After that night that changed everything, Sonea had stuggled to get up and go about her day so as not to draw the attention of her teachers. If they noticed she looked as distracted as she felt, 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 new guardian's expectations.
Rothen, of course, would immediately risk trying to contact Sonea to find out if Akkarin had done anything.
She had kept her bedroom door unlocked, as instructed. The High Lord had appeared in her doorway the second night, a black-robed figure framed by the darkness of her room.
He had taken her silently, quickly, and roughly, pressing Sonea's face into her pillow with an iron grip on the back of her neck. Gasping for air as he slammed into her, feeling utterly immobile and helpless, she had felt waves of pleasure wash over her. Even as she ached somewhat painfully with the new sensation of being penetrated.
She was powerless – quite literally, given he far outstripped her magical strength. But somehow she knew her powerlessness was also quite voluntary. After all, had she not said no, at first? And then finally plucked up the courage to invite him back?
To yield; it was such an alien thing to Sonea. Watch your back. Think twice. You don't ask, you don't get. These and similar sayings had been drilled into her from a young age. She had been told, and seen from experience, that life was a fight. A race; a struggle. If you were weak, you had to find your strengths quickly. If you were strong, you had to hone it with skill. Be heedless for a moment, and life could have you by the throat.
But in the privacy of the High Lord's residence, within the darkness that enveloped them both, all of that could fall away. She was not expected to control anything, to anticipate anything. All she had to do was yield to the commanding presence of this aloof yet sometimes passionate, dangerous yet sometimes protective, magician.
It felt strangely welcome to set aside the vigilance of her day, with the constant calculation Sonea had to do to stay one step ahead Regin and his minions.
On that second night, the High Lord had not been in the residence when Sonea came back from her last class. Her stomach was doing summersaults in anticipation of a repeat of the previous night. But it was hours after dinnertime when she heard him arrive and come up to his bedroom. There, Sonea heard him wash as he spoke low instructions to Takan that she couldn't decipher.
She had lain awake in bed, looking up at the ceiling and trying to keep her breathing steady. Finally hearing his soft footsteps on the landing and feeling the draught as her door opened silently, Sonea had seen a mixture of hunger and adrenaline in those black eyes of his.
What has he just been doing? Has he been in the Guild, or in the city? For a split second, Sonea could swear Akkarin seemed to pulse with an inordinate amount of magical power. Then his aura was masked expertly – like a cloud had blocked the blinding sunlight that one knew was still behind it.
But before Sonea could puzzle out this shift in his magical strength, he had glided towards her bed like a raven and descended upon her waiting lips.
The High Lord barely spoke to her, unlike their first coupling the night before. He had rolled her over so that she was face-down on the bed, and he relentlessly mounted her from behind.
Her backside rising up of its own accord, seeking to meet his thrusts, Sonea grew hot and red-faced as she was pinned into the bed again and again. Moaning softly, she knew she was somehow aroused by this imperious disregard and rough use. His previous words echoes in her mind.
You are the High Lord's novice in every way. I will take my pleasure from you as often as I wish.
That is exactly what his self-assured cold-bloodedness on the second night seemed to say. That he had paid especial attention during their first night together to accommodate her lack of experience, but that she had ultimately agreed to surrender to his will. That may sometimes mean a night of drawn-out, mutual pleasure, and sometimes mean being treated like a mere object for his own satisfaction.
Akkarin held the back of Sonea's slim neck with one hand, his vice-like grip pushing her face down into her pillow until she struggled to breathe. Then she had felt him loosen his hold when she coughed, and his hands drifted down her naked back instead, sending shivers down her spine. His cold, strong hands grasped her buttocks and he spread her wide so he could bury himself into her easily.
Sonea whimpered in pleasure at the exposure, now burying her face into her pillow herself. She ground her hips into the bed everytime her guardian's weight descended upon her, the friction working her up towards spasms and shivers.
Spilling deep into her with a heavy exhale, Akkarin pushed himself off his novice's sweat-drenched and trembling body. While rearranging his black robes, his breathing eventually slowed to a more even, quiet rhythm.
When she heard the quiet click of her bedroom door shut, Sonea turned over onto her back in surprise. He had walked out of the room without so much as a glance at her face.
Alone, her own chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of their pleasure, she shivered again in how thoroughly used, yet sated, she felt.
The next night, she lay awake in bed, restless with a combination of need and anticipation. Akkarin hadn't come. Nor the next night, nor the next. She had instead heard the residence door open and shut well past midnight, and his near-silent footsteps had bypassed her room and headed down the corridor to his own bedroom.
It was its own kind of sweet agony.
Now that she had finally given in to the arrangement he had proposed, Sonea found herself wanting more. What exactly were those "aspects of his tastes" that he had warned her about?
The High Lord had said she wasn't ready for them. Lady Isabel had warned her away.
Sonea looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling, stretching in the warm softness of her bed. People from the Houses really didn't know just how much of life dwells either witnessed or heard about by the time they were young adults. She knew there were as many different kinds of intimate preferences out there as there were colours of the sea.
The High Lord did often appreciate how Sonea's background made her see the world differently, she recalled. But even he may assume she would scare easily.
Having read her mind and seen almost no experience with boys and men there, he wouldn't be wrong to think so, Sonea supposed. But what his pragmatic mind-read hadn't bothered delving into was her imagination.
She rolled herself up tight in her bedcovers, smiling as she remembered the heated dream her mind had conjured the night before the Midwinter Meet, now many weeks ago. People really did keep underestimating her.
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"I really don't see why we couldn't have met in my rooms."
The High Lord raised a dark eyebrow. "Don't you think it would look strange if the Administrator suddenly stopped visiting the High Lord's residence? What tale will you spin in the Night Room, Lorlen?"
Lorlen looked around at the darkwood panelling in the High Lord's study. Usually, he found this a cosy room, ideal for a drink and a conversation between men. Tonight, the darkwood felt oppressive, and the dense, aromatic smoke rising from the cigar between Akkarin's long fingers only added to the feeling of discomfort that sat in the pit of his stomach. When he had resolved to keep closer tabs on Akkarin, he had been thinking of more public settings.
"It has been too long since you paid me a social visit at the residence. A month, in fact. Already there are rumours of a rift between us – the High Lord and Administrator, close friends no more – and these rumours are drawing unnecessary attention. Not to mention that more than one ambitious magician has approached me with not-so-subtle hints that they thought themselves well-qualified for Administratorship," Akkarin said with a quiet snort of derision.
"So the vultures are circling already?" Lorlen scoffed and took a large gulp of his wine. He felt some of his discomfort turn into irritation. "I am the youngest Administrator in a century – do they really think they can instigate a coup?"
Akkarin's lips curled into a smile at the corner. "I disabused them of their hopes swiftly. I can't imagine anyone could do a better job." His smile vanished and he held Lorlen's gaze steadily. "I mean that, Lorlen," he murmured, his low voice taking on a more open quality than usual. "If there had been another way, I would have avoided… this."
Lorlen's hazel eyes burned reproachfully, but the wind felt like it had left his sails. He was tired of wracking his brains for a way out of this, then looping back to his own helpless silence, then back yet again to a string of what-ifs…
"Do you have anything stronger than this?" Lorlen asked, holding up his empty glass of Anuren Dark.
Akkarin's smile returned and he sat back, taking a leisurely drag on his cigar. "Of course."
Not a minute later, Takan entered with a tray bearing a crystal bottle of golden-brown liquid and two glasses.
"A vintage Kyralian spirit. It's called kanyak," Akkarin raised his glass in a toast.
Lorlen absentmindedly returned the toast, even though he felt an inexplicable wave of guilt as he did so. There was simply something comforting about spending one evening as if this nightmare had never happened. But the surface normalcy of all this seemed to add to the pain of knowing there was no easy companionship in this room. No matter how much it may look otherwise.
He sighed and took a sip, trying to push these conflicting thoughts away for now. The liquid warmed his insides and felt clean and flavoursome. He took another sip appreciatively.
They sat for a while in what may have seemed to an outside observer like comfortable silence. But Akkarin was watching Lorlen keenly, trying to assess what was bothering his former best friend. He sent out his magical senses into the blood gem to graze Lorlen's thoughts, but met with vague and piecemeal faces, emotions and names.
Akkarin's dark eyes reflected the amber flames of the fireplace as they narrowed in concentration. Lorlen has either deciphered how the ring works – rather unlikely – or he himself isn't quite sure of whatever his suspicions are, he thought.
A gentle knock at the door interrupted his search, and he withdrew his presence from Lorlen's ring without detection. The door opened slowly and Akkarin's lip curled into that ever somewhat sardonic half-smile of his. "Ah. Good evening, Sonea."
"Good evening, High Lord, Administrator," Sonea replied obediently, bowing to both men. She was in an informal, sage green dress rather than her brown novice's robes, as it was well past dinnertime. Her dark hair was up in that practical knot she favoured when studying. Lorlen's gaze, emboldened by drink, lingered appreciately on what was usually hidden by billowing robes.
"Come in," Akkarin said, beckoning with a pale hand.
As the High Lord's gaze flickered to the ink stains on her small, delicate fingertips, he felt an unexpected bout of arousal pulse through his limbs. My studious little novice, he smiled inwardly. It had been three nights since he had felt that delectable body squirm under him… That was three nights too many. Perhaps I should pay her a visit at her desk later to see how she is getting on with her work…
Akkarin's eyes narrowed and he realised he had been looking at Sonea intently as his mind had wandered off into these pleasant pursuits. Her cheeks coloured as she lowered her gaze from the High Lord's, and looked firmly down at the carpet instead.
He suppressed the urge to chuckle. How he had come to enjoy Sonea's little contradictions. Not too long ago, she had given testimony against Lord Fergun in front of the whole Guild, and performed the guardianship ritual to open the Midwinter Meet. She had invited him to touch her, claim her; she had taken him in her mouth on her knees. But she still struggled to make eye contact with her guardian in the company of others.
"I am sorry to disturb you both. I left my book here earlier this evening," Sonea explained quietly to the floor.
Akkarin took a drag from his cigar and elegantly removed the ash in a crystal bowl on the side table. "Well then, retrieve it by all means, Sonea," he drawled, "but do not neglect sleep. One unfinished assignment is not ideal; however, losing a day's worth of lessons to weariness is unacceptable."
Lorlen frowned, wishing Akkarin would let up a little. Between Regin's antics and being held hostage just as he was, the Administrator knew Sonea was struggling. He still remembered the look of exhaustion and resignation on her face when he had found her in the University a few weeks ago, almost drained of power after her Warrior Skills practical. Did Akkarin have to pile on the weight of his expectations?
Lorlen looked up into Sonea's face as she quickly picked up a slim volume that had been left above the mantlepiece, giving her a reassuring smile.
The Administrator was completely thrown by the expression he encountered on the novice's face. So much so that he wondered, in the next moment, whether he had imagined it.
Sonea smirked for a split second, as if she found Akkarin's chastisement amusing. Then she schooled her expression quickly into one of polite obedience. But Lorlen could swear her jet black eyes still positively shone. Or was in the light of the fireplace?
She returned to the doorway, clutching her book to her chest. Sonea's bow was entirely proper, and neither she nor Akkarin looked at each other as he waved an elegant hand in bored dismissal. "Goodnight, Sonea."
"Goodnight, High Lord, Administrator."
"Goodnight," Lorlen echoed quietly. Akkarin noticed Lorlen's thoughtful gaze lingered on the door long after Sonea's soft footsteps had disappeared beyond earshot. Like he was trying to figure out some puzzle.
"Is there something on your mind you wish to share?" The High Lord asked, deceptively mildly. He sent out a tendril of magic to shut the study door.
Lorlen looked disconcerted, like he had been yanked out of his train of thought.
"What? No, nothing in particular," he said, hurriedly taking another sip of his kanyak.
Akkarin looked at him, his eyes burning with intensity. He set aside his glass and slowly leaned back, crossing his legs and resting his black-robed arms on either of his armrests. There was something – a concern, a suspicion, a thought? – that his old friend was hiding from him, the High Lord knew. Under these circumstances, he could not let it go unexamined. Each secret, he had to assume, could be one related to his survival: to whether or not his black magic would remain concealed.
Perhaps he can be… encourged to share if he thinks me capable of finding out anyway, Akkarin thought.
"Don't make me use the ring, Lorlen. As much as you think me a monster, I could, had I wanted, seen much, much more than I have already learned," the High Lord said quietly, taking a sip of his drink and watching the Administrator through narrowed eyes.
Lorlen went a little pale. "I don't know what you are talking about," he replied unconvincingly.
Akkarin sighed. I would have preferred another way, but it can't be helped, he mused.
"Oh I think you do, Administrator," he crooned, allowing Lorlen to fidget in discomfort. "I can sense much through the ring. You are, for example, still quite agitated because of a letter you received earlier today: your sister is betrothed to a man you do not approve of. But you cannot tell your mother this without revealing you know the gentleman in question from the card table – a habit she detests." Akkarin noted that Lorlen's eyes flickered down to the glass in his hand, the tight set of his friend's mouth confirming these observations. He continued: "You resent your workload this week; you think that I get undue credit for leading the Guild when it is you who must deal with most of its burdens."
Lorlen's eyes flickered up to his reproachfully. The High Lord threw one more in for good measure. "You also appreciated my novice's evening attire a little too much, just then."
The Administrator's colour rose, and he coughed into his crystal glass.
"It's quite alright," Akkarin said, amused. "You are a man, however much you have tried to bury yourself under paper these past few years."
"If you must know," Lorlen hissed quietly, "I am concerned that… that you have somehow convinced Sonea of your innocence. Recruited her, shall we say."
Akkarin's eyebrow rose and he placed his half-finished cigar aside carefully. "Recruited her? Whatever for?"
"For whatever you are planning with your black magic," Lorlen said indignantly, his voice growing low and quiet as he spat the latter two words. "All I know is that she had gone from quite obviously hating you to… to defending you to others."
The slight curl returned to the High Lord's lip and he sat back leisurely in his armchair. "Defending me? Indeed?" His murmur grew very quiet, as if he was speaking aloud to himself rather than to the Administrator.
"Not to mention," Lorlen continued, now increasingly riled, "your behaviour around one another has changed."
Akkarin's gaze sharpened and his dark eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"You are less severe, and she less anxious. It would take someone who spends time in the presence of you both to notice – which is probably why I'm alone in my suspicions," Lorlen concluded.
The drink certainly has loosened his tongue, Akkarin thought. The High Lord rested his chin on his fingers. His mood darkened and his thoughts whirled.
To all the world, he looked as if he was nonchalantly considering the far-fetched thing that his former friend had just said. Inside, however, he was shrewdly and coldly calculating between two courses of action. He could sense through the ring that denial was what Lorlen expected. He expected him to say nothing had changed between him and his hostage, his novice. But Akkarin could also sense that Lorlen was ready not to believe this, and resolved to watch their interactions closely in future.
Denying and dismissing his suspicions was one option, certainly. Let him assume what he will, so long as Akkarin was careful not to present him with any evidence. He may yet hold his tongue about his suspicions for the same reason the High Lord's blackmail had worked so far.
Alternatively…
Akkarin's mouth twitched into a half-smile as he looked at his former friend, recalling the interesting – and wholly unconscious – flicker of titillation he had sensed earlier through the blood gem when Lorlen's eyes had drifted to his novice.
He took a last drag of his cigar and stubbed it out, still watching Lorlen with unnerving intensity. Maybe complicity is a better deterrent than blackmail, the High Lord pondered.
"I do wish my life was half as exciting as your imagination, Administrator," Akkarin finally replied dryly.
Lorlen frowned, looking unconvinced. But he cleared his throat in resignation. "It is late," he finally said, uncomfortably.
Akkarin's eyes grew unfocused on the distance as he mentally instructed Takan to bring the Administrator's cloak. Then his gaze returned to Lorlen, his expression deceptively amenable. "So it is. Thank you for your visit, Administrator," he said.
Hearing the dismissal, Lorlen set aside his empty glass and rose, exhaustion hitting him almost immediately. He inclined his head to Akkarin, drawing a raised eyebrow from him at the unnecessary formality. But the High Lord said nothing and rose to accompany him out of the study.
When the residence door shut and magically locked behind the Administrator, Akkarin turned to Takan, who was silently waiting in the shadows.
"Well. I fear he will turn against me soon, for one reason or another," Akkarin murmured to his servant as he walked towards the dark staircase.
"What will you do, master?" Takan whispered in concern, hovering behind as the High Lord began to climb up.
Akkarin paused on the stairs and looked back down at his servant's wide, amber eyes with a practiced, impassive face. "I will have to raise the stakes," he stated coolly.
If Takan disapproved, he said nothing – though a flicker of reproach did cross his eyes.
Only he knew how much it had meant to his master to pick up his friendship with the Administrator upon returning from Sachaka six years ago. And only he knew that, while ensuring Rothen and Sonea's silence had taken its toll, blackmailing Lorlen is what had truly darkened his master's self-regard.
With a shallow bow, Takan turned and made towards the kitchen staircase at the other end of the foyer.
Akkarin watched him go through the darkness for a moment, allowing himself an almost imperceptible sigh. Then he straightened to his full height and drew back his shoulders, once again embodying the unmoved, powerful High Lord. As he reached the upper floor's landing and saw the thin strip of light under Sonea's door, he felt anticipation thrum in his veins.
Pushing the events of the night to the corner of his mind, he silently opened the door without knocking.