "What do the pictures look like when they've lost colors?"

"Faded. Blurry. But you can still see what they were, in some cases."

"Can … can I see one?"

Dannyl smiled. "Of course. I'll bring some around."

Sonea's eyes sparkled with curiosity. If Dannyl set up his experiment here, Rothen mused, she could see it for herself. Looking around, he pictured transferring the clutter of vials and presses from Dannyl's guestroom to his—

"I'm sure Dannyl won't mind if we visit his rooms for a demonstration," he said.

Dannyl's eyes went round. "Now?"

Rothen opened his mouth to reassure his friend, then hesitated. Sonea was watching eagerly. He considered them both.

Dannyl obviously did not intimidate her at all. Of the two of them, she seemed the least bothered by the other's presence. Dannyl's rooms were on the lower floor of the Magician's Quarters, so they would not be going far.

"I don't see why not," he replied.

— Are you sure that's wise? Dannyl sent.

Sonea's eyes flickered toward him. Ignoring the question, Rothen regarded Sonea carefully. "Would you like that?"

"Yes," she replied, turning to look at Dannyl. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all." Dannyl glanced at Rothen. "It's just … my rooms are a bit untidy."

"A bit?" Rothen lifted his cup to finish the last of his sumi.

"Don't you have a servant?" Sonea asked.

"Yes," Dannyl replied. "But I have warned him not to touch any of my experiments."

Rothen smiled. "Why don't you go on ahead and make sure we have somewhere to sit."

Sighing, Dannyl rose. "Very well."

Following his friend to the door, Rothen slipped outside. At once, Dannyl spun about to stare at him.

"Are you mad? What if someone sees you both?" Dannyl whispered. "If you're seen taking her outside your room, Fergun will say you have no reason to keep him from her."

"Then I'll let him visit." Rothen shrugged. "The only reason I wanted her isolated was to stop him visiting at a time when any unfamiliar magician would have frightened her. But if she is this calm and confident around you, I don't think she'll be worried by Fergun."

"Thanks," Dannyl replied dryly.

"Because you look more intimidating than him," Rothen explained.

"Do I?"

"And he is much more charming," Rothen added, smiling. He waved toward the stairs. "Go on. Get downstairs. When you're ready—and the corridor is clear—let me know. Just don't take too long cleaning up, or we'll both think you had to hide something."

As his friend hurried away, Rothen returned to his room. Sonea was standing before her chair, looking a little flushed. She sat down again as he cleared the table.

"He doesn't sound like he wants visitors," she said doubtfully.

"He does," Rothen assured her. "He just doesn't like surprises."

Picking up the tray, he carried it to the side table, then took a sheaf of paper out of a drawer and wrote a quick note to Tania, letting the servant know where they were. As he finished, he heard Dannyl call his name.

— There's a bit of space here now. Come down.

Sonea rose and looked at Rothen expectantly. Smiling, he moved to the door and opened it. Her eyes flickered about as she stepped outside, taking in the wide corridor and its numerous doors.

"How many magicians live here?" she asked as they started toward the stairs.

"Over eighty," he told her, "and their families."

"So there are people other than magicians here?"

"Yes, but only the spouses and children of magicians. No other relatives are allowed."

"Why not?"

He chuckled. "If we had every relative of every magician living here, we would have to move the entire Inner Circle into the Grounds."

"Of course," she said dryly. "What happens when the children grow up?"

"If they have magical potential, they usually join the Guild. If they don't, they must leave."

"Where do they go?"

"To live with relations in the city."

"In the Inner Circle."

"Yes."

She considered this, then looked up at him. "Do any magicians live in the city?"

"A few. It's discouraged."

"Why?"

He gave her a crooked smile. "We're supposed to keep an eye on each other, remember, to make sure none of us get too deeply involved in politics, or plot against the King. It's harder to do that if too many of us live outside the Guild."

"So why are some allowed to?"

They had reached the end of the corridor. Rothen started down the spiral staircase, Sonea following.

"Many reasons, all unique to the individual. Old age, illness."

"Are there any magicians who decided not to join the Guild—who learned Control but not how to use magic?"

He shook his head. "No. The young men and women who join us haven't had their powers released yet. After that they learn Control. Remember, you are unique in that your power developed on its own."

She frowned. "Has anyone left the Guild before?"

"No."

She considered this, her expression intent. From below came Dannyl's voice, and another. Rothen slowed, giving Sonea plenty of time to become aware of the other magician.

Then she shied to one side as a magician floated up the stairwell, his feet resting on nothing but air. Recognizing the magician, Rothen smiled.

"Good evening, Lord Garrel."

"Good evening," the magician replied, raising his eyebrows as he noticed Sonea.

Sonea stared at the magician, her eyes wide. As Garrel's feet reached the level of the higher floor, the magician stepped onto the solid surface of the corridor. He glanced down at Sonea once, his gaze bright with interest, then strode away.

"Levitation," Rothen told Sonea. "Impressive, isn't it? It takes more than a little skill. About half of us can do it."

"Can you?" she asked.

"I used to all the time," Rothen told her. "But I'm out of practice now. Dannyl can."

"Ah, but I'm not the show-off that Garrel is."

Looking down, Rothen saw Dannyl waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

"I prefer to use my legs," Rothen told Sonea. "My former guardian always said that physical exercise is as necessary as mental exercise. Neglect the body and—"

"—and you neglect the mind," Dannyl finished with a groan. "His guardian was a wise and upright man," he told Sonea as she reached his side. "Lord Margen even disapproved of wine."

"Which must be why you never liked him much," Rothen observed, smiling.

"Guardian?" Sonea echoed.

"A tradition here," he explained. "Lord Margen chose to guide my training when I was a novice, as I chose to guide Dannyl's."

She fell into step beside him as he started toward Dannyl's rooms. "How did you guide him?"

Rothen shrugged. "Many ways. Mostly, I filled in the gaps in his knowledge. Some were there because of the neglect of a few teachers, others were due to his own laziness or lack of enthusiasm." Sonea glanced at Dannyl, who was smiling and nodding in agreement.

"By helping me with my work, Dannyl also learned more through experience than he would in classes. The idea of guardianship is to help a novice excel."

"Do all novices have guardians?"

Rothen shook his head. "No. It is not common. Not all magicians want or have time to take responsibility for a novice's training. Only those novices who show considerable promise have guardians."

Her eyebrows rose. "So why …" She frowned, then shook her head.

Reaching his door, Dannyl touched it lightly. It swung inward and a faint smell of chemicals wafted into the corridor.

"Welcome," he said, ushering them inside.

Though the guestroom was the same size as Rothen's, half of it was taken up with benches. Contraptions covered the surfaces, and boxes were stacked beneath. Dannyl's work was neatly laid out and organized, however.

Sonea looked around the room, obviously amused. Though Rothen had seen Dannyl's rooms many times, he always found it strange encountering an Alchemy experiment set up in living quarters. Space in the University was limited, so those few magicians who wanted to pursue interests like Dannyl's often used their own rooms.

Rothen sighed. "It's easy to see why Ezrille despairs of finding you a wife, Dannyl."

As always, his friend grimaced. "I'm too young to have a wife."

"Nonsense," Rothen replied. "You just don't have the space for one."

Dannyl smiled and beckoned to Sonea. She drew closer to the benches and listened as he explained his experiments. He brought out a few faded pictures and she examined them closely.

"It can be done," he finished. "The only challenge is to stop the image fading away."

"Couldn't you get a painter to copy it before it does?" she suggested.

"I could." Dannyl frowned. "That would circumvent the problem, I suppose. He would have to be a good painter. Fast, too."

Handing the samples back, she moved to a framed map on the wall nearby.

"You don't have paintings," she said, glancing around the room. "They're all maps."

"Yes," Dannyl replied. "I collect old maps and plans."

She approached another. "This is the Guild."

Rothen moved to her side. The plan was clearly labelled, in the neat writing of the Guild's most famous architect, Lord Coren.

"We are here." Dannyl pointed. "In the Magicians' Quarters." His finger slid across to a similar rectangle. "That is the Novices' Quarters. All novices who come to learn in the Guild are housed there, even if they have homes in the city."

"Why?"

"So we can make their lives a misery," Dannyl replied. Sonea gave him a very direct look, then snorted softly.

"The novices are removed from their family's influence when they come here." Rothen told her. "We have to wean them off the little intrigues the Houses are always indulging in."

"We get plenty of new novices who have never needed to get out of bed before midday," Dannyl added. "It comes as quite a shock to them when they learn how early they have to rise for class. We'd have no hope of getting them to lessons on time if they lived at home."

He pointed at the circular building on the plan. "This is the Healers' Quarters. Some of the Healers live there, but most rooms are reserved for treatment and classes." His finger moved to a smaller circle within the garden. "This structure is the Arena. It is used as a practice area for the Warriors. There is a shield around it, supported by the masts, which absorbs and contains the magic of those within and protects everything outside. We all add our power to the shield from time to time to keep it strong."

Sonea stared at the plan, watching as Dannyl's finger moved to the curved building next to the Magicians' Quarters.

"This is the Baths. It is built where a stream once ran down the hill from a spring up in the forest. We have piped the water into the building where it can be drawn into tubs and heated. Next to it is the Seven Arches, which contains rooms for entertaining."

"What are the Residences?" Sonea asked, drawing his attention to a label and an arrow that pointed off the page.

"Several little houses where our oldest magicians live," Dannyl explained. "Here, you can see them on this older map."

They crossed the room to a yellowing map of the city. Dannyl pointed to a row of tiny squares. "There, beside the old cemetery."

"There are only a few buildings in the Guild on this map," Sonea noted.

Dannyl smiled. "This map is over three hundred years old. I don't know how much of Kyralian history you know. Have you heard of the Sachakan War?"

Sonea nodded.

"After the Sachakan War, there wasn't much left of Imardin. When the city was rebuilt, the greater Houses took the opportunity to set out a new city plan.

"You can see how it was built in concentric circles." He pointed to the center. "First, a wall was erected around the remains of the old King's Palace, then another around the city. The Outer Wall was constructed a few decades later. The old city was named the Inner Circle, and the new area was divided into the four Quarters.

His finger circled the Guild. "The entire Eastern Quarter was given to the magicians in gratitude for driving out the Sachakan invaders. The decision wasn't made carelessly," he added. "The Palace and Inner Circle drew water from the spring in those days and building the Guild around the supply reduced the chance of anyone poisoning it—as had been done during the war."

He pointed to the small rectangle in the Grounds. "The first structure made was the Guildhall," Dannyl continued. "It was built with the local hard gray stone. It housed both magicians and their apprentices and provided space for teaching and debate. According to the history books, a spirit of unity had taken hold of our predecessors. Through the sharing of knowledge, new ways to use and shape magic were discovered. It did not take long before the Guild had become the largest and most powerful school of magicians in the known world."

He smiled. "And it kept growing. When Lonmar, Elyne, Vin, Lan and Kyralia formed the Alliance, part of the agreement was that magicians from all lands would be taught here. Suddenly, the Guildhall wasn't big enough, so they had to construct several new buildings."

Sonea frowned. "What happens to magicians from other lands when they finish learning?"

"Usually they return to their homeland," Rothen told her. "Sometimes they stay here."

"Then how do you keep an eye on them?"

"We have ambassadors in each land who keep track of the activities of foreign magicians," Dannyl told her. "Just as we vow to serve the King and protect Kyralia, they swear service to their own ruler."

Her eyes moved to a map of the region hanging nearby. "It doesn't seem smart to teach magicians of other lands. What if they invade Kyralia?"

Rothen smiled. "If we didn't allow them to join the Guild, they would start their own, as they did in the past. Whether we teach them or not won't prevent an invasion, but by doing so, we control what they are taught. We do not teach our own people differently, so they know they are not being treated unfairly."

"They wouldn't dare attack us, anyway," Dannyl added. "Kyralians have strong magical bloodlines. We produce more magicians than any of the other races, and stronger ones."

"Vindo and Lans are the weakest," Rothen told her. "Which is why they are not common here. We get more Lonmar and Elyne novices, but their powers are rarely impressive."

"The Sachakans used to be powerful magicians." Dannyl looked up at the map. "But the war ended that."

"Leaving us the most powerful nation in the region," Rothen finished.

Her eyes narrowed. "So why doesn't the King invade the other lands?"

"The Alliance was made to prevent it," Rothen told her. "As you so astutely reminded me the first time we spoke, King Palen refused to sign it at first. The Guild suggested that it might not remain uninvolved in politics if he did not."

Her mouth curled into a faint smile. "What stops the other lands fighting each other?"

Rothen sighed. "A great deal of diplomacy—which does not always work. There have been several minor confrontations since the Alliance. It is always an awkward situation for the Guild. Disputes usually revolve around borders and—"

Hearing a timid knock, he stopped. He looked at Dannyl and knew from his friend's expression that they were thinking the same thing. Had Fergun heard that Sonea was out of his rooms already?

"Are you expecting anyone?"

Dannyl shook his head and moved to the door. As it opened Rothen heard Tania's voice and sighed with relief.

"I brought your meal down," the servant said as she entered the room. Two other servants followed, carrying trays. Setting their burdens down on the only empty table, they bowed and left.

As the aroma of food filled the room, Dannyl made an appreciative noise. "I didn't realize so much time had passed," he said.

Rothen regarded Sonea. "Hungry?"

She nodded, her eyes sliding to the food.

He smiled. "Then I think that's enough history for now. Let's eat."