"It's the Warrior of the hour!"
Sonea jumped from her reverie at the sound. She looked up from book in her hand that she hadn't really been reading to see Dorrien's sparkling blue eyes and mischievous grin.
"Dorrien! I thought you wouldn't be in the city until the afternoon," Sonea said in surprise.
She tried to hold back the urge to wince when she turned around to look at him. She had used a simple soothing spell to help the ache in the small of her back from Regin's forcestrike yesterday, but that hadn't prevented a purple bruise by the morning.
"I had an earlier start. Father told me all about how you're taking private lessons with Lord Yikmo, so I thought I'd come and challenge you to a duel myself before we head to the market," Dorrien replied teasingly, sinking down onto the bench beside Sonea.
His attractively disheveled dark chestnut hair fell into his eyes, and the green Healer's robes hung on his wide shoulders well. He had always been a good looking young man, in a stocky kind of way.
Sonea grew melancholy at the mention of Rothen and failed to think up a witty response. "It wasn't my idea. Lord Yikmo is a great teacher, but I just don't see the point of Warrior Skills, to be honest. We're not at war."
She closed her book and tried to relax her posture. She had spent the entire day trying to be present enough not to draw attention. If she looked pained, it would only attract concern.
The young Healer chuckled. "Couldn't agree more. Self-important, the lot of them. They play at being knights while we do all the real work around here!"
Dorrien looked at her and smiled, bringing a weak smile to Sonea's face, too. He then sighed contentedly and leaned back on his hands, tilting his head towards the welcome sunshine after last night's thunderstorm.
Sonea couldn't help but look at him with both fondness and envy. Everything about Dorrien's movements and attitude spoke of a hale, happy, healthy life lived out in the country. His build, smile and outlook on life suggested hard work, early bedtimes, early mornings and hearty food. Uncomplicated. Free.
Will I ever be free? The thought constricted something in Sonea's chest and she looked away from Dorrien. The position of High Lord was held for life, and Akkarin was the youngest High Lord in centuries. How many more years – the Eye forbid, decades – would she have to keep silent under his blackmail?
His threat on pain of Rothen's life would hold, so long as Rothen was alive, Sonea supposed. And even graduating to full magician in two years and moving out of the residence wouldn't necessarily mean she could challenge him then. Akkarin was in his prime, and magicians had a long life span.
Dorrien seemed to have read something else in Sonea's gaze, however, and his boyish smile vanished. His eyes grew earnest and his face serious. He cleared his throat.
"Shall we head into town early? We could visit that flower stall in the Inner Circle. It's supposed to have some beautiful new specimens from Lonmar," he asked, smiling.
Sonea felt a million miles away from Dorrien's attentions, but she pulled her thoughts to him as best as she could. "Do you use flowers in your Healing herbs?"
Dorrien grew slightly pink. "Well, yes, sometimes. But I wanted to go so you could take your pick of something to brighten your room."
Sonea stalled by fiddling with a page in her book and looking around the Guild grounds. This was her favourite bench: far away enough from the main buildings for some peace and quiet, yet facing the University so she could keep an ear out for when the gong rang to signal breaks and classes. "I'm not sure, Dorrien… I only have permission to leave in the afternoon. It's not midday yet."
"Surely just an hour earlier would make no difference!" Dorrien waved a hand, still smiling.
The lightness with which he treated things arose a twinge of resentment in Sonea, but she pushed it aside. It wasn't fair to Dorrien. Last year, she too would not have been such a grim stickler for the rules. But rules in her world now had dire consequences he could never know about.
Suddenly, Sonea's breath hitched in her throat. Two figures emerged from the grand doors of the University: the unmistakeable black and blue robes of the High Lord and the Administrator. Akkarin and Lorlen were deep in conversation as they descended the steps and began walking across the lawn towards the Magician's Quarters.
Dorrien followed Sonea's gaze and a scowl passed across his face when she saw what she did. "I can't stand the thought of you forced to live with that man…" he whispered angrily.
At that moment, as if he had heard Dorrien from afar, the High Lord stopped and looked straight in their direction. Sonea's stomach flipped as their eyes seemed to lock. She knew they were too far away to hear, but that didn't matter.
This morning, she had forced herself to get up and go about her day so as not to draw the attention of her teachers. If they noticed she looked injured, Sonea knew that some of them who had sympathy for her may speak to Rothen out of concern that his ex-novice seemed to be struggling under her the weight of her new guardian's expectations. Rothen, of course, would immediately risk contacting Sonea to find out if Akkarin had done anything.
She didn't know why, but after she had received the High Lord's permission to go to town today – and his veiled threat, too – she had lain awake in bed, kept up by the turbulent events of the day and the ache in her back.
A strange pang of resentment bubbled up in her as she gazed at the square of lamplight from the gardens that fell across her ceiling. Akkarin had not even acknowledged that she had been hurt, or instructed her to go to the Healer's Quarters. Maybe he assumed she had healed herself completely when she managed to stand up after Regin's strike and follow him to Yikmo's class. She had healed the scrapes on her palms easily enough, but her shoulders still hurt where Regin had struck her.
Or maybe he would be only too glad to see Regin "accidentally" finish the job, she thought darkly. No; if murdering her for her power was his intent, Akkarin had had a whole month's worth of nights to stage an "accident".
She had heard the residence door shut softly just as she was about to drift off, and wondered if the High Lord had left for another dark deed in the city. Then she had risen and left the residence earlier than the High Lord, so as not to encounter him in the morning.
But as those cold, dark eyes locked onto Sonea's, she suddenly remembered his words from the previous day.
Do not assume everyone shares your sense of honour.
So he thought her honourable. Sonea frowned. Some praise, she scoffed mentally. To be thought honourable by, for all I know, a serial murderer.
Sonea emerged as if from a trance when she felt the tentative touch of Dorrien's hand on her own. In the distance, Akkarin turned back to the Administrator to resume their conversation, and she looked to Dorrien in surprise. He was gazing into her eyes with concern. "Are you alright, Sonea?"
"Y-yes, thank you," she replied shakily, quickly snatching her hand away from his. Then she stood up abruptly, clutching her book to her chest. "I'm sorry, Dorrien, but I really should wait until I'm allowed to leave. Why don't we have lunch in the University dining hall? That'll take us an hour. Then we can head to the flower stall first."
His eyes shone and he grinned, looking handsome in a boyish, windswept way. He stood up and threw the black-robed figure another angry glance before giving Sonea his arm. "Fine by me. I'm here another three days – we can deck out the entire residence like a garden by then. Just to annoy him."
Sonea rolled her eyes but couldn't help smile at the thought of the elegant, austere and masculine residence of the High Lord, all darkwood panelling and leather, suddenly getting bedecked with colourful flowers.
As they walked across the grounds in the direction of the University, she craned her neck to look around. The High Lord and the Administrator had now disappeared into the Magician's Quarters. She felt irritated with herself that she had even checked. It seemed like not a day in the Guild had gone by that she did not, in one way or another, calibrate her movements according to where that tall, dark and imposing man was. Whether that had been avoiding him during her first year as a novice, or the forced proximity of this past month.
And, against my will, he may be at the centre of many years of my life yet, Sonea thought. How could he not, with a life in a Guild under his leadership? Constantly watched, unable to even connect her mind with another magician's for learning?
The prospect made her chest feel constricted. Not with terror, not anymore, but with the anxiety of how lonely, how strained those years would we. She could not allow herself to form close attachments, friendly or otherwise.
What kind of a life was that? A life as his shadow. A hostage keeping up the illusion of a life of her own.
Sonea sighed and tried to focus her attention on what Dorrien was saying. He looked so animated, so warm. Sonea knew he cared for her: she wouldn't be surprised if he attempted to hold her hand once they were among the crowds in the market.
Maybe he would understand? Maybe he would think of a way to protect Rothen – get him out of the Guild and take him to his village on some excuse – leaving Sonea free to expose Akkarin with no risk to anyone but herself?
She sighed, knowing Dorrien would want to know the whole truth to understand why he was being asked to take Rothen away. She hadn't figured out how yet, but the High Lord had an uncanny ability to know people's intentions and secrets. It was too great a risk. The memory of Akkarin's whispered threat from the night before surfaced in her mind. Tread carefully.
"Ah, there's father! Let's go sit with him," Dorrien said as they entered the University dining hall and looked around for a seat. He waved at Rothen, who smiled back nervously to see Sonea with his son.
Sonea's heart lurched. She saw her own feelings reflected on Rothen's tired, anxious face. This all felt so innocent – lunch in public with Rothen and Dorrien, then a Freeday visit to market that she had permission for – but Sonea knew this could provoke the High Lord.
She slowly began to follow Dorrien towards Rothen's table, wringing her hands nervously. Surely the priority here was to make sure Dorrien didn't suspect anything? If Sonea suddenly refused to sit with his father, Dorrien definitely wouldn't let it go until he knew why. Besides, Akkarin never ate in the University dining hall except for Guild occasions.
"Hello, Rothen," she said softly, her smile a little too much like a grimace.
"Good to see you, Sonea. How have you been?" Rothen asked. Dorrien, thankfully oblivious to the wistful tone between his father and Sonea, took a seat and pulled the bread basket towards them. Sonea sat down next to him.
"Spending a little too much time on Warrior Skills for my liking. But I'm okay," she said, trying to inject some lightness into her tone. Tying her brown-black and now shoulder length hair up in a high bun to keep it away from her meal, she accepted the water a servant poured for her.
"We'll make a Healer of Sonea yet," Dorrien said, grinning. "If Warrior Skills tutoring doesn't put her off it for life, nothing will. And, if you don't mind me saying so father, Alchemy isn't the most useful thing in the wider world."
Rothen scoffed and rolled his eyes, but his cheeks wrinkled into smile lines. "Oh, excuse me, intrepid explorer. What would I know of the wider world? I was born and raised in Imardin – just like my son."
Sonea's heart dared to lift a little. I've missed this so much, she thought, smiling at Rothen as Dorrien launched into good-natured teasing about why Healing was the only serious subject.
She was laughing at one of Rothen's comebacks when the University dining hall went quiet for a half second, and she didn't notice why. But as the magicians' and novices' chatter rose to its usual hum again, Sonea glanced up towards the entrance doors and her hand froze while reaching for a fork.
Lady Vinara was standing at the doorway, her back turned to Sonea as she said something to the High Lord. Akkarin stood facing Sonea's direction, his arms crossed over his chest. The muscles of his pale neck were taut. But his dark eyes flickered over her, Rothen, and Dorrien in an inexpressive manner, as if bored. They then settled on Lady Vinara, and he nodded at intervals to whatever she was saying.
Sonea let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding. Strangely, she now realised she could tell apart several of Akkarin's facial expressions – as few as they were – and the neutral sweep of his brief gaze made her think, perhaps, he had not seen anything to concern him. He knew she was seeing Dorrien today. He probably wasn't surprised to see Rothen was with his son. It was inevitable, really, that we three would speak at some point today, Sonea tried to reassure herself. He allowed it. He allowed it last night. Didn't he? Her pulse quickened.
Lady Vinara was interrupted by Director Jerrik, and she nodded to the High Lord and followed the University Director towards the entrance foyer. Akkarin remained as he was at the entrance of the dining hall a second longer. His eyes found Sonea again.
The room felt like it swayed for a moment. Gone was the aloof disinterest with which his gaze had swept over the three of them just seconds ago when the Head of Healers was talking to him. Now his black eyes bored into Sonea's eyes, and Sonea's alone. The set of his brow and his lips were rigid with cold disapproval. Her breath hitched in her throat. But by the time she blinked, he had strode away from the dining hall in a flutter of black silk.
This was bad. This was very bad. There was no mistaking the displeasure she had read in his face for one fleeting moment. Or were her anxious thoughts making her read too much into things? Akkarin disapproving expression was his custom in most settings that involved loud novices. But he had looked directly at her.
She turned to face Rothen and Dorrien, seemingly attentive, but really too distracted to do anything except pretend to listen to their conversation. Akkarin's cool yet vicious gaze seemed to hold a cruel promise. A promise to later extract from Sonea's mind, whether by her will or not, every single exchange that had taken place in her day.