The Ambassador's Mission

CHAPTER 18

THE TRAITOR



As the slave whimpered, his head squeezed between the large hands of Ashaki Tikako, Dannyl couldn’t help wincing. Though Dannyl had never had his mind read by a black magician, if the reaction of this man’s slaves was anything to go by, he gathered it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

Tikako gave a gasp of anger and frustration and thrust the slave away. The man fell back onto a shoulder, then scrambled away on all fours as his master shouted at him to leave. The slaves kneeling nearby, waiting their turn to be questioned, hunched as the Ashaki’s attention turned to them.

There weren’t many slaves left. Dannyl had counted over eighty so far. None of them had produced any useful information about Lorkin and Tyvara. They couldn’t even confirm if Tyvara had ever spoken to anyone within the estate.

The master’s finger jabbed, and a young woman reluctantly came forward, shuffling on knees reddened from long contact with the rough stone pavement. Tikako grabbed her head before she had even settled before him. Her brows knit together, and Dannyl could not help holding his breath and hoping she would prove to be holding the secret to Lorkin’s whereabouts, even if that did mean she would probably be killed for not coming forward with the information when her master first demanded it.

After a long pause Tikako stared at her, then with a wordless roar of fury he half lifted, half tossed her away from him. Her eyes flew open as he sent her flying across the room. She crashed into one of the large pottery jugs spaced along the walls, from which pretty, flowering plants spilled. Rising to a sitting position, she blinked slowly, her eyes glazed.

Dannyl bit back yet another curse. The brutality of these people. They like to think they are so dignified, with all their rituals and hierarchy, but underneath they still are as cruel as the histories have always described them. After today, Dannyl knew he would not easily forget why the Sachakans were so feared, even when his hosts were being perfectly respectful and well mannered. It was not the power they held that made them cruel, but their willingness to use it to dominate those weaker than themselves.

The girl had not risen to her feet. Nor had any of the other slaves moved to help her. As Ashaki Tikako called another slave, Dannyl slipped away from Ashaki Achati’s side and approached her. She blinked at him in surprise, then looked down quickly as he crouched at her side.

“Let me see that,” he said. She passively bowed her head as he examined the back of her skull. It was bleeding and starting to swell. He placed a hand against the wound and concentrated, sending magic to heal the wound. Her eyes widened, and her gaze cleared.

“Better?” he asked, as he finished.

She nodded, then leaned closer to him.

“The ones you seek are gone,” she told him in a quiet voice. “He is dressed as a slave now, his skin dyed to look like us. They are taking a cart to the master’s country estate to the west.”

“Do you mean … ?” Dannyl began. But she shook her head slowly, as if trying to clear it, and backed away from him.

“Don’t waste your power, Ambassador.” Dannyl looked up to see Ashaki Tikako smirking at him. “She won’t cost much to replace.”

Dannyl rose to his feet. “Saving you even a little money is the least I can do after you spent so much time and effort questioning your slaves.”

“Without much success, I admit.” Tikako sighed and regarded the last five slaves. He beckoned wearily, his anger now turned to resignation.

As the master began to read their minds, Dannyl moved back to Ashaki Achati’s side. The man gave him a questioning look. Dannyl shook his head slightly. He couldn’t tell Achati what he’d learned within hearing of Tikako. If Tikako learned that the slave had managed to conceal something from his mind-read he would be humiliated. The slave would be questioned again, and possibly killed. That was hardly a nice way to repay her for the information.

Though it is possible it was a decoy. Dannyl frowned. Why not tell her master when he first asked for information, then? If she did not want him to know, why did she tell me? Is her master working with the woman who abducted Lorkin?

Whatever the reason, clearly the Sachakan mind-reading method wasn’t as thorough as they thought it was. Ashaki Tikako sent the last slave away and turned to Dannyl and Achati. He apologised for failing to find Lorkin. Yet there was a defensive tone to his voice. He felt vindicated. None of his slaves had been hiding fugitives. None had lied about knowing nothing.

Or perhaps they did know, and he pretended to find nothing to protect his pride and honour – or involvement in the abduction.

Achati seemed satisfied, however. He thanked Tikako and told him his assistance would be rewarded. Soon he and Dannyl were walking back to the carriage, farewelling their host and climbing inside. Achati’s two slaves, both young men, looked relieved to be leaving.

When the vehicle had rolled out through the gates to Tikako’s mansion, Achati turned to Dannyl, his forehead creased with worry.

“I don’t know where to go next, I have to confess. I—”

“Westward,” Dannyl told him. “Lorkin is dressed as a slave now, and he and Tyvara are in a cart heading for Ashaki Tikako’s country estate.”

Achati stared at him, then smiled. “The slave girl. She told you this?”

“Yes.”

“Your methods of investigation, unlikely as they may be, do appear to be working.” The man’s smile faded. “Hmm. That means … that suggests one of the worst possibilities I have been considering may be the correct one.”

“That Ashaki Tikako read this in his slave’s mind and did not tell us because he is involved with the kidnapping of Lorkin, or that Sachakan mind-reading methods aren’t as effective as they ought to be?”

Achati shrugged. “The first is unlikely. Tikako is related to the king and is one of his greatest supporters. The second has always been the case. You need time and concentration to fully search a mind.” He grimaced. “But it is the way of the mind that what it most wants to hide tends to be in its thoughts when it is being read. Tikako should have seen this information. The fact that this girl managed to hide it hints at abilities that she should not have. Abilities that only the members of a particular group of rebels have.”

“Rebels?”

“They call themselves the Traitors. They use women slaves to do their spying and to carry out assassinations and abductions. Some – mostly women – believe they are a society made up only of women, because it is women in difficult and unfortunate circumstances they most often take. I suspect it is a rumour to encourage cooperation from their victims, and the real reason for stealing the women is to sell them into slavery, here or in some other country.”

Dannyl felt a chill run down his spine. “What do they want with Lorkin, then?”

“I’m not sure. Sometimes they meddle in politics. Usually with bribes or blackmail, but sometimes by assassination. The only gain I can see for them in abducting Lorkin is embarrassing the king.” He frowned, thoughtfully. “Unless they want to stir up a war between our countries.”

“Surely they would have killed Lorkin if that was their intention.”

Achati’s expression was grim as he met Dannyl’s eyes. “They may still intend to.”

“Then we have to find them quickly. Are there many west-leading roads to Tikako’s country estate?”

The Sachakan didn’t answer. His expression was of distracted puzzlement. “Why tell us?” he said.

“Who?” Dannyl asked.

“The slave girl. Why did she tell you how to find Lorkin if she is a Traitor? Is she trying to put us off the trail?”

“Perhaps the Traitors aren’t involved, and want to avoid being blamed for Lorkin’s abduction.”

Achati’s frown deepened. “Well, it is the only clue we have. Decoy or not, we have no alternative but to pursue it.”


The road to Tikako’s country estate bore a constant stream of traffic, forcing Lorkin to follow Tyvara’s advice and not speak in case his Kyralian accent drew attention. He could not ask her where they were going, or question her more about her people, or the people who had tried to kill him. His skin itched from the dye that coated it. She frowned at him disapprovingly if he scratched it, and kicked his ankle gently if he forgot himself and looked directly at the people they passed – even the slaves. This was immensely frustrating, and made the slow pace of the cart, hauled by an ancient-looking horse, almost unbearable.

From time to time he stole a glance at her, noting the tension in her body and the way she chewed at her lip. He could not also help admiring her near-flawless brown skin. It was the first time he’d seen her outside and in sunlight, rather than in the glow of lamp or magical globe light. Her skin had a healthy sheen and he found himself wondering if it would be as warm to touch as Riva’s had been. Then the inevitable memory came of Riva’s dead, staring eyes and he’d look away.

Tyvara is a dangerous woman to be attracted to, he mused to himself. But for some reason the mystery that surrounds her, and not knowing how powerful she is, makes her even more alluring. Still, this is not the time to be losing one’s wits over a woman. There’s a real danger I could end up losing more than my wits.

It was on the third day of travelling when she finally muttered to him that they were about to arrive at their destination. The sun was hovering just above the horizon. He felt a relief that they wouldn’t be sleeping in the wagon again, but it quickly evaporated as she told him what he must do next. They would enter another estate, where he would have to pretend to be a slave. They would eat and sleep there, but she didn’t know what they would do after that until she’d made contact with her people.

This would be a more risky test of his disguise. She’d instructed him to say no more than necessary, to keep his eyes to the ground, to obey without hesitation or protest, and to stay in the shadows if he could.

Nodding at a gap in the wall ahead, she told him to steer the cart horse toward it. It was a little odd for a female house slave to be accompanying a delivery slave, so the excuse they had come up with was that she was showing him the route and teaching him to drive the cart because no other slave could be spared. He’d enjoyed the driving lessons, despite not being able to ask many questions for fear of being overheard.

They made it through the gap without mishap, though a corner of the cart brushed one side of the wall. Lorkin looked ahead at the buildings. Figures moved among them – all slaves judging by their clothes and mannerisms. As the cart neared, the slaves stopped to watch for a moment, before continuing with whatever duties they were performing.

“Through here,” Tyvara said, pointing to an archway. He directed the cart into a small courtyard. A large slave wearing the headband of a slave master emerged from a doorway and waved at Lorkin to stop.

They pulled up. Conscious of the slave master’s stare, Lorkin kept his gaze lowered. Two more slaves stepped out and moved to the horse’s head.

“Haven’t seen you two before,” the man observed.

Tyvara nodded. “I’m Vara. This is Ork. He’s new.”

“Bit skinny for a delivery slave.”

“He’ll put on muscle with a bit of work.”

The man nodded. “And why are you here?”

“Got to show him the way.” She sounded smug. “Nobody else free.”

“Hmph.” The slave master beckoned and turned away. “The master wants the cart filled now, so you can leave at first light. We don’t get fed until it’s done.”

Tyvara glanced at Lorkin, then shrugged. “Come on then, Ork.”

They both climbed off the cart. One of the estate’s slaves picked up the reins while another began to undo the harness. Lorkin followed Tyvara into a large wooden room. The smell of reber wool filled the air, heavy and sweet.

“This is the load.” The slave master waved at a pile of fleece bundles wrapped in oil cloth that looked twice the size of what the cart should hold. He looked from Lorkin to Tyvara. “You know how to load up a cart?”

“I’ve watched it plenty of times,” Tyvara said. She began describing the order and arrangement. The man nodded and grunted approval. “You’ve got the gist. I’ll check when I get back. If it’s wrong,” he frowned at Lorkin meaningfully, “you’ll have to unpack and repack it right, and that means you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for a feed.”

“Right,” Tyvara said. She looked at Lorkin. “Time to learn something new.”

Lorkin was glad that the slave master didn’t hang around to watch, but there were plenty of other slaves coming and going, some pausing to look at him and Tyvara. Thankfully, she did seem to know about packing carts, and had him wedge them together in a self-supporting arrangement. But there were a lot of bundles, and he’d had little sleep during the last few nights. Though he had healed away his weariness each time it started to impede him, it was coming back faster each time.

The bundles were all the same, yet somehow they grew heavier as he worked. He had to toss the last of them up to Tyvara, who was balancing at the top of the pile in the cart. Then he heard footsteps right behind him, jumped in surprise and threw one badly. Tyvara’s hands slipped and it dropped, bouncing off the side of the cart. Lorkin stepped backwards to catch it but instead stepped on something.

“Fool!” a familiar voice bellowed. A hand came out of nowhere and whacked Lorkin’s head, setting his ears ringing. He pressed a hand to his head and scrambled away. Figuring it would be more slave-like to stay crouched on the ground than to stand up, he hunched his back and waited.

“Don’t sit there and sulk. Pick it up and finish the job,” the slave master ordered.

Lorkin got to his feet and, bent double and avoiding looking at the man, ran to the last bundle and picked it up. He looked up at Tyvara. She was frowning with worry, but held out her hands to show she was ready. He tossed it and sighed with relief as she caught it and efficiently pressed it into place.

The slave master, apparently having forgiven Lorkin’s trampling of him, pressed ropes into his hands and helped them bind the piles of fleeces securely to the cart. When they were done he nodded in approval.

“I’ll send the kitchen boy out with food and blankets. You can sleep in the store. Be ready to leave early.”

And with that he turned and stalked away. As Lorkin watched the man leave, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. He resisted the temptation to look for the source. The courtyard was no longer lit by the glow of the late afternoon sky, and the shadows under the verandas were almost impenetrable. Pretending to examine his hands in the fading light, Lorkin looked beyond them and made out a female figure standing within a doorway. She was watching him and Tyvara with narrowed eyes.

“Ork,” Tyvara called. He turned to look at her. She was standing beside the cart. “Come help me straighten this up.”

He moved to her side. She was tugging at one of the bundles, which appeared to be perfectly positioned.

“My usual contact hasn’t appeared,” she murmured. “I didn’t see another door to the store. Let’s stay out here for now.”

“There was a woman watching us,” he told her. “Did you see her?”

She frowned and shook her head. The crunch of footsteps made her peer around the cart, and she smiled.

“Food!”

Lorkin followed her as she stepped out to meet the boy approaching them. His eyes widened, then he looked down quickly and held out two fist-sized bread buns, still steaming from the oven, and two mugs. The liquid inside the latter quivered as the boy’s hand shook.

Tyvara took the food, handing Lorkin his share. As soon as he was divested of his burden, the boy turned, ran back to a door and threw himself inside.

“He was terrified,” Lorkin murmured.

“Yes,” Tyvara agreed. “And he shouldn’t be.” She moved back toward the cart. “And he brought no blankets. Follow me.” Passing the cart, she headed for the store. Lorkin followed, taking care not to spill the contents of his mug. A single lamp now lit the room, throwing complicated shadows against the walls. Once inside, she took the mug and bun from him and set it aside, with hers, next to a bucket that smelled strongly of urine.

“We can’t eat them,” she told him as she began to examine the room. “They could be drugged.”

“Drugged?” he looked at the food. “They know who we are?”

“Possibly. Ah! Good. Come here.”

“But how could the news have travelled here that fast?” he asked, following her toward the far wall.

The look she gave him clearly showed she thought him an idiot for asking.

“Don’t Kyralians use blood rings?”

“Yes, but—”

“Even so, surely you know that travelling on horseback is faster than in a cart.”

“Well, yes …”

She rolled her eyes, then turned away and slipped behind some boxes filled with wax-stoppered pottery jars. As he followed, he saw a small doorway that had been fixed permanently closed with boards. She glanced at the lamp, then at the boxes of jars. Stepping back, she stared at the boxes. They began to move, swaying precariously as they slid forward to block the view of the doorway.

Then she turned to stare at the boards fixing the door closed, and they began to flex themselves away from the frame.

“Put out the lamp,” she ordered without taking her eyes off her work.

Lorkin looked over at the lamp, then drew magic and sent it out, shaping it into a small barrier that starved the flame of air. As the lamp went out and the room filled with darkness, he felt a fresh breeze and turned to see a rectangle of dark blue streaked with orange clouds where the door had been. He took a step toward it, but the sky vanished as Tyvara swung the door to again and he felt her hand press on his chest to stop him.

“Wait,” she murmured. “Get out of sight.”

Sounds were coming from the main store doorway. Light streaked into the room, moving and spreading as the source drew closer. Then the slave master and the boy entered, followed by a woman. They both stared at the mugs and buns left untouched, then looked around the store.

“They’re gone,” the boy said.

“They can’t have gone far,” the woman said. “Should we start searching?”

“No,” the slave master said. “Too dangerous. If they are what you say they are, only the master can deal with them, and he’s in the city.”

The woman looked as if she wanted to argue, but instead nodded stiffly and left the store. The slave master looked around the room again. For a moment he looked as if he might search it, but then he shook his head and headed for the door.

As soon as he was gone, Lorkin felt the breeze again. Tyvara grabbed his arm and pulled him through the doorway. She took hold of both of his arms in a strong grip. He felt his stomach sink as they suddenly began to rise into the air.

Levitation, he thought, looking down at where the invisible force beneath their feet must be. I haven’t had reason to do that in years.

They stepped off onto the roof of the store. Tyvara crouched and began to creep across it slowly and quietly, keeping below the peak of the roof so that people in the courtyard wouldn’t see them. Lorkin followed, wincing at every creak of the wooden tiles. The slave shoes were much quieter than magician’s boots, and had surprisingly good grip on the roof tiles.

At the end of the store roof they levitated down to the next building, then the next, and finally to one which provided a good hiding place in the shadow of a large chimney. A loud grinding sound came from below, which would mask any sounds they made.

Perhaps now I can ask her some questions.

“When it’s fully dark we’ll go back to the road,” Tyvara told him.

“And if we encounter anyone?”

“Nobody will look at us closely. Slaves on the road aren’t unusual, even at night, whereas if we cut across the fields we become trespassers. Field slaves won’t approach us, but they’ll report us to their master. Even if we get away before he investigates, anyone paying attention to such reports will know the direction we’re travelling in.” She sighed. “I was hoping to get further away from the city before this happened.”

“You were expecting this?”

“Yes.”

“Are your contacts here safe?”

“Yes.”

“So … they’re here, but so are the people who tried to kill me?”

“Yes.” She shook her head. “But … it’s more complicated than that.”

He stared at her expectantly, but she said nothing more, only staring out over the fields. She obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. But she can’t go hinting that there’s more to this than what she’s told me without expecting me to pursue it.

“Why is it more complicated?” he asked, then frowned in surprise at the hard tone in his voice.

She looked at him, her eyes barely visible in the growing darkness.

“I shouldn’t … but I guess there’s no point keeping it secret any longer.” She drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “We can’t trust any slaves now, not even those that are Traitors. We Traitors … we don’t always agree with each other. Some of us are divided into groups based on our opinions and philosophy.”

“Factions?” he suggested.

“Yes, I suppose they could be called that. The faction that I belong to believes that you are a potential ally and should not be killed. The other … doesn’t.”

Lorkin caught his breath. Her people want me dead! He felt a sinking feeling inside, but pushed it aside. No, only some of them do.

“My faction has more influence on our people,” she told him. “We say that killing you could lead to war between Sachaka and Kyralia. That we should only kill when it is unavoidable. That blaming the child for the actions of the parent is how Sachakans think, not us. But …”

She paused, and when she continued her voice had lowered. “But I have done something that may shift that balance.” She drew in another breath, and this time it shook slightly. “The woman I killed to save you – Riva – was not an assassin sent by a Sachakan family. She was a Traitor. One from the other faction.”

“You lied,” Lorkin stated.

“Yes. Even if I’d had time to explain at the Guild House, you wouldn’t have come with me, and you’d probably be dead by now.”

Lorkin scowled. What else has she lied about? But if all else that she said was true, especially about the Traitors, he understood the deception. I wouldn’t have left with her. I’d have been too confused.

“When my people find out that I killed her, the other faction will gain support,” Tyvara continued. “And from the way things went here I’d say the news has definitely overtaken us. Anyone from the other faction won’t help us, and they’ll try to stop others helping us. They might try to kill you. They might try to kill us both.”

“And the Traitors from your faction?”

“They won’t try to kill us, but they may not help us in case that makes them guilty of helping a murderer. Eventually the news will reach Sanctuary and our leaders will override any orders scout leaders in the estates have made. Official orders will be sent out.”

Lorkin’s head spun with all this new information. Throughout Sachaka there were people – a whole society of them – deciding whether he should be killed or not. He shook his head. And what did she mean by “blaming a child for the actions of a parent”? What did my parents do to make them so angry? He had too many questions, and he and Tyvara could be discovered at any moment. Best stick to the more immediate problems. Like how much danger he was in from these Traitors.

“So, if your faction was in control, why did Riva try to kill me?”

Tyvara gave a short, bitter laugh. “She disobeyed her orders. Disobeyed me.”

“And nobody knows that, so they think you murdered her?”

A pause. “Yes, but even when they find out why I killed her … Traitors don’t kill Traitors. It’s a far more serious crime than disobeying orders. Even my own faction will want me punished for that.”

“They’ll kill you?”

“I … I don’t know.” She sounded so uncertain, even frightened, that he suddenly had to resist the urge to put his arms around her and reassure her that everything would be fine. But the words would be a lie. He had no idea what was going to happen, where to go, or even where he was. She had dragged him away from all he understood. This was her world. She was the resourceful one. Whether he liked it or not, he needed her to be in charge.

“If anyone can get us out of this, you can,” he told her. “So what should we do now? Go back to Arvice? Go to Kyralia?”

“We can’t go to either. We have Traitors in almost every household in Sachaka. Now that my people know what I have done there will be Traitors watching the Pass.” He heard the soft sound of fingers drumming on something. “We can’t run away. What we need to do is reach my people – my faction. We will have a chance to explain, and you will be safe. No matter what happens to me, they will protect you.” She chuckled quietly. “All I have to do is get you safely across most of Sachaka and to the mountains, without the other faction finding us. Or any Kyralians and Sachakans that are bound to start looking for you.”

“The mountains, eh?”

“Yes. And now that it’s dark, I think it’s time we made a start. We’ll drop down by that wall and follow it across to the one that meets the wall that follows the road. Ready?”

He nodded, then grinned ruefully as he realised she couldn’t see him.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m ready.”


The young woman in the examination room had dark shadows under her eyes. In her lap a small baby wriggled, its face screwed up as it howled with almost inhuman volume.

“I don’t know what to do with him,” the woman confessed. “I’ve tried everything.”

“Let me have a look,” Sonea offered.

The mother handed over the child. Taking him into her lap, Sonea examined him thoroughly, both by touch and sight and with magic. To her relief there was no sign of injury or disease. She sensed a more ordinary disturbance, however.

“He’s fine,” she assured the girl. “Just hungry.”

“Already?” The girl’s hand went to her chest. “I can’t seem to make enough—”

Abruptly the door opened and Healer Nikea slipped into the room.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, looking at the young woman apologetically. Then her eyes rose to meet Sonea’s. “There’s a messenger here for you. He says it’s urgent.”

Sonea felt her heart skip a beat. Was it Cery? She rose and handed the baby back to his mother. “You had better send him in. Could you take this young woman to Adrea.” She looked at the mother and smiled. “Adrea is an expert at dealing with production problems and food alternatives. I wish I’d known her when my son was born. She’ll help you out.”

The young woman nodded and followed Nikea out of the room. The door closed behind them. Sonea stared at it as she waited for Cery. When it finally opened, however, it was a large man who entered the room. He looked familiar, and after a moment she remembered who he was.

“Gol, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, my lady,” he said.

She smiled. It had been a long time since anyone had called her “my lady” instead of “Black Magician.” “What news?”

“We’ve found her,” the big man said, his eyes widening with excitement. “I tracked her back to where she lives, and now Cery’s keeping an eye on her until you can come get her.”

Sonea felt her heart skip again, but then her stomach sank. I won’t be getting her. I have to send for Rothen. And Regin. Could she simply neglect to summon Regin? No, if the rogue is a strong magician she might overcome Rothen. Perhaps even kill him. Better that two magicians confront her rather than one. Oh, I wish I could go with him! But if I’m going to have to trust Regin with the knowledge that I’ve withheld information about a rogue, then he needs to get his hands dirty, too.

“How long have we got?” she asked.

Gol shrugged. “I don’t know, but if we’re lucky she’s gone to bed.”

“I need to send for some help. Two magicians are better than one in this situation.” She took a piece of paper and quickly scrawled the words “Northside” and “Now?” on it, then folded it and wrote Regin’s name and title on the back. Then she wrote the same message to Rothen. “Give these to Healer Nikea – the one who brought you in.”

Gol took the notes and slipped out of the room.

When the door opened again, Sonea expected it to be Gol returning. Instead it was Healer Nikea. As the young woman approached, she met Sonea’s eyes, then looked away, and immediately Sonea’s skin began to prickle. She’s going to ask me what all this is about. Maybe she’s recognised Gol, or found out that he works for a Thief. I doubt she’s going to scold me, but Nikea’s not the sort to let anything she disapproves of go unmentioned and ignored.

“Ah … I wanted to say …” the young woman began, rubbing her hands together with uncharacteristic nervousness.

“Yes?” Sonea prompted.

“Whatever it is you’re doing, I know it’s got to be for a good purpose.” Nikea straightened. “If you need someone here to … to ‘cover your tracks’, as they say, you can rely on me. And some of the other Healers, too. We’ll tell people you were here if you need to go out.”

Sonea realised her mouth had dropped open in surprise, and she quickly closed it.

“How many of you think this?” she managed to ask.

“Four of us. Sylia, Gejen, Colea and myself.”

Amused, Sonea suppressed the urge to smile. “You’ve discussed this already?”

Nikea’s gaze was steady. “Yes. We weren’t sure what was going on, if anything. But we all thought it had to be important, and that we were willing to help.”

Sonea felt her face begin to heat. “Thank you, Nikea.”

The girl shrugged, then backed away to the door. “Of course, we’d love to know what is going on, if you can tell us.” She touched the handle, then looked back hopefully.

Sonea chuckled. “When I can, I will.”

Nikea grinned. “I’ll send the next patient in.”

“Thank you. Again.”

As the door closed behind the Healer, Sonea couldn’t help grinning. Seems not all the Guild thinks I’ll turn into a crazed black-magic-wielding murderer the moment I’m out of their sight. The Healers’ trust was touching. Perhaps she could risk leaving the hospice, after all. It would be safer for Rothen and Regin. While there had been no hint that the rogue was a black magician, things could turn very nasty if it turned out she were.

And Sonea had to admit, the idea of sneaking around the city with Cery again filled her with both nostalgia and excitement. It wouldn’t be fair if Rothen and Regin got to have all the fun, while she had to sit and wait for news.