She nodded and closed her eyes, and her breathing returned to the slow rhythm of sleep. Faren looked at Jarin, then nodded at the unconscious girl.
The big man reluctantly gathered her into his arms. Sonea’s eyes fluttered once, but she remained asleep. Picking up a lamp, Faren strode to the trapdoor, kicked it open and started down the stairs.
They wove through the passages in silence. Looking up at Sonea’s face, Cery felt his heart twist. The old, familiar uneasiness had become something more powerful than anything he had ever felt before. It kept him awake at night and tormented him through the day, and he found it hard to remember a time when he didn’t feel sick with it.
Mostly he feared for her, but lately he had begun to fear being around her. The magic within her had slipped beyond her grasp. Every day, sometimes every hour, something near her exploded into flames or shattered. She had laughed about it that morning, joking that she was getting plenty of practice extinguishing fires and dodging flying objects.
Each time her magic slipped out, magicians came running from all over the city. Constantly on the move, spending more times in the passages than in Faren’s hideouts, she was exhausted and miserable.
Lost in his thoughts, Cery paid little attention to the journey. At one point they descended down a steep staircase, then passed under an enormous slab of stone. Recognizing the base of the Outer Wall, he knew they were entering the North Quarter, and he wondered who Faren’s mysterious friend was.
Not long after, Faren stopped and ordered the guard to set Sonea down. She woke, and this time, she seemed more aware of her surroundings. Faren took off his coat and, with Jarin’s help, slipped Sonea’s arms into the sleeves and pulled up the hood.
“Do you think you can walk?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “I’ll try.”
“If we meet anyone, try to keep out of sight,” he told her.
At first she needed assistance, but within a few minutes she had regained her balance. They walked for another half an hour, gradually encountering more people in the passages. Faren stopped before a door and knocked. A guard opened it and let them into a small room, before knocking on a second door.
A small, swarthy man with a pointy nose opened the door and regarded the Thief.
“Faren,” he said. “What brings you?”
“Business,” Faren answered.
Cery frowned. There was something familiar about the voice. The man’s beady eyes narrowed.
“Come in then.”
Faren stepped into the doorway, then paused and pointed at his guards.
“You stay,” he said. He pointed at Cery, then Sonea. “You both come with me.”
The man frowned. “I don’t...” He hesitated, narrowed his eyes at Cery, then smiled. “Ah, it’s little Ceryni. So you’ve kept Torrin’s urchin, Faren. I wondered if you would.”
Cery smiled as he realized who the man was. “Hello, Ravi.”
“Come in.”
As Cery moved into the room, Sonea followed. Glancing around, Cery’s gaze was met by an old man sitting in a chair to one side, stroking his long white beard. Cery nodded, but the man did not return the polite greeting.
“And who’s this?” Ravi asked, nodding at Sonea.
Faren pulled her hood down. Sonea gazed at Ravi, her pupils large and black from the effects of the drug.
“This is Sonea,” Faren said, his mouth stretching in a humorless smile. “Sonea, meet Ravi.”
“Hello,” Sonea said softly. Ravi took a step backward. His face had turned white.
“This is ... her? But I—”
“How dare you bring her here!”
All turned toward the voice. The old man had pushed himself to his feet and stood glaring at Faren. Sonea gave a little gasp and staggered away.
Faren placed his hands on her shoulders and steadied her. “Don’t worry Sonea,” he soothed. “He wouldn’t dare hurt you. If he did, we’d have to tell the Guild all about him, and he wouldn’t like them to discover that he’s not dead, as they believe.”
Cery turned to stare at the old man, suddenly understanding why the stranger hadn’t bothered to acknowledge his nod.
“You see,” Faren continued, his tone smug, “you and he have a lot in common, Sonea. You’re both protected by Thieves, you both have magic, and you both don’t want the Guild to find you. And now that you’ve seen Senfel here, he won’t have any choice but to show you how to control your magic—because if he doesn’t, the magicians might find you, and you might tell them about him.”
“He’s a magician?” she breathed, staring at the old man with wide eyes.
“An ex-magician,” Faren corrected.
To Cery’s relief, her eyes filled with hope, not fear.
“You can help me?” she said.
Senfel crossed his arms. “No.”
“No?” she echoed softly.
The old man frowned, then his lip curled with contempt. “Drugging her will only make it worse, Thief.”
Sonea drew in a sharp breath. Seeing the fear return to her eyes, Cery moved to her side and grasped her hands.
“It’s all right,” he whispered to her. “It’s only a sleeping drug.”
“No, it’s not all right,” Senfel said. He narrowed his eyes at Faren. “I cannot help her.”
“You have no choice,” Faren replied.
Senfel smiled. “Don’t I? Go to the Guild then. Tell them I’m here. Better that they find me than I die when she loses control of her powers.”
Feeling Sonea tense, Cery turned to face the old man. “Stop frightening her,” he hissed.
Senfel stared at him, then his eyes flickered to Sonea. She glared back at him defiantly. The old man’s expression softened a little.
“Go to them,” he urged. “They will not kill you. The worst they will do is bind your powers so you cannot use them. Better that than death, eh?”
She continued to glare at him. Senfel shrugged, then straightened and fixed Faren with steely eyes.
“There are at least three magicians nearby. It would take little effort to call them, and I’m sure I could prevent you from leaving while they found their way to this room. Do you still wish to reveal my presence to the Guild?”
Faren’s jaw shifted as he stared back at the magician.
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Go—and when she’s sober repeat what I said to her. If she does not seek the Guild’s help, she will die.”
“Then help her,” Cery said.
The old man shook his head. “I cannot. My powers are too weak and she is too far gone. Only the Guild can help her now.”
Dragging a barrel out from under the table, the bolhouse owner dropped it on the bench with a grunt. He gave Dannyl a meaningful look as he began filling mugs and handing them around the table. Leaning forward, he smacked a mug down in front of Dannyl, then crossed his arms and waited.
Giving the man a distracted frown, Dannyl handed over a coin. The man’s gaze did not waver. Looking down at the drink, Dannyl knew he could avoid it no longer. He was going to have to drink the stuff.
Lifting the mug, he took a tentative mouthful, then blinked in surprise. A sweet, rich flavor filled his mouth. The taste was familiar, and after a moment he recognized it. Chebol sauce, but without the spices.
A few mouthfuls later he felt a warmth filling his belly. He raised the mug to the shop owner and received an approving nod in reply. The man did not stop watching him, however, and Dannyl was relieved when a young man stomped into the shop and started a conversation.
“How’s business, Kol?”
The man shrugged. “The usual.”
“How many barrels you want this time?”
Dannyl listened to the pair barter. When they had arranged a price, the newcomer settled onto a chair and sighed.
“Where’s that strange one with the flashy ring gone?”
“The Sachakan guy?” The barman shrugged. “He got done weeks ago. Found him in the alley.”