“The Raen has lived for over a thousand cycles. Rebellions must have risen before,” Rielle pointed out.
Sesse blinked. “I… I don’t know. I suppose they must have.”
“And yet he’s still alive. Still the Raen.”
The woman’s nodded. “He is. And the rebels have been gathering for less than a cycle. They can’t have had much training or preparation in that time.”
“No,” Rielle agreed.
Sesse rose. “So… is there anything you need, Sorcerer Rielle?
Rielle shook her head.
The woman rose, made a little half-bow and hurried to the doorway. There she hesitated, then looked back.
“One of the sorcerers says the leader of the rebels might be the Successor. That Millennium’s Rule may be coming true.”
“Valhan is already more than a thousand cycles old,” Rielle told her. “Even if he were to be defeated tomorrow, that still means the prophecy did not come true.”
Sesse looked thoughtful, nodded, then walked away.
Turning back to her drawing, Rielle wondered if her lack of focus was simply the result of many interruptions throughout the day by well-meaning servants. When she had nearly finished the drawing she heard footsteps in the doorway again and sighed. This time Sesse did not knock, and Rielle had to smooth away a scowl as she turned to see what the woman wanted.
Dahli stood a few steps away. He had been staring at her intently, but as she looked at him his face relaxed.
“I see you’re settling in,” he said, smiling.
“Dahli!” Rielle set the drawing aside and stood up. “I don’t think anyone is settled here today. The servants are all astir with rumours of rebel plots to kill Valhan.”
His smile faded. “Ah. That. Don’t worry. Valhan has been aware of the problem for some time. He’ll deal with them as he has always done.”
“Which is how?”
Dahli picked up her sketch and examined it. “Give them a few chances to change their minds, then show those who don’t what they’ll be facing if they continue.”
“Is it working?”
He set the drawing down again. “Too soon to say.”
“Is this the reason he abandoned his world?”
Dahli shrugged. “He has not said so. He wants me to stay here and…” He frowned and turned to the door. Following his gaze Rielle saw Sesse hovering there. “What is it?”
“Sorry for interrupting, Sorcerer Dahli,” the woman said, looking from him to Rielle.
Dahli’s frown deepened and his shoulders tensed. “Who is this man?” he demanded.
Realising he had read the servant’s mind, Rielle sought the source of his anger. Sesse had come to tell Rielle that the sorcerer who had brought the news had been harassing the servants and trying to recruit sorcerers to the rebels’ cause.
Sesse cringed before Dahli’s anger, but did not shrink away. “I did not hear his name.”
Dahli exhaled. “Where is he now?”
“In the dining room.”
With a hiss, Dahli strode out of the room. Rielle hurried to the door and watched him stalk away. Something about Dahli’s reaction disturbed her. His manner had changed too swiftly from a lack of concern to rage. She looked at Sesse.
“There’s a kitchen next to the dining room, right? Is there a way to the kitchen that’ll get us there without Dahli seeing?”
The woman nodded, beckoned, then led Rielle down the passage in the other direction. Several corridors and staircases later they reached a long, busy kitchen. Sesse spoke to one of the kitchen servants. The man sniffed with disdain and pointed to a door at the far end. Two male servants hovered there, exchanging anxious looks. “He’s still in the dining room, making a nuisance of himself,” Sesse translated as she led Rielle to the door.
The two servants stepped away as they saw Rielle coming, looking relieved. As Sesse reached out to the handle Rielle pulled her back.
“Wait here,” Rielle said. She pressed her ear to the door, but the first sounds she heard were footsteps approaching, and she ducked away before the door opened and two scowling servants hurried through, holding golden platters piled with food.
“More of whatever this is! I want—” a man called after them, his words cut off as the door closed again. Rielle pressed her ear to it again. She heard another door close, and more distant footsteps.
“I hear you’re recruiting for the rebels.” The voice was Dahli’s.
The sound of a chair scraping on the floor followed.
“Not actually recruiting,” the stranger said. “Just passing on news.”
She sought the visitor’s mind. His name was Gabeme. When he’d realised he’d arrived at one of the Raen’s palaces his first thought was to slip away again without raising suspicion. But a quick scan of minds told him it was a small palace–probably a minor one–and he was reassured to learn that the ruler of worlds didn’t visit often, nor did his allies. Not all of the artisans were happy to have their home turned into a palace for the ruler of worlds. The idea that he might recruit rebels from right under the Raen’s nose had tempted him to linger.