At the centre of the Inner Circle, the palace stood as a marvel of otherworldly architecture – but, of course, it had magicians to thank for its gravity-defying aspects. The palace was crafted from gleaming white marble that shimmered with a subtle opalescence in the moonlight, casting a spectral glow. As nervous as Sonea was at the daunting prospect of a palace banquet, she couldn't stop herself from sitting on the edge of her seat. She pressed her face up close to the window of the Guild carriage as they entered the outer gates.
Anivope vines, rose bushes and piorres trees, magically bearing fruit in the wrong season, lined the carriageway that led up to the inner gates of the palace. As the open double doors loomed ahead, Sonea cleared her throat and sat well back in her seat. She continued looking out of the window, acutely aware of the High Lord's black eyes on her.
This carriage is too small, Sonea thought in annoyance, checking yet again that her dark blue skirts were not touching Akkarin's tailored black trousers. They were sitting diagonal to each other as the carriage could just about accommodate four.
Sonea suddenly bit back a nervous laugh. As if you've been in many carriages! She scolded herself. She breathed slowly, going over some of the mind relaxation techniques she had first learned with Rothen when he was teaching her Control.
Her palms were sweaty. She was grateful to have resisted Viola's suggestion of calveskin gloves to complete the look. Sonea was already feeling too hot in the unfamiliar outfit, heavy compared to the freedom of novice's robes.
As for the choker of sapphires at her neck – Sonea swallowed, feeling her throat move the necklace slightly – it felt completely alien. Both constricting and luxurious, it somehow made her feel the nakedness of her neck, shoulders and collarbone. It was ice-cold when she had picked it out of Akkarin's hand in his study. Now, it was very warm, the precious stones having absorbed her body heat.
Knowing it was a Delvon family heirloom sent a strange frisson through her most intimate parts. Akkarin had been so indifferent when he made her wear it. As if he was letting her borrow a book from the residence's library.
He acted like it means nothing because it means nothing, she thought to herself firmly. He had come up with the only practical solution mere moments before they were due to leave for the palace.
And yet there it sat on her neck, looking resplendent like blue pools of water, but feeling heavy like a hand around her throat. Like his hand. As if he intended to present her to the most powerful people in Imardin with his own mark upon her skin.
The thought should have horrified her. But she felt her pulse quicken instead.
The carriage jerked to a halt, jolting Sonea out of her thoughts and into the present. The door opened and the driver held out his hand. She grasped it for balance and stepped out onto the gravel, followed by Akkarin's tall figure. Sonea couldn't help feeling uncomfortable when the driver gave them both a deep bow before leaping back to the seat of the carriage and urging the horses on.
Sonea decidedly avoided looking at the High Lord's dark, elegantly cloaked figure in the glow of the moonlight. She instead took a deep breath and looked up at the open double doors. Warm light and the faint sound of music and laughter spilled through. The doors were flanked by colossal stained glass windows depicting the landscapes of Kyralia – sea, meadow, and mountain.
"Stay a pace behind me. When we enter their Majesties' presence, go down on one knee. As the High Lord's novice, you need not bow to anyone else in the room, except if there are any other magicians there tonight," Akkarin murmured.
Sonea tore her eyes away from the stained glass windows to meet his intense, dark gaze for the first time since leaving the residence. She was relieved to find no anger there. But there was a strange set to his mouth and eyebrows. Was Akkarin actually… hesitating?
She swallowed and nodded, picking up her skirts. "Viola gave me some tips, High Lord. For conversation and the like."
The corner of the High Lord's lips curled up into a small smile. "I see. So I assume you need no help from me?"
She felt caught off-guard. "No – I mean, no, I welcome your advice. You know them, after all."
Akkarin's half-smile grew a little more strained. "Be as respectful, and as guarded, as you would be when talking to Thieves. Except, perhaps, more superficial in your choice of topic," he said.
She nodded, holding back the urge to smile at the subtle insult in Akkarin's words. As turbulent as the past months living together had been, she was beginning to pick up on the High Lord's distaste for the rules of the Houses.
Those are not the only rules he cares little for, a voice in her head reminded her. She tried not to let her thoughts wander to the memory of his lips on her breasts, to how the fire of the study had warmed her naked body. In the rare moments where Akkarin seemed to be in a good mood, her desire would expel the half-remembered fear from her mind.
Sonea looked at his black-cloaked shoulders ahead of her as she followed her guardian up the marble steps, through the double doors, and through another set of splendidly carved inner doors that led to a large, glittering hall. Am I forgiven? Or is his mood nothing to do with me? she wondered, as a footman came to take their cloaks off their hands.
The air inside was perfumed with the scent of orange blossom. Sonea resorted to Rothen's mind-calming technique again when she saw all the heads turn towards them.
"Akkarin of Delvon, of House Velan, High Lord of the Magician's Guild. The High Lord's novice, Sonea," announced an elaborately dressed servant from the doorway. Her lack of family or House name hung like a pronounced silence. It is strange to be presented at court with my only description being… well, ironically, allegiance to my captor, Sonea thought.
An opulently dressed man and woman with crowns on their heads disentangled themselves from the crowd, and everyone seemed to part reverently to allow them a route to Akkarin and Sonea.
The High Lord cleared his throat quietly, and she realised he was going down on one knee. Sonea hurriedly followed suit, keeping her head bowed.
"Ah, High Lord. Good of you not to disappoint us!" King Merin said somewhere above her.
Sonea was startled to hear a voice that sounded more youthful than she had expected. Or perhaps Akkarin's gravitas made many others sound somehow less mature.
Then her breathing quickened as she saw a purple silk hem, sewn with pearls, float into her line of vision across the floor. Cold, slim fingers came down and grasped Sonea's chin softly, tilting her face up. Her black eyes grew wide as she looked into the face of the woman.
Queen Berria had small, chestnut-brown eyes and dark brown hair. Her lips were unattractively thin, made all the more severe by the mix of disdain and curiosity in her gaze. Her every gesture suggested a lifetime of being obeyed, though she looked no more than a decade older than Sonea. Her mother-of-pearl earrings and a matching necklace transfixed Sonea momentarily with their iridescence.
"Smaller than we thought, isn't she, dearest?" Berria addressed the King, her voice rather girlish. "How many winters have you seen, girl?"
Sonea resisted the urge to jerk her chin out of her grasp, and remained awkwardly on one knee, face up. "The one just past was my twentieth, your majesty."
Berria tutted in surprise, letting go of Sonea's chin. "Goodness, and unwed?" Her brown eyes grew condescending. "Is she too sickly for childbearing?" She asked Akkarin. Sonea glanced sideways to see that the tight set of Akkarin's jaw betrayed, ever so slightly, his irritation.
She said felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment at such a strange, personal question. But Viola had warned her that the King and Queen had the privilege of ignoring the rules of decorum.
"All of our novices are declared sound in mind and body before their Acceptance Ceremony, Your Majesty," Akkarin replied. On the surface, his tone sounded polite and carefully articulate; Sonea, however, wondered if she was detecting just a hint of derision in it.
"Hmph," the Queen acknowledged, then spun on her heels, the pearls along her hem tinkling.
"Rise, Akkarin. Enjoy the evening!" Merin said jovially, and Akkarin nodded respectfully before standing up to his full height. Sonea followed suit, resisting the urge to rub her sore knee.
Her heart suddenly seemed to skip a beat when she felt the firm pressure of Akkarin's hand clamp around her silk-clad upper arm like a talon. He steered her away from the centre of the room and towards the edge.
Sonea had to walk quickly to keep up, frowning at his move. She already felt like one of her nephew's toys in this dress; she didn't need to be dragged here and there to add insult to injury. A few courtiers noticed with interest, which embarrassed Sonea all the more.
The High Lord picked up a glass of wine with bubbles in it from one of the many footmen standing by the walls and offered it. Sonea had never seen a drink like this before. She looked at her guardian's black eyes warily but accepted it.
"Hold it but do not drink it," he murmured in a low, authoritative voice. "I can't have your tongue loosened."
Sonea scoffed quietly and took a tiny sip to try it. Akkarin raised an eyebrow at her small rebellion, but said nothing. She held his black eyes, then whispered, "What was that about?"
Akkarin helped himself to an identical glass from the footman. "Queen Berria has only three interests: dogs, card games, and getting the girls of the Houses wedded and bedded young," he muttered contemptuously.
Sonea's eyes widened as she casually glanced over her shoulder to observe the Queen. Berria was, sure enough, surrounded by courtiers at one of the elegant card tables in the cavernous ballroom.
"Surely I'm not…?" She asked.
"You are probably exempt from her efforts, but not for admirable reasons." Akkarin frowned. "I cannot stay by your side all evening: you will have to be on your guard, Sonea. You have no grasp of the politics in this room. Your weaknesses – that is, your origins – will be used against you…"
"I expected something like that," Sonea muttered, subdued. He doesn't have to remind me how out of my depth I am.
"So will your… assets," the High Lord said quietly, his eyes lingering on her small waist, cinched unnaturally tight by the dress. Sonea quickly took a large sip of the bubbly wine to ease the lump that seemed to stick in her throat, then coughed.
"But clearly you know this, as you pay my warnings no need," Akkarin said sardonically, black eyes boring into hers.
"Sorry, High Lord." Sonea's colour rose and she lowered the glass, vowing silently not to drink any more of it.
Akkarin snorted softly and looked around the room just in time to see King Merin beckon him.
"Stay here – I will be back. The King requires my presence," he muttered, then elegantly strode through the crowd like a black raven. Sonea noticed more than one pair of eyes, male and female, follow Akkarin's progress across the room.
She suddenly felt very alone and awkward. Everyone was standing in small groups already, talking. Sonea could not recognise any magicians in the crowd, though the lack of robes for this occasion did not help. She craned her neck and saw one group of richly dressed guests who looked quite young, perhaps the age of second-year Guild novices. They were certainly behaving in a way that reminded Sonea of novices.
She turned her back to the room and looked up at the walls, starting to study some of the paintings instead. Absentmindedly sipping away at her drink, she jumped slightly when she suddenly heard a pleasant, melodic voice right behind her.
"Which is your favourite?"
Sonea spun around and found herself looking at an attractive woman who was smiling at her, black eyes glinting with a hint of mischief.
We look so alike! Sonea thought. She was short - roughly her own height - and slim. Her black hair was braided and piled atop her head elegantly. Her deep red silk dress was one of the bolder choices in the room, but it complemented her pale skin and dark eyebrows. Her confident posture and sharper cheekbones suggested she may be older.
"I - I'm not sure, my Lady," Sonea said with an apologetic smile. "But this one is beautiful – it reminds me of the sky at dawn over the Guild gardens."
The lady peered at the painting Sonea mentioned. "Ah, one of Master Dojen's landscapes. My governess used to sit me down and force me to try and replicate some of his scenes," she grimaced good-naturedly. "I am Isabel. Family Dunwell, House Bevan."
Sonea inclined her head politely. "Pleased to meet you, my Lady. I am Sonea, the High Lord's novice."
"I know," Lady Isabel smiled conspiratorially. "I have only just arrived, and already been filled by other guests about how young and pretty the so-called 'rogue magician' is." Her tone seemed genuine and well humoured.
Sonea grimaced. "It looks like I'll never shake off that label."
Lady Isabel waved a petite hand, gloved in black lace, dismissively. "Oh, labelling others is the main sport of everyone on this room, sweetheart. None of us escape it. A thick skin is the only way to go about it." One dark eyebrow raised. "I suspect you and I may have that in common. If you've already survived this long in the Guild."
With a half-smile, Sonea raised her glass in acknowledgement. "You are very perceptive, my Lady."
"That she is," said a cold, deep voice from behind them.
Sonea knew Akkarin was back before she even turned around. But she did not expect the expression on his face. His brows were lowered and the beginnings of a scowl were at his lips.
"High Lord, this is Lady Isabel of Dunwell, of House Bevan." Sonea said, quite relieved to have remembered the full title. She looked between the two warily. They were staring at each other with unconcealed dismay.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Isabel," Akkarin said silkily, strangely emphasising her name.
Lady Isabel's black eyes were still wide with shock, but she inclined her head politely. "The pleasure is all mine."
Increasingly uncomfortable, Sonea took her chance when she saw a footman carry out a tray of small tartlets. "Excuse me, I'm just going to get one of these," she said.
They certainly look like they know each other already, Sonea thought as she moved away. Her stomach knotted uncomfortably at the thought, for some reason.
—-
"The High Lord of the Magician's Guild?" She hissed quietly, pretending to be examining the paintings on the wall.
Akkarin breathed steadily through his nose to calm his thoughts. Heading back to find Sonea after his conversation with Merin, his blood had run cold to see, of all people, Kiera standing there talking to his novice.
Theoretically, Akkarin had known that running into each other at a social event was possible, given she was highborn. But there were thousands of members of the Kyralian aristocracy, and over fifty Houses. If this unlikely meeting were to happen, Akkarin had thought, at least it would be outside of the Guild. And it certainly would not be in the presence of his novice.
"I could ask you the same, Lady Isabel. Or was it Kiera?" he muttered under his breath. "And of Bevan, too. You do play with fire, don't you?" He asked. Illustrious and ancient, House Bevan was Queen Berria's House.
She snorted softly, taking a big gulp of her wine. "Playing with fire? No, taking you on as a client was playing with fire. More so than I knew. A magician. And not just any magician!" Her pale bosom was rising and falling rapidly above her red silk.
This is the last thing I need, he thought. Akkarin's eyes flashed with anger and he quickly looked around the room to check where Sonea was. When he spotted her dark blue figure with a group of young courtiers, he turned his attention back to the problem at hand.
"Well, seeing as our… association is ended, you can rest easy," he said contemptuously. "But see to it that you stay away from my novice."
Isabel looked up at him equally coldly. "There is only one place where you can tell me what to do, High Lord, and it requires a hefty sum."
Inconveniently enough, Akkarin felt both his temper and his sexual appetite piqued by this dangerous little repartee. "I left quietly when asked last time, even though no one in that room could have overpowered me. But I take no pleasure in an unwilling woman, as you know," Akkarin murmured.
Then he stepped up close, towering over Isabel's defiant face. "But even my novice does not dare test my patience – and she, unlike you, is a strong magician," he added softly.
"Magician or not, I pity anyone who has to daily endure your temperament," she spat quietly.
Akkarin gave her a humourless smile. "I seem to recall you liked my temperament well enough when you were under me," he said.
"I am good at the artifice my profession requires," she hissed back. For all her defiance, there seemed to be an undercurrent of hurt in her voice.
The High Lord scowled and cast about for a footman, leaving his empty wineglass on the tray. This is getting nowhere, he thought. The only purpose of this evening is to get Sonea through her first court appearance, not to settle scores with Kiera – Lady Isabel.
At that moment, he saw Sonea walking back towards them, her second glass of wine in her hand. Akkarin's scowl deepened. Does everything I say fall on deaf ears?
"Apologies, High Lord, my Lady. I was diverted," Sonea said, her black eyes glittering a little from the effects of drink.
Lady Isabel shot Akkarin a chilly look. "Not at all, Sonea. I was just leaving." She held her eyes with an earnest, serious gaze that Sonea couldn't quite understand. "Remember what I said about having a thick skin. But know also that you need not endure everything." Her eyes flickered up to Akkarin then back to her.
"I will remember, my Lady. Thank you," Sonea replied, confused.
Lady Isabel nodded curtly and walked away in a swish of silk.
"She's nice. I'd have liked to get to know her better," Sonea said, looking after her. "The group of young Lords and Ladies I was speaking to just then only wanted to know if we eat dogs in the slums, and whether anyone I knew had been murdered," she added morosely. "They think the murderer in the city must be a dwell. I said it can't possibly be a dwell, the Thieves would have found him already if he were…"
"That's quite enough wine for you," Akkarin interrupted.
This evening is on a knife's edge, he thought darkly. First Kiera, and now talk of the murders… But he schooled his expression into indifference.
Sonea's frowned self-consciously and looked down with her long, black lashes. "Don't worry. I didn't say anything about you," she mumbled.
"See that you don't," Akkarin said, his voice laced with warning.
"Your Majesties, my Lords, my Ladies. The Banquet Room awaits your pleasure," boomed a voice across the ballroom, followed by the sound of a gentle gong.
"Come along," the High Lord snapped. Sonea fell into step behind her guardian.
She felt her face heat as she realised the courtiers parted to let them through. For all of his dark and unpredictable attitude, Akkarin had grown familiar to her. It was strange to suddenly realise, after so many months in each other's company, that he was second in status only to the King in this realm. And second-to-none, of course, in his magical power.
Her hand flew absentmindedly to the sapphire choker at her neck, feeling a frisson run through her once again. She suddenly did not want to leave his side at any point in the evening.