Author's note: It's all coming out! One more chapter to go after this one (and I promise confessions will occur, alongside one last bit of smut, too). Thank you for your patience with me, and with Akkarin's chronic denial. As always, grateful for and motivated by the comments on every chapter.

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As Rothen waited for the last of his pupils to leave, he looked out of the window. Longer, warmer days were turning the gardens into a labyrinth of green. Even the gray High Lord's Residence looked welcoming in the bright afternoon light.

While he watched, the door to the residence opened. He felt his heart skip as Sonea stepped out.

Then a taller figure emerged, and Rothen felt his entire body tense. The folds of Akkarin's black robes were almost gray in the bright sunlight. The High Lord turned to Sonea and spoke. Her lips curled up into a small smile.

Then the pair straightened and started towards the University together, their expressions sober again.

Rothen turned away from the window. He was alone in the classroom now, and allowed himself to sink down in one of the rows of student chairs.

She had smiled at Akkarin. And it had not been a polite, forced smile. It had been one of those rare, unguarded smiles Rothen had seen Sonea give a handful of times. He had not seen it since he had snuck her friend Cery into his own sitting room in the Magician's Quarters, back when he was trying to win her trust over to the Guild.

I'm just seeing that which I most fear because it's what I'm always watching for, Rothen thought. But he couldn't help a sinking feeling in his stomach. Dannyl's assurances had done nothing to ease Rothen's belief that Akkarin had somehow… recruited… Sonea.

The Alchemist grimaced to himself. He knew that the word his mind had jumped to first just then was 'seduced'. Perhaps not… not in the full, literal sense – the Eye forbid, Rothen thought – but maybe Akkarin had encouraged some girlish infatuation on Sonea's part to keep her under control.

Perhaps Dannyl's observations about the Administrator and the High Lord's disagreement had been about this. Maybe Lorlen had stumbled upon some confirmation of his fears, and had called out Akkarin on it just before Dannyl had arrived. The Ambassador had sounded very convinced that he had walked in on some problem involving Sonea.

"Lord Rothen?"

His blood froze at the deep, quiet voice that reached him from the entrance of his classroom.

Rothen's heart leapt. He quickly stood up, inclining his head politely at the black-robed magician. How had he come here? As if summoned by thoughts…

The Alchemist tried to calm his mind by reminding himself that he had just seen him and Sonea walk towards the University. He had obviously dawdled too long in this classroom.

"High Lord. Good afternoon."

Akkarin looked as composed and intimidating as ever, even in the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. He silently glided into the classroom and the door shut by magic behind him. Rothen swallowed.

"Please, do not get up," the High Lord said silkily, gesturing with a pale hand.

Rothen stayed standing, watching him warily now that the initial shock had passed.

"Quite the interesting lesson, I see," Akkarin continued, nodding towards the complicated set-up of vials, clear liquids and flame-holders that cluttered the desk at the front of the classrooms. "Truth serums, if I recall my Alchemy?"

If he thinks I have forgotten for one minute that I am a hostage… Rothen thought angrily. Did Akkarin believe polite small talk would change that?

Rothen nodded. "Yes. Although that is a misnomer."

Akkarin drifted towards the table and ran a long finger along the outside of a spherical vial filled with clear liquid, his gaze calculating. "I quite agree. They compel one to babble away every thought that occurs to them, rather than answer direct questions truthfully."

The High Lord turned away from the experiment set-up and took a few steps towards Rothen, his dark eyes boring into the Alchemist's nervous blue ones. "An ambiguous quality, honesty."

Rothen eyed him tensely. "On the contrary. Truth is an unambiguous thing."

Akkarin raised a dark eyebrow. "The hunter and the hunted both have their story of the chase. Are both not true, from the perspective of each?"

The Alchemist said nothing, but his mouth set in a thin line of disapproval.

The High Lord's black sleeve billowed silently as he lazily gestured to the experiment in front of him. "Regardless. I have always thought truth serums of little use, given mind-reading is a much more… efficient… alternative," he said, his voice dropping a little lower.

Rothen felt a chill sweep through him, but none of the windows were open. He resisted the urge to take a step back. Was this another threat? Akkarin had already invaded his mind, more than a year ago. Did he suspect his conversations with Dannyl? Was that what he was subtly hinting at?

He cleared his throat and managed to answer in an even voice. "Well, y-yes. These serums are meant to be used in conjunction with elixirs for calm and focus."

Akkarin took another slight step forward, enough to make Rothen have to look up at the taller man.

"Like I said," he murmured smoothly, "Rather inefficient. Compared to the… simple elegance of a thorough mind-read."

Rothen inhaled heavily in and out of his nostrils, standing still. He tried to look calm on the outside, but on the inside, all he could think about was how frightening and intrusive it had felt to be mind-read by the High Lord. No visualisations. No room in his mind with a door. No one to invite inside. Something had simply slipped in: something with no emotional presence.

When Akkarin's dark eyes narrowed and he continued to look at him thoughtfully, Rothen's nerve faltered. Was it about to happen again? Surely not in a classroom in the University?

Why not, said a voice in his head. He last did it to you in your own rooms in the Magician's Quarters, in the middle of the day.

"You have been talking, Lord Rothen," Akkarin crooned.

Rothen curled his hands into fists to stop an involuntary tremble. "I'm not sure what you mean, High Lord."

Akkarin's thoughtful expression turned ominous. He took another step closer. A handspan away, the black-robed magician now towered over him. "Do not play the fool," he whispered coldly. "It does not become you."

He felt his breath speed up, but Rothen managed to keep on meeting that dark gaze. "If I stopped talking to my colleagues, it would look suspect."

The High Lord's gaze didn't waver but he sighed almost resignedly, imperceptibly. "I will get straight to the point then. Your conversations with the Ambassador and the Administrator have not been mere social visits. Discussing your… theories regarding my activities must cease. Immediately."

Rothen pushed through the bubble of fear in his chest and looked at Akkarin with all the courage he could muster, his blue eyes full of restrained anger. "I have been a mentor to Ambassador Dannyl for years, and his teacher before that. You cannot deny me my friendships with students and magicians."

Akkarin's dark eyes flashed in warning. "You would do well to willingly share what was discussed. Do not make me choose the alternative."

Rothen took a small step back, and Akkarin silently matched it with a step forward. He kept an uncomfortably close handspan's distance between them.

"I told Dannyl nothing of your secret," Rothen emphasised.

"If that is true, then you have nothing to fear," the High Lord replied dispassionately.

Rothen stilled, resigned. The flutter of black silk sleeves seems to envelop the Alchemist's hearing as Akkarin reached forward for Rothen's temples with both of his hands. His touch was cold and firm, but not painful. Still, Rothen couldn't help but grimace as he waited.

A sense of Akkarin's presence touched his mind. Before, when the High Lord had read his mind, Rothen had sensed little presence at all. Now he detected a hint of personality, and a power that was stronger than anything he had encountered before.

Before he could feel any alarm, Akkarin sent a prompt – an image – into Rothen's mind. It was Dannyl's face, and Rothen's mind immediately responded to it with a memory of a recent conversation. That powerful but strangely light-touch presence grasped the memory and replayed it.

"I fear that – I have reason to believe, through my observations, that there may be some… some infatuation towards the High Lord on Sonea's part. And that he may use this to control her," Rothen said.

Dannyl's dark eyebrows rose high on his head and he sat down with a frown on his bed. He considered for a few seconds before replying.

Rothen felt a twinge of the High Lord's irritation in his own mind. Akkarin's presence was not as ethereal as it was in his first mind-read. Rothen realised that if he concentrated on the black magician's powerful, invisible aura instead of watching his own memories being replayed, he picked up glimmers of Akkarin's emotions.

The scene dissolved, and Akkarin's cold voice echoed in Rothen's mind.

What observations led you to your suspicions?

Inadvertently, his question made Rothen think of a particular moment… and the High Lord grasped that memory, and watched it closely.

Akkarin's long, pale fingers stayed on Sonea's shoulder in the Arena a moment longer than necessary. After creating his shield, instead of raising his hand right off her, the High Lord let his hand somewhat… fall, or trail off, Sonea's shoulder. It was much too like a subtle, quick caress.

This time, Rothen felt no reaction from the High Lord. The presence in his mind was back to shielding itself well.

The scene changed. Now, Akkarin called up and replayed a moment from his last conversation with Dannyl.

"What made everything more interesting," Dannyl added, wiping cake crumbs off his fingers, "is that the Administrator was focused on Sonea all evening."

A surge of strong emotion flashed across Rothen's mind, disorienting him for a moment. He gathered his mental bearings and focused on Akkarin's mental presence, where the flash of emotion had come from. Rothen's mind brushed up against the shapeless but still discernible sense of the High Lord's power… and suddenly, accidentally, Rothen felt the strangest sensation of stepping into that ball of light.

A wave of remorse and rage that did not belong to him washed over Rothen. A bitter touch of regret and longing followed, subtle and hidden beneath the stronger emotions.

A face suddenly flickered in Rothen's mind's eye. The scene was dark, in what looked like an underground passageway of some sort. But the face was unmistakably Sonea's. Rothen realised he was watching this memory from Akkarin's point-of-view.

Sonea's dark gaze shone in the dim glow of a globelight. She looked up at him with a faint flush in her cheeks, her black eyes half-lidded with desire. She reached out towards him and grasped fistfuls of his black robes, and walked back a few paces until her back was against the wall. Sonea pulled his face close to hers, towards lips parted…

Rothen mentally jerked away, embarrassed. Pain shot through his head. For a moment he was not sure whether he was in a physical space, or still in his – or Akkarin's? – mind.

In a few heartbeats, however, he became aware of bright afternoon sunlight blinding him. He blinked and looked around, eyes adjusting. He was in his classroom.

Akkarin was standing a few paces away from him now, his face hard. His angular jaw was set tight and a strand or two of his long, black hair was falling loose in front of his face, as if he had exerted some effort. But Rothen couldn't look away from his eyes. Those black chips of coal seemed to flicker, for just one moment, with fear.

Before he could say anything, the High Lord smoothed his hair back off his face, and his gaze turned once again into an impassive, cold mask.

Rothen realised his own mouth was slightly open in shock. "High L-Lord – " he began.

But before he could say anything, Akkarin turned around in a swish of black silk and walked away. He gestured sharply with one hand without breaking his stride; the classroom door swung open violently, and he strode out through it.

After a few moments of silence, Rothen shakily reached for the nearest chair and sat down. His mind was racing, and he was beginning to develop a splitting headache from the mind-read that had, somehow, gone wrong.

But even the discomfort could not dull the clarity of what he had seen and felt. There was a certain quality to entering one's own or another magician's mind. A person just knew, without a doubt, that the memories or emotions they encountered could not be fabricated.

That scene where Sonea had pulled the High Lord into a kiss had not been a fantasy or a lie. It had been one of Akkarin's real memories. And a very recent one at that, given the sharpness and detail of the memory.

It was not just the confirmation that Sonea was no longer a hostage. Or that novice and guardian were now lovers.

No, it was also the very, very interesting mixture of fear, desire, and yearning that Rothen had, inadvertently, detected in Akkarin's mind throughout that memory.

This was a man trying not to yield to what he wanted – and failing.

Rothen pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the headache that the botched mind-read had left in its wake. He had no idea what do think, or do. This wasn't what he had suspected. He felt a strange pang of betrayal that so much had drastically changed for Sonea and yet she had kept him in the dark.

But how could she? This is not the kind of thing you go around telling anyone, Rothen thought, his face sombre. So. The High Lord and his novice. The black magician and the rogue. No one could have foreseen this. Akkarin himself hadn't foreseen this, he realised.

There was no mistaking what he had sensed in the High Lord's mind. There had been no hint of artifice; what Rothen had accidentally seen did not support his theory that Akkarin was manipulating Sonea. A real memory, seen mind-to-mind, could not be tampered with.

Rothen stood up shakily, hoping his legs would carry him to his rooms.

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Sonea could not banish the chill she felt, even by warming the air in her room with magic. She had slept surprisingly well the last few nights since she had gone to the slums with Akkarin to read Tavaka's mind. But tonight felt different.

She knew it was because Akkarin hadn't been present all evening. Takan had met her at the door when she returned from classes to tell her that the High Lord had been called away. She had eaten dinner alone.

I thought I was now a part of his plans. Why would he not tell me if he was off to kill another spy? She wondered, feeling both a bit anxious and wounded. He promised. He promised he would teach me if another Ichani arrived…

Had he lied? But he had already shared so many truths that he hadn't needed to. Why draw her power over the past few nights, reveal he had been a slave, and take her to mind-read a Sachakan, if he had planned to keep her in the dark? Sonea sighed and turned in bed yet again.

Then she heard a noise outside her room.

Jolting upright, she slipped out of bed and opened her door a crack. Slow footsteps echoed softly in the far stairwell, growing louder. She heard them stop in the corridor, and then heard the click of the High Lord's bedroom door.

He's back.

Something loosened within her and she sighed with relief.

"Master?"

Takan sounded uncharacteristically surprised and alarmed. Sonea felt a chill run across her skin.

"Takan," Akkarin's voice was barely audible. "Stay and I will give you this to dispose of."

"What happened?"

The shock in the servant's voice was clear. Before she could think twice, Sonea pulled open her door and padded down the corridor, barefoot and in her thin nightdress.

A tiny, weak globe light illuminated his bedroom. He was sitting on the end of his bed. In the dim light his robes seemed to retreat into the darkness, leaving only his face and hands visible… and one forearm.

Sonea drew in a breath. The right sleeve of his robe hung strangely, and she saw that it had been cut open. A red mark ran down his arm from elbow to wrist. His pale skin was stained with streaks and smudges of blood.

"What happened?" She echoed Takan breathlessly. "High Lord," she added.

In four strides, she had closed the remaining distance between them and knelt in front of him, her eyes on his arm. She carefully folded the shredded sleeve of his black robe further up Akkarin's arm to get a closer look.

As she glanced up at Akkarin, her black eyes entreating, she found he was looking down at her with a faint smile on his lips. Sonea was relieved to see his eyes glinted not with pain but with amusement.

"As flattered as I am by your concern, the both of you– I'm fine. A washcloth, please?" he murmured.

Takan hurried to the jug of water on the windowsill and produced a cloth from within his uniform, moistened it, and reached toward Akkarin's arm. The High Lord plucked the cloth out of his hand.

"We have another spy in the city," he said, wiping the blood from his arm. "But she is no ordinary spy, I think."

"She?" Sonea interrupted.

"Yes. A woman." Akkarin handed the cloth back to Takan, then frowned in concentration. The cut on his arm healed, leaving behind an area of slightly irritated pink skin.

He allowed Sonea to hold his forearm and inspect it carefully, that half-smile returning to his features.

"We have a Healer through and through here, I think, Takan," the High Lord said silkily when he noticed Sonea wasn't just holding his arm: she was using her senses to probe the area for any infection. "Lord Yikmo will be disappointed."

Sonea felt her face heat at the compliment. She stood up and took a step back, now realising her unchecked reaction to seeing Akkarin hurt had given away the feelings she had been trying so hard to hide.

"That is not the only difference between her and the previous spies. She is unusually strong for a former slave," Akkarin continued, handing the bloodied cloth back to his servant.

"An Ichani?" Takan suggested.

Sonea glanced at Takan in dismay, then back at Akkarin. Why, why did you go for a confrontation without telling either of us? Without taking me with you? she couldn't help but think at him reproachfully, even though she didn't dare voice it out loud.

Akkarin's sharp gaze snapped to hers, as if he had heard her anyway. Sonea looked down.

"I could not get close enough to tell," he replied quietly. "I was in the Thieves' Road with my… associate in Northside. Tonight was about locating where she stayed, not confronting her outright. But we were ambushed. I shielded us, but not before she lunged at me with a dagger. She wasn't quick enough to get a hold on my wound and draw power, however."

The High Lord stood up, then untied the sash at his waist and removed the top half of his robes. He had on his usual black sleeveless vest underneath. The sleeve of his black robe was now beyond repair. Takan took it off his hands and, with a nod from Akkarin, threw it into the fireplace. Sonea sensed Akkarin send out magic to make the flames in the grate roar up. Within moments, the black silk material was reduced to ash, then Akkarin diminished the power of the fire.

The High Lord crossed his bare arms over his chest and continued. "After failing to take my power, she tried to draw attention to our fight by leaving the Thieves Road for the street. I had to let her escape. Otherwise there would have been too many witnesses."

"So she knows you'd rather the Guild didn't hear of magical battles in the slums," Takan said with a frown. "That will feed rumours back in Sachaka that only the High Lord, not the Guild, uses higher magic."

Akkarin smiled grimly. "I don't doubt it." He then looked at Sonea steadily. "But, if she turns out to be an Ichani, I have one of the Guild's strongest magicians to help me."

Sonea's heart leapt, and she kicked herself mentally. This was not the first time Akkarin had suggested her power exceeded that of several Guild magicians, especially when they were preparing for her duel with Regin in the Arena.

The approval in his tone nowadays was so different to his cutting remarks and her stubborn replies back when she first became his novice. It made something swell to bursting in her chest. His absences felt ever longer, ever more unbearable than usual. And his touch… They had not lain together since the night the High Lord had stormed into the Administrator's rooms and brought her back home.

Akkarin was still looking at her steadily. She asked a practical question to break the intensity of that gaze. "You should draw my power now. You used up a lot tonight."

He shook his head. "I drew it this morning, Sonea. We should allow a full day to pass so that your body can regenerate your natural levels."

Sonea's expression grew stubborn. "It is a Freeday tomorrow; I don't need any for lessons. Besides, I don't feel any different afterwards. You draw too little at a time."

"And I have my reasons for it," Akkarin replied, his voice stern.

"Master," Takan interrupted in a soft but serious tone. "This spy sounds like an Ichani. You should prepare as if she was. You should…" He glanced at Sonea. "You should take an ally next time."

"We have already discussed – " Akkarin began.

Sonea interrupted quietly. "You said you would teach me if it came to this. If I had been there today – "

"You might have gotten in the way. I would have had to shield two, not one," the High Lord said perfunctorily.

That stung. Sonea felt a flare of anger. "I see. I'm just a novice who'd burden you. It's not like I know my way around the slums, or have faced an Ichani before."

Akkarin stared at her, his dark eyebrows lifting at her bold riposte. Then he laughed softly. "You are both determined to wear me down on this. If there was another way, I would take it. But there isn't. We will begin tomorrow night."

"Thank you," Sonea exhaled in relief. The High Lord's black eyes bored into hers, an emotion glittering in their depths that she couldn't place.

He stood up and walked over to the window, gazing out at the moonlit Guild grounds beyond. "Thank you, Takan. Goodnight," he said, his back turned to them both.

Takan bowed and walked out of the bedroom silently. When Akkarin continued to look out of the window, Sonea felt a bit disappointed. She, too, turned around and made to head back to her bedroom.

"You stay," the High Lord commanded quietly.