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.