“And Sonea’s,” she told him. “Lord Rothen asked her over for a last meal together, and it was too late to tell Jonna.”
“What smells delicious?” another voice asked.
Lilia grinned as Anyi entered the room. “Dinner. I brought some lamp oil and candles, too.”
“Ooh!” Anyi drew a box closer and grabbed a chunk of bread. Somehow Gol had woken up and got to his feet without groaning, and was leaning over the food.
“Won’t the servants notice if you eat enough for two people?” Cery asked, helping himself.
Lilia shrugged. “Jonna is always trying to get me to eat more, and she’s used to Anyi dropping by and eating everything in sight.”
“Hai!” Anyi protested.
Lilia chuckled. “She doesn’t mind.”
“What about you?” Gol asked, looking up at Lilia and gesturing at the food.
“I ate extra at the midday meal,” the girl replied. “And snuck some bread and fruit into my bag to eat later.”
“This last meal Sonea and Rothen are having. Just how ‘last’ is it?”
Lilia’s expression became serious. “She’s leaving tomorrow night. It’s official, too. She’s going because Lord Lorkin returned to Arvice, and the Sachakan king put him in prison when he refused to betray the Traitors.”
Cery felt his stomach sink. To learn your child was in prison... Still, at least he’s alive and no longer trapped in a secret city of rebels. That’s one step closer to home. After all these years of maintaining peace and benefiting from new avenues of trade, surely the Sachakans won’t endanger it all by killing a Guild magician.
He had to admit, he didn’t know enough about Sachaka to be sure.
“I’m glad we didn’t tell her we were here,” he said. “She doesn’t need to be worrying about us as well.”
Anyi nodded. “It’ll be easier for Lilia to help us now she doesn’t have to worry about Sonea finding out.”
“But Sonea’s the only one who would defend us if the Guild found out we were down here,” Gol said, shaking his head.
“What about Kallen?” Anyi asked, looking at Lilia.
Lilia shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to rely on him.”
“Then we’d better make sure we aren’t discovered,” Cery said. “Have you spoken to Kallen? Did he have any news for us?”
“I have, and no,” Lilia replied. She sighed. “He doesn’t seem inclined to confide in me.”
“You’ll just have to win him over,” Anyi told her.
As Gol slurped up the last of the sauce in the meat section of the pot, Cery wiped his hands on the edge of the cloth the food had been bundled in.
“In the meantime,” he said to Lilia, “you need to check Gol. If he’s healing up well then you need to come with me to the entrance to the Guild tunnels. None of us is going to be truly safe until we find a way to block it so that no Thief’s man could get through. If that means collapsing the roof, then that’s what we’ll have to do.” He turned to Anyi. “Then I want you to show me these escape routes. Maybe they’ll take us close to where servants toss out things magicians don’t use any more.”
The girls both grinned. “A bit of exploring sounds like fun,” Lilia said.
“Don’t you have some studying to do?” Cery asked.
Her face fell. “Do I ever not have studying to do?” She sighed, then looked at Anyi reproachfully. “You get to have all the fun.”
Anyi shook her head. “You don’t get to say that until I have a nice soft bed down here and regular steamy hot baths.”
Lilia’s eyes widened in mock apology. “Actually, now that you mention baths and body odour—”
Though she was clearly expecting it, she still only just managed to dodge Anyi’s punch to her arm. Chuckling, she slipped out of reach and headed toward Gol.
Chapter 6
Permission Granted
The two middle-aged men were still in their cell when Lorkin returned from his second day with the interrogator, but the couple who had been imprisoned there had gone. Once again water had been left for him, but no food. Hunger had made it difficult to sleep until he gave in again and soothed it away with magic.
It was impossible to tell what time it was. No windows allowed in light to indicate day or night. Lorkin had to rely on the routine of the interrogator and watcher to measure the passing of the days. When he woke he noted that the watcher was still in place, gazing at him with alert eyes but no expression. Sitting with his back to the wall, Lorkin entertained himself with mental games and memories.
A sound eventually drew his attention. Footsteps warned of someone approaching. The watcher turned away, then stood up. Lorkin sighed quietly and got to his feet, bracing himself for another day of questions and hunger.
Instead of the interrogator, a male slave appeared holding a tray on which lay a bowl, a lump of bread and a goblet. Lorkin could not help feeling his heart skip with hope as the watcher examined the items then stepped forward to open the gate to his cell.
The slave’s eyes remained downcast as he stepped inside, lowered the tray to the floor and backed out again.
The watcher paused to regard Lorkin thoughtfully after he’d relocked the gate. Lorkin waited until the man returned to his seat before approaching the tray. He picked it up and carried it to the far side of the cell.
The bowl was full of a cold, opaque soup. The goblet contained wine. There were no utensils.
If any of this is poisoned, I won’t know until I try eating it. I’ve never had to Heal away poison before. It’ll use up more of Tyvara’s power than simply quashing hunger. Should I risk it? Do I need to eat badly enough?
The particles in the soup were settling to the bottom, leaving most of the liquid clear. But the growing sediment was not forming a flat layer. It clung to something lying at the bottom. Something square and thin. He felt a tingle run down his spine.
Aware that the watcher was observing his every move, he drew a tiny amount of magic and used it to gently nudge the particles away from the object. At first the soup clouded at the slightest stirring, but soon it settled allowing him to confirm what he’d suspected.
The object was a piece of paper.
‘Boil soup to make safe. Bread good. Wine bad.’
Beneath was a squiggle. It would have been taken as a flourish or hastily drawn initials by someone else, but Lorkin recognised it as one of the code signs the Traitors had told him to look for.
They know I’m here, he thought, his heart lifting in relief and hope. They’re going to get me out of here. But even as the thought crossed his mind he knew he could not expect that much. The prison was under the very palace itself and guarded by Ashaki and the independent, fiercely loyal guard class that was unique to this place.
It was nice to know the Traitors were trying to help him, though. Drawing more magic, he set the soup boiling. That at least explained to the watcher why he’d been staring at it so intently. He still drank it slowly and paid attention to his body in case the note was a clever lie. The bread was stale, so he dipped it in the soup to soften it.
He didn’t touch the wine. Would the interrogator, or whoever had poisoned it, wonder how Lorkin had known to avoid it, or would he assume Lorkin simply didn’t want his senses fogged by wine during the next session?