“Yes... but I never had to make any hard decisions. I was told everything had to be a certain way because it kept everyone safe, powerful and wealthy, and I didn’t question that. But as I grew older I did begin to question. I saw that my lack of resistance came out of a fear of not being accepted by my peers. I saw that the only people we were keeping safe, powerful and wealthy were my family and House. That the Houses resist change because they fear it will diminish their power and wealth. And still do.”
“Kyralia has changed a lot in the last twenty years. The Houses haven’t lost power or wealth as a result.”
Regin shook his head. “They will. It may take a long time, but it is going to happen. The warning signs are there, if you know what to look for. And you know what I’ve discovered?” He looked at her and shrugged. “I don’t care. Let them fall. They’re built on lies and greed.”
Sonea felt a pang of sympathy. Since his rather public separation from his wife, Regin had been prone to the occasional sullen and defiant comment about the habits and expectations of the highest class. Part of her approved, another sympathised, yet she wondered how much of his disenchantment would remain once the personal pain faded.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t think so if you wound up a beggar on the street,” she reminded him gently.
He looked at her and his shoulders sagged a little. “Probably not. But maybe I’d be a better man. Maybe I’d even be a happier man. By taking in lower-class entrants, the Guild has made it possible for people to cross the barriers between classes. I see the newcomers boasting about it, and I want to warn them that there is a cost. Then... then I see that the cost doesn’t apply to them and I feel, well, jealous. Somehow they get to have the wealth and power and magic, but they have no obligations to honour ancient agreements or traditions, or to only associate with the people their House approves of, or marry the woman their family selects.”
“They may have to eventually.”
Regin shook his head. “No. Look at you.” His eyes rose to meet hers. “You were never forced to marry.”
“I’m sure if I’d decided to, plenty would have been said about my choice.”
“Yet nobody would have dared tell you not to.”
“That’s only because I am the first black magician. I’m an exception. You can’t make predictions based on me.”
Regin gave her an odd look, opened his mouth to speak, then frowned and closed it again. His gaze slid away from hers. Sonea felt curiosity rising.
“What were you going to say?” she asked.
He glanced at her, his expression uncertain.
“I... I was going to ask you why you didn’t marry, but I guess it’s obvious – and rather rude of me to ask.”
She shrugged. “Not rude. Nor is it why you think. It’s true I couldn’t have entertained the idea for a long time after Akkarin died, but not for all of the last twenty years. I might have married Dorrien, if the timing had been better, but he met someone else long before I was ready.” And a good thing that is, too. “I don’t think we would have been well suited. For a start, he loves the countryside and would have had to live in the Guild grounds to be with me, since I could not leave.”
Regin watched her now with an almost guilty interest. It’s likely a lot of people have wanted to ask that question, she thought.
“By the time I was ready, nobody seemed interested,” she continued. “Men my own age hadn’t quite got over their prejudice toward magicians from the lower classes, and the only magicians from the lower classes were much too young. All were intimidated by black magic. Some of the Higher Magicians hinted to me that they thought a husband would be a weakness that someone might exploit through blackmail – as if Lorkin wasn’t that already. Then there was Lorkin. He was always very jealous of other men in my life.”
Regin frowned. “What...?” He paused and shook his head.
“Yes?”
He grimaced. “What will you do if King Amakira threatens Lorkin?”
Not expecting the change of subject, Sonea felt her heart freeze. She paused to draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly, before answering. “I will point out that it is Lorkin who knows about the Traitors, not me. It would be far more sensible to torture me to get Lorkin to speak.”
Regin’s mouth dropped open, then he swallowed. “Is it wise for you to put the idea of torturing you into the king’s mind?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure it will occur to him the moment he learns I’m on my way to meet him. If he’s willing to torture me, then we must conclude that he has put aside any reluctance to rouse the anger of the Guild and the Allied Lands. There will be no chance of getting Lorkin back, anyway.”
She was desperately proud of herself for not letting her voice catch on that last sentence, though it was a close thing. If I can keep this up, maybe I will be able to hide my feelings in front of the Sachakans and Traitors.
“I hope for all our sakes that it doesn’t come to that,” Regin said, with feeling.
She nodded in agreement. If King Amakira was willing to torture her, then Regin would not be safe either.
He shifted across the seat so that he was sitting opposite from her, then held out his hands. “It’s been a full day since the Meet and my strength has recovered. You should take my power now, before we arrive at the Stayhouse.”
She stared at him as reluctance froze her again. This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t hesitate to take power that’s willingly offered, when I’m allowed to and may need it. She hadn’t felt this embarrassment during the Meet, she realised. What was it about using black magic on another person in private that felt uncomfortably... intimate. And illicit. Perhaps because the only other time I’ve done it privately was with Akkarin.
Regin was watching her, his brow creased with growing puzzlement. Drawing in a deep breath, Sonea took his hands. She felt magic flow from him and began to store it within herself.
“I’m sorry. I can’t get used to this,” she told him, shaking her head.
He nodded. “That’s understandable. You were forbidden to for so long. In fact, I did wonder if you had forgotten how to do it, after all this time.” His mouth briefly widened into a teasing grin.
Sonea managed a smile. “If only that was possible.”
“It’s all clear,” Gol said.
Cery nodded. He’d sent Gol ahead to check that their room remained undiscovered. It was hard to give up old habits of caution. They picked up their burdens and carried them through the passages to the room. Cery set down two battered old chairs, Anyi dropped two bales of hay from her shoulders to the floor, and Gol tossed a bundle of sacks next to the box he’d been using as a seat.
Next, they emptied their pockets of the fruit, vegetables and other items they’d picked up around the farm sheds. Cery looked up at Gol as the man set down a reel of coarse thread.
“Where’d you find that?”
Gol shrugged. “In one of the sheds. There was a basket full of them, so I figured nobody would notice if I took one. And this...” He turned one side of his coat out to reveal a long, curved needle piercing the lining. “If I’m going to make mattresses, we’ll need it.”
Cery regarded his friend dubiously. “You’re going to make mattresses?”
“Anyi said she doesn’t know how to sew.”
“Oh, did she?” Cery smiled at his daughter’s lie. “And you do?”
“Well enough for this. I used to help my da mend his sails.” Gol slipped the end of the thread through the eye of the needle with telling dexterity.