Sighing again, Lorkin stood up. “I have to get back to work.”
Evar nodded. “Don’t worry about me. A bit of sleep and I’ll be fine.” As Lorkin walked away, he called out. “I still think it was worth it. You doubt me, go have a look at her. Without her clothes.”
The incident with the cures had been irritating, but Lorkin was used to it. What had been done to Evar filled him with a simmering rage. Since Tyvara had warned him not to accept any invitations to a magician’s bed he had turned down more propositions than usual. At least he now had a better idea which magicians were in Kalia’s faction.
How stupid do they think I am? That’s how Riva tried to kill me. He felt a stab of guilt. I should have warned Evar. But I didn’t think they’d harm Kalia’s nephew. Well, they hadn’t harmed him: they – Leota – had drained Evar to the point of helplessness, then humiliated him by making his mistake public.
Even so, Evar should have known better. He had known they’d find a way to punish him for taking Lorkin to the stone-makers’ caves. Surely it had been obvious what Leota intended when she’d invited him to her bed?
Lorkin shook his head. Perhaps Evar was simply too trusting of his own people. That this was how they repaid his trust disgusted Lorkin, and for the rest of the day he switched back and forth between wondering if he had been wise to come to Sanctuary, and questioning whether the Traitors could ever be made to see how unequal their society really was.
Winter was slowly tightening its grip on Imardin. Standing water froze overnight. The crunch of ice underfoot was strangely satisfying, and brought back childhood memories. You had to avoid the deeper puddles, Sonea thought, as they usually only had a skin of ice, and if the water underneath got into your shoes your feet would hurt from the cold all day.
Getting water in her shoes hadn’t been a concern for many years. The boots made for magicians were the best in the city and as soon as they showed the slightest sign of wear, servants would fetch replacements. Which is annoying when you’ve just worn them in. Unfortunately, the shoes she was wearing now were neither weatherproof nor worn in to suit her feet. They were cast-offs – part of the disguise she wore when venturing out to meet Cery.
The basket of laundry in her arms was fuller and heavier than usual. She’d had to stop and pick up sheets once already, when they’d tumbled off the top of the pile to the ground. Of course, she couldn’t use magic to hold or catch them. That would have revealed that she was more than a delivery woman.
She slowed and ducked into an alleyway. It was a shortcut that the locals often used. Today it was empty but for one other woman hurrying toward her, carrying a small child. As Sonea drew closer, the woman looked up at her. Sonea resisted the urge to pull the hood further over her face. The woman’s gaze flickered to something behind Sonea and she frowned, then looked quickly back at Sonea as she passed.
Was that a look of warning?
Resisting the temptation to look back, Sonea slowed her pace and listened carefully. Sure enough, she picked up the soft scrape and pad of footfalls several paces behind her.
Am I being followed? The alley was well used, so someone walking behind her was not so strange. Something else must have alarmed the woman. Perhaps she was naturally suspicious. Perhaps not. Sonea could not afford to ignore the possibility that the woman had reason to be. She quickened her pace.
Reaching the end of the alley, she turned in the opposite direction to the one she had intended to take, crossed the road and entered another alley. This one was wider and filled with workers from the industries housed on either side. Wood for furnaces had been piled up against walls. Barrels of oils and noxious liquids, huge tightly bound bundles of rags, and wooden crates waited to be carried inside. The people and obstructions forced her to take a winding, dodging path until she reached a tower of crates filled with some kind of wilted plant that smelled like the sea.
She slipped behind it and put down the basket. Workers further along the alley eyed her, but as she began rubbing her back, they politely looked away. She looked back down the alley. Sure enough, a short, thin man with a mean expression was making his way toward her. He looked like he belonged here as much as she did. The workers paused when they saw him and gave him a wide berth. They, like her, knew the look of a Thief’s man when they saw one.
Looking at the obstructions between herself and her pursuer, Sonea found what she was looking for. She sent out a little magic and held it in place. Then she turned and continued down the alley, keeping to her former hurried pace.
She counted down in her head and gave a push with the magic. A crash came from behind her, then yells and curses. She paused to look back, feigning surprise. Her pursuer’s path was now blocked by a woodpile that had collapsed under its own weight. She turned and hurried on.
A few streets and another alley later, and several stops to check, she decided that she was no longer being followed and made her way to the laundry, sweet shop and the room beneath. Cery and Gol looked relieved as she entered the room.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she sat down. “Had to deal with a tag.”
Cery’s eyebrows rose, then he smiled thinly. “Nobody talks like that any more.”
Gol made a smothered choking sound. She looked from one to the other.
“Like what? You mean slum slang?”
“Yes.” Cery rose. “Or so my daughter tells me.”
“Where is she?”
He grimaced. “Off playing spy for me.”
She felt her heart skip a beat. “You let her …?”
“Not really a matter of letting with Anyi.” He sighed. “She rightly pointed out that we’ve had no other ideas for months.” He paced a few steps to the right. “Her intention is to convince whoever employs her that she’s truly turned on me by betraying my location.” He stopped and paced to the left. “Of course, Gol and I will make a narrow escape.” He turned to face her. “That’s where you will come in.”
“I will?”
“Yes.” He shook his head, not bothering to hide his worry and doubts. “You’ll be the factor she couldn’t plan for.”
“I see.”
Cery resumed his pacing. “I was hoping to have you and Regin lined up for this, so that if one of you couldn’t make it the other could step in—”
“Wait a few days and I’ll have a replacement for Regin.”
“Really?” Cery stopped. “Who is it?”
“Dorrien. Rothen’s son.”
“I thought he lived in the country.”
“He did, but he’s decided to move to the city to get his daughter settled here before she starts at the University.”
Cery chuckled. “I bet Rothen doesn’t know whether to be pleased or horrified.”
She smiled and nodded. “I wish we didn’t have to bring him into this. I wish you didn’t need to involve Anyi.”
“It’s our children’s purpose in life to make us worry,” Cery replied wryly. He looked up. “Have you heard from Lorkin?”
Sonea felt a stab of pain, but it was more a dull ache than the sharp terror she’d felt when he’d first disappeared. “No. I guess I should be glad he isn’t being dragged into this.”
He nodded. “Perhaps I should have sent Anyi off to Sachaka.” His expression suddenly became distant and thoughtful. He shook his head and looked at Sonea. “Anything else?”
“No. You?”
“Nothing. I’ll send a message to the hospice when I know what Anyi is planning. Could you stay here a while, just in case you were followed?”