"Viola, you can't be serious!" Sonea exclaimed, looking at the clothes draped over her bed. "Why would I wear these – and more to the point, when would I wear them? And wouldn't wearing all this green make people think I fancy myself a Healer already?"
There was a riding outfit of thigh-high boots of expensive leather, cream trousers and a dark green velvet jacket; a black dress of fine wool, trimmed with ermine fur; and a velvet, dark green dress with tiny emeralds sewn on the square neckline.
"My Lady, forest green is the colour of House Velan. And they're for dinners in the residence, for events at court, for riding…" Viola blustered.
"I've never been on a horse in my life! And why in the name of the Allied Lands would I need to change my robes to eat at home?" Sonea asked, throwing her hands up exasperatedly.
She could feel a touch of panic rise in her. Also, I'm not of House Velan, she thought, feeling her cheeks heat.
It felt like she had only just adjusted to the rules of being a novice of the Guild for the last two years, and now her position had changed again. Sonea wasn't even sure she understood her new position in the Guild hierarchy.
The new clothes and Viola's words made it sound like she had been elevated to a member of the Houses. But where Sonea came from, a wealthy man's mistress – even one kept openly, and honoured with every comfort – was still in no way linked to his title or his family. Sonea sighed. Was 'Official Consort' pretty much the same thing among these aristocrats – just with a more impressive name? Or did it actually come with certain privileges?
Also, am I Consort or novice? Today she would join the fifth-years in their first classes of the year, and just like them, worry about proving herself worthy of her chosen discipline – if I survive until then, Sonea added morbidly to herself. If she was now companion to the High Lord, did that mean she shouldn't bow to her teachers anymore? Or should she still bow to them, and to Akkarin, when in public? Where would she sit in the Guildhall? Surely not by the High Lord's seat up in the dais. And was it acceptable or not for her to continue using the Baths or Dining Hall?
Sonea realised Viola was speaking; she tuned back into the present, trying to calm her thoughts.
"… less than a year in my village. He'll find you a nice, calm mare to get started with. And the winter dress is surely plain enough for your tastes, my Lady? It'll get cold soon and you could throw it on for walks in the forest."
"Viola, I can heat the air with magic," Sonea replied morosely.
"Oh, yes, silly me! Well, to court then. King Merin doesn't like magic used in his palace, so the High Lord and yourself will need something fur-lined on visits during the winter months," Viola said, trying very hard to appeal to Sonea's practicality. She knew after a year of being her servant that pointing out the thread count of the silk, or the cost of the leather boots, would only put Sonea off.
Sonea sighed, feeling a little guilty about how hard Viola was trying. "That's good to know, Viola, thank you. Yes, I'll need something warm, in that case."
Her servant smiled and nodded with satisfaction, having won a small battle. As she hung everything up tidily and bowed her way out of the room, Sonea sank down onto her bed.
She knew that she wasn't really on edge about the new wardrobe items, but about all of her unanswered questions, and how her first day in fifth-year classes would go. If that haughty Tania's bullying was any indication, she would likely be right back to square one: the Hated Slum Girl. Or, thanks to her new title, would people more likely avoid her? Fear her?
"Words will itch like rebel wool, but that don't mean a knife's the tool," Sonea whispered to herself, repeating a popular saying among the dwells. Whatever was said today, she needed to stay calm and be careful. She had felt a massive surge in her own power since she had killed the Ichani. The dwells should also have a saying about worrying you'll accidentally kill someone who irritates you, Sonea thought sarcastically.
As she heard the faint gong go off in the University building to indicate the end of the midday meal, she sighed and began packing her bag for class. Words. It's just words.
—-
Akkarin rubbed his temples as he sank back gratefully into the comfort and privacy of his carriage. He usually preferred riding to the palace but had been expressly instructed by the Queen's valet to come via carriage. I should thank her for the courtesy of the reminder, Akkarin thought with a soft snort to himself. Otherwise I'd have had to find a cart to hitch onto my horse. The top of his carriage was laden with gifts for, of all people, Sonea. From the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, no less.
It had been a strange afternoon. He had come to the palace to report further on what he had said at the Hearing about the rogue magician impersonating him. Merin was terrified of the idea of a magician outside of the Guild's control – he was barely comfortable in the presence even of Guild magicians, except for Akkarin.
The High Lord sometimes found it frustrating that Merin started from a kind of default position of suspicion whenever magic was concerned. Akkarin would never admit to knowing this, but he knew Merin had desperately hoped they'd find magical ability in him when he was a child. Akkarin, only two years older, remembered Lord Delvon, his father, whispering to his mother about the secret news that had disappointed everyone at court. Everyone knew Merin's talented and courageous younger brother Joren was the favourite, and joining the Guild would have gotten Merin out of the line of succession in an honourable way.
A loud thump from the roof of the carriage jolted Akkarin out of his thoughts. He send out a bit of magic to probe if all the boxes were still there. He chuckled at the thought of how Sonea would react to a pile of stuff, as she liked to call anything in his residence that wasn't a book or a vital piece of furniture. Since they could openly be seen together now, he had arranged for the delivery of some practical but high-quality outfits for her that morning, not expecting this hoard.
Somehow, word had got to Queen Berria already that the youngest and most powerful High Lord of the Guild in a century had taken up a distant predecessor's forgotten custom. Akkarin had expected disapproval, but it seemed that the title still demanded a certain degree of respect after all. In Kyralia, only the King and the High Lord could have an Official Consort.
"The ladies of the court are, in equal measure, devastated and curious!" Queen Berria had informed Akkarin, grasping his arm like a hawk as soon as he entered the courtiers' chambers. "She must be an exceptional magician to have caught your eye, High Lord. Exceptional enough to make up for her low birth, I'm sure," Berria said with false sweetness, her eyes betraying her eagerness to know more. Akkarin hoped his anger had not show in the small, equally fake smile he had given her in return. "I believe she will be," he had replied politely. After a few more failed attempts to get more than the barest information about Sonea out of the High Lord, the Queen had told him she had a few gifts for the "lucky lady" for him to take back to the Guild.
The half-smile that had played about Akkarin's lips at the thought of Sonea's reaction began to fade as his thoughts turned sombre. I'm still not reconciled to this set-up, however much I seemed to have just received the palace's approval, Akkarin thought, frowning. Firstly, however weighty the title was, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was undermining Sonea in some way. Like the palace had approved it precisely because the decision "made sense" to them: the highest acceptable place for a woman of low birth in Kyralia was mistress to a powerful man. It reassured them that Akkarin was playing by the rules of their world.
As he gazed out the window feeling melancholy and conflicted, an image came, unbidden, to Akkarin's mind.
A sturdy and practical building in the Outer Circle, its doors embossed with the forest green and gold House Velan coat of arms. He walked in… it was bustling with Healers… There! He found and approached Sonea, who looked up from her patient to greet him with a smile. On her hand a gold signet ring of family Delvon…
"High Lord?"
Akkarin blinked and returned to the present. His coachman had opened the carriage door at the gates of the Guild, and was standing awkwardly while he waited for his master to get out.
"Thank you, Parrend," Akkarin said with a nod and got down swiftly, striding through the Guild gates. "Please have the boxes sent to my residence."
As he looked at the forest behind the University building, Akkarin recalled that morning not long ago when he had gone to the spring to reflect after his first night with Sonea. He remembered how he had relished for a moment the thought of declaring Sonea his mistress, signalling both that she was under his protection and that he was done with shying away from using his status. He was the first High Lord in a century who wasn't at least sixty, and he had never been attracted to the idea of fatherhood. Naturally, he assumed, that would mean avoiding marriage. His nephew had, thankfully, spared him having to secure the Delvon line. But why not enjoy the privileges that came with being young, unattached, and powerful, Akkarin had thought.
Now he felt like what he and Sonea shared had gotten much, much deeper than that lustful first month. She was lover, confidant, accomplice, partner-in-crime, tutee and companion all in one. While back then, he had liked the idea of taking her as a mistress, now Akkarin felt like he had been cornered into doing something he no longer wanted to.
The role was not what Sonea deserved. Yet everyone assumed the opposite: that Sonea was lucky to have risen as high as a dwell girl could, or should, hope to.
You both have more than enough to worry about and plan for in the coming months. Remember what this decision is really about: simply to buy us more time to build up our power and plan the defence of Imardin, Akkarin thought as he approached the entrance of his residence. If anything, I hope we survive long enough to worry about these petty politics.
As the residence got closer, the High Lord noticed a faint light was on in the upstairs window: Sonea's room. We can worry about labels when – if – we manage to defeat Kariko and his allies, he thought, gazing up at the window fondly for a moment.
As the door opened silently upon the faintest touch of his hand, Akkarin recalled his earlier daydream: a hospice in the Outer Circle, with the talented Healer, Lady Sonea of Delvon, at its head.
His lips were curled up in a half-smile by the time he gently knocked on Sonea's bedroom door.
—
"Thank the Eye you're here!"
Sonea stood up from her desk as Akkarin walked through the bedroom door she had just opened with magic.
Akkarin chuckled in amusement. "It's only been half a day since you last saw me, but I'm glad to receive such a welcome."
Sonea frowned, her eyes full of worry. Akkarin's smile faded and his attention snapped to her surface thoughts, but they weren't clear. He swiftly walked over to Sonea, concerned. "What's wrong?"
"What is all this?" She gestured worriedly to the boxes from the palace. Parrend must have moved fast to have dropped them off before Akkarin had arrived at his residence. "What am I going to do with all this? I don't know when or why to wear them… I don't know whether something is expected of me in return… What does this mean?" Her voice was edged with panic.
Akkarin stepped closer and grasped her elbows firmly, looking down into her frowning face. "They're just gifts, Sonea. What's upset you like this? Has something happened in your classes this afternoon?"
Sonea exhaled heavily and moved in to wrap her arms around Akkarin. He held her close, his chin resting on the top of her wavy black tresses. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing," came her muffled reply from against his chest.
Akkarin pulled away gently and sat them both down on the edge of her bed. "In class? It'll take a moment to catch up with the fifth-years. Lord Yikmo, Lady Vinara and Lord Delan tell me their private sessions this week will be the last of the forth-year material."
Sonea sighed. "No, not that." Her black eyes locked onto his entreatingly. "Can we talk about… what I'm meant to be doing now, and how? I'm worried I'll do or say something wrong. I know the rules of being a novice, but I have no idea what all this" – she gestured vaguely towards the gifts – "means."
"Sonea, you know I never really wanted this role for you. There is no expectation, on my part, for you to act any differently…" Akkarin began.
"But what is my position in the Guild now? I don't understand the ways of this place. Am I expected to know and do all the things the ladies of the Houses do? Dress nicely and go riding with you? Or am I expected to continue being a novice?" Sonea interrupted worriedly.
Then she looked down at her lap, and added quietly, "Everyone was like a statue around me today. Respectful but distant, wary. It reminded me of before I learned Control: when Faren and his men were moving me between hideaways, scared to death I would set something on fire in my sleep."
Akkarin reached out a bejewelled hand and stroked Sonea's pale cheek. The sight of the rings on his fingers seemed to shout that, without a doubt, these were his allegiances and positions. He felt a pang in his chest as he remembered how none of them had meant anything when Dakova had enslaved, hurt and humiliated him. He knew what it was like to feel that the impression others had of you had nothing to do with the person you felt like inside.
"You're right," he said softly, his brows coming together in thought. "I, too, am not sure what the protocol is here. No one has ever been both novice and Consort before. There may be more in the records Vinara found that tell us something. I'll visit her tomorrow morning and ask if I can study the texts she found." Sonea gave him a small, strained smile.
Akkarin rose, holding onto her hands to coax her up gently. "In the meantime, I may have to indicate in public that anyone who disrespects the favoured companion of the High Lord will be answerable directly to him." His voice took on that soft but commanding timbre that indicated his threat was real. It always made Sonea recall a time before she became the High Lord's novice. How that voice had filled her with dread – like that time he caught her in the hidden passages, escaping from Regin and his gang. Now, its darkly authoritative quality arose altogether different feelings in her.
Akkarin's lips curled into a half-smile when he noticed Sonea looked at him in a particular way he had come to know and savour. He led her towards the door and into the corridor, making for the dining room. "For now, my Lady, would you care to join me for dinner?" He asked.
Sonea sighed her worry one last time, but her smile then suggested surrender. "As long as I'm not expected to talk about fashion and court gossip, High Lord."
"War strategy only, Lady Sonea."
"Whatever else is an Official Consort for?"
At hearing the return of Sonea's sarcastic wit, a quiet chuckle of relief escaped Akkarin's lips. He walked into the dining room feeling altogether more heartened.
Here they were, still together, one way or another, with their black magic hidden. Here he was, still High Lord, one way or another. They were in as good a position as they'll ever be to prepare the Guild for a threat from Sachaka.
