Sonea shrugged. "I don't know, but it would make no difference to the dwells. When have you ever done anything good for us?"
Rothen's eyes narrowed. "There is much that you would not see."
"Like what?"
"We keep the Marina clear of silt, for example. Without us, Imardin could not receive ships, and trade would move elsewhere."
"How is that good for the dwells?"
"It creates work for Imardians of all classes. Ships bring sailors who buy board, food and goods. Workers pack and carry goods. Crafters make the goods." He considered her, then shook his head. "Perhaps our work is too far removed from your own life for you to see its value. If you would see us helping people directly, consider the work of our Healers. They work hard to—"
"Healers!" Sonea rolled her eyes. "Who's got coin to spare for a Healer? The fee is ten times as much as a good Thief earns in his life!"
Rothen paused. "Of course, you are right," he said quietly. "There are only so many Healers—barely enough to keep up with the number of sick who come to us for help. The high fees discourage those with minor ailments from overusing the Healers' time, and go toward teaching non-magicians about medicines that can treat those minor ailments. These medics treat the rest of Imardin's citizens."
"Not the dwells," Sonea retorted. "We have curies, but they're just as likely to kill you as cure you. I only heard of a few medics when I was living in the North Quarter and they cost a cap of gold."
Rothen looked out of the window and sighed. "Sonea, if I could solve the problem of class and poverty in the city, I would do so without a moment's hesitation. But there is little that we—even as magicians—can do."
"No? If you really don't like the Purge, then refuse to go. Tell the King you'll do anything else he says but that. It's happened before."
He frowned, obviously puzzled.
"Back when King Palen refused to sign the Alliance." She suppressed a smile at his expression of surprise. "Then get the King to build proper sewers and the like in the slums. His great-grandfather did it for the rest of the city, why shouldn't he do it for us too?"
His brows rose. "You wouldn't want to move the slum people into the city?"
Sonea shook her head. "Parts of the Outer Circle are good. The city won't stop growing. Perhaps the King should build another wall, too."
"Walls are obsolete. We have no enemies. But the rest is ... interesting." He regarded her appraisingly. "And what else would you have us do?"
"Go into the slums and heal people."
He grimaced. "There aren't enough of us."
"Some's better than none. Why is the broken arm of the son of a House more important than a dwell's broken arm?"
He smiled then, and Sonea suddenly felt a disturbing suspicion that her answers were no more than an amusement to him. What did he care, anyway? He was just trying to get her to believe he sympathized with her. It would take more than that to make her trust him.
"You'll never do it," she growled. "You keep saying that some of you'd help if you could, but the truth is, if any magicians really cared, they'd be out there. There's no law stopping them, so why don't any go? I'll tell you why. The slums are smelly and rough, and you'd rather pretend they weren't there. Here you're real comfortable." She gestured at the room and its fine furniture. "Everyone knows the King pays you a lot. Well, if you're all feeling so sorry for us, then you should put some of that money into helping people but you won't. You'd rather keep it all for yourself."
He pursed his lips, his expression thoughtful. She found herself strangely aware of the silence in the room. Realizing she had allowed him to provoke her, she gritted her teeth.
"If a large amount of money was given to any of the people you know in the slums," he said slowly, "do you think they'd give it all up to help others?"
"Yes," she replied.
He lifted an eyebrow. "So none of them would be tempted to keep it to themselves?"
Sonea paused. She knew some people who would. Well, more than some.
"A few, I suppose," she admitted.
"Ah," he said. "But you would not have me believe all dwells were selfish people, would you? Neither should you believe that all magicians are self-centered. You would also, no doubt, assure me that, for all their law breaking or rough behavior, the people you know are mostly decent folk. It does not make sense, then, for you to judge all magicians by the mistakes of a few, or for their high birth. Most, I assure you, strive to be decent people."
Frowning, Sonea looked away. What he said made sense, but it did not comfort her at all. "Perhaps," she replied, "but I still don't see any magicians helping people in the slums."
Rothen nodded. "Because we know that the slum people would refuse our help."
Sonea hesitated. He was right, but if the dwells refused the Guild's help, it was because the Guild had given the dwells reason to hate them.
"They wouldn't refuse money," she pointed out.
"Assuming you are not one of those who would hoard it, what would you do if I gave you a hundred gold slips to do with as you pleased?"
"I'd feed people," she told him.
"A hundred gold would feed some for many weeks, or many for a few days. Afterward, those people would still be as poverty-stricken as before. You will have made little difference."
Sonea opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was nothing she could say to that. He was right, and yet he wasn't. There had to be something wrong with not even trying to help.
Sighing, she looked down at herself and frowned at the foolish garments she was wearing. Despite knowing that changing the subject might give him the notion that he had won the argument, she plucked at the coat.
"Where are my clothes?"
He looked down at his hands. "Gone. I will give you new ones."
"I want my own," she told him.
"I had them burned."
She stared at him in disbelief. Her cloak, though dirty and charred in places, had been of good quality—and Cery had given it to her.
There was a knock on the door. Rothen rose to his feet.
"I must leave now, Sonea," he told her. "I will return in an hour."
She watched him move away and open the door. Beyond, she glimpsed another luxurious room. As he closed the door she listened for the sound of a key turning, and felt a twinge of hope when it did not come.
Frowning, she stared at the door. Was it locked by magic? She took a step closer, then heard the muffled sound of voices coming from beyond the door.
No sense trying the door now but perhaps later ...
Pain squeezed his head tightly, but he could feel something cool was dribbling down behind his ear. Opening his eyes, Cery saw a blurred face within darkness. A woman's face.
"Sonea?"
"Hello." The voice was unfamiliar. "About time you returned to us."
Cery closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. The face became clearer. Long dark hair framed exotically beautiful features. The woman's skin was dark, but not as inky as Faren's. The familiar, straight Kyralian nose added elegance to the long face. It was as if Sonea and Faren had become one person.
I'm dreaming, he thought.
"No, you're not," the woman replied. She looked up, at something above his head. "He must have been hit pretty hard. Do you want to talk to him now?"
"May as well try." This voice was familiar. As Faren moved into sight, memory returned and Cery tried to sit up. The darkness swayed, and his head thundered with pain. He felt hands on his shoulders and reluctantly allowed them to push him back down onto his back.
"Hello, Cery. This is Kaira."
"She looks like you but pretty," Cery murmured.
Faren laughed. "Thanks. Kaira is my sister."
The woman smiled and moved out of sight. Cery heard a door close somewhere to his right. He stared at Faren.
"Where's Sonea?"
The Thief sobered. "The magicians have her. They took her to the Guild."
The wor
ds echoed over and over in Cery's mind. He felt something awful tearing at his insides. She is gone! How could he have believed that he could protect her? But, no. Faren was supposed to have kept her safe. A spark of anger flared. He drew a breath to speak ...
No. I must find her. I must get her back. I might need Faren's help.
All anger drained out of him. Cery frowned at the Thief.
"What happened?"
Faren signed. "The inevitable. They caught up." He shook his head. "I don't know what I could have done to stop them. I had already tried everything."
Cery nodded. "And now?"
The Thief's lips twitched into a humorless, half smile. "I was unable to honor my side of our bargain. Sonea, however, never had a chance to use her magic for me. We both tried hard but failed. As for you . . ." Faren's smile disappeared. "I would like you to remain with me."
Cery stared at the Thief. How could he abandon Sonea so easily?
"You are free to go if you wish," Faren added.
"What about Sonea?"
The Thief frowned. "She is in the Guild."
"Not a hard place to break into. I've done it before."
Faren's frown deepened. "That would be foolish. They will guard her closely."
"We'll distract them."
"We'll do no such thing." Faren's eyes flashed. He took a few steps away, then paced back to Cery's side. "The Thieves have never pitted themselves against the Guild, and never will. We're not so stupid as to think we would win."
"They aren't that smart. Believe me, I've—"
"NO!" Faren interrupted. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "It is not as easy as you think, Cery. Get some rest. Heal. Think about what you're suggesting. We will talk again soon."
He moved out of sight. Cery heard the door click open, then close firmly. He tried to rise but his head felt as if it would burst from the pain. Sighing, he closed his eyes and lay flat, breathing hard.
He could try to convince Faren to rescue Sonea, but he knew he would not succeed. No. If she was to be saved, he would have to do it himself.
Chapter 17
Sonea's Resolve
Sonea looked around the room again. Though not large, it was luxurious. She could be in any one of the homes of the Inner City, but she doubted it.
Moving to the window, she pushed aside the finely decorated screen that covered it, caught her breath and took a step backward.
The Guild gardens stretched out before her. The University building loomed to the right, and the High Lord's house lay, half hidden behind the trees, to the left. She was on the second story of the building Cery had called the "magicians' building."
The Guild was swarming with magicians. Everywhere she looked, she saw robed figures: in the garden, in windows, and strolling along the snow-edged path just below her window. Shivering, she pushed the screen back and turned away.
A bleak desperation swept over her. I'm trapped. I'll never leave this place. I won't see Jonna and Ranel, or Cery, ever again.
She blinked as tears blurred her sight. Catching a movement in the corner of her eye, she turned to find herself reflected in a shining oval mirror. She regarded the red-eyed face. The girl's mouth twisted in contempt.
Am I going to give up so easily? she asked the reflection. Am I going to blubber like a child?
No! The Guild might be filled with magicians during the day, but she had seen it at night and knew how easy it was to move around undetected. If she waited until night, and managed to slip outside, nothing would stop her returning to the slums.
Getting outside would be the hard part, of course. The magicians would probably keep her locked up. However, Rothen himself had said that magicians were not incapable of making mistakes. She would wait and watch. When the opportunity came, she would be ready to take it.
The face in the mirror was now dry-eyed and stiff with determination. Feeling better, she moved to the small table. Picking up a hair brush, she caressed the silver handle appreciatively. Something like this, traded at a pawn shop, could buy her new clothes and feed her for several weeks.
Had Rothen even considered that she might steal them? Of course, he wouldn't be worried about theft if he was confident that she couldn't escape. Snatching valuables wasn't going to do her any good while she was stuck in the Guild.
Looking around again, it struck her that this was a very strange prison. She had expected a cold cell, not comfort and luxury.
Perhaps they did truly intend to invite her to join the Guild.
She looked up at the mirror and tried to imagine herself wearing robes. Her skin crawled.
No, she thought, I could never be one of them. It would be like betraying everyone— my friends, all the people of the slums, myself. . .
But she had to learn to control her powers. The danger was real, and Rothen probably did intend to teach her some things—even if it was just to prevent her from making a mess of the city. She doubted he would teach her anything more, however. Remembering the frustration and horrors of the last six weeks, she shivered. Her powers had caused her enough trouble already. She would not be disappointed if she never used them again.
What would happen to her then? Would the Guild let her return to the slums? Not likely. Rothen claimed that the Guild wanted her to join them. Her? A slum girl? Not likely, either.
But why would they offer? Was there some other reason? Bribery? They might promise to teach her magic if she ... did what? What could the Guild possibly want from her?
She frowned as the answer leapt into her mind.
The Thieves.
If she escaped would Faren still be interested in hiding her? Yes—particularly if her powers were no longer dangerous. Once she was in his confidence, it would not be hard to work against the Thief. She could use her mental powers to send the Guild information about the criminal groups of the city.
She snorted. Even if she had wanted to cooperate with the Guild, the Thieves would work it out soon enough. No dwell was stupid enough to squimp on the Thieves. Even if she managed to protect herself with magic, she would not be able to stop them harming her friends and family. The Thieves were ruthless when crossed.
But would she have a choice? What if the Guild threatened to kill her if she did not help them? What if they threatened to harm her friends and family? With rising alarm, she wondered if the Guild knew about Jonna and Ranel.
She pushed the thought away, still wary of any strong emotions that might loosen her hold on her magic. Shaking her head, she turned away from the mirror. A book lay on a small table beside the bed. She crossed the room and picked it up.
Flicking through the pages, she discovered that they were covered in neat lines of text. Looking closer, she was surprised to find she could understand most of the words. Serin's lessons had done more good than she had thought.
The text appeared to be about boats. After reading several lines, Sonea realized that the last word in each pair of lines ended in the same sound, like the lyrics of songs the street performers in markets and bolhouses sang.
She froze as a soft knocking came from the door. As it opened Sonea quickly placed the book back on the table. She looked up to see Rothen standing in the doorway, a cloth-covered bundle under one arm.
"Can you read?"
She considered how she should answer. Was there any reason to hide her ability? She couldn't think of one, and it would be satisfying to let him know that not all dwells were illiterate.
"A little," she admitted.
He closed the door and gestured to the book.
"Show me," he said. "Read some aloud."
She felt a little doubt creep in, but pushed it aside. Picking up the book again, she opened it and began to read.
At once, she regretted getting herself into the situation. Conscious of the magician's gaze, she found it hard to concentrate. The page she had selected was more difficult than the first, and she felt her cheeks warm as she stumbled on unfamiliar words.
"Mareena, n
ot mariner."
Annoyed at the interruption, she closed the book and tossed it onto the bed. Smiling apologetically, Rothen dropped the bundle of cloth down next to it.
"How did you learn to read?" he asked.
"My aunt taught me."
"And you've been practicing recently."
She looked away. "There's always stuff to read. Signs, labels, reward notices .. ."
He smiled. "We found a book on magic in one of the rooms you occupied. Did you understand any of it?"
A warning chill ran down her spine. He would not believe her if she denied reading the book but if she admitted it, he would ask more questions and she might accidentally reveal which other books she had read. Should he know the books Cery had stolen were missing, he would have to consider it possible that she had slipped into the Guild at night, and he would be more cautious about keeping her locked inside.
Instead of answering, she nodded at the cloth bundle on the bed.
"What's that?"
He considered her for a moment, then shrugged. "Clothes."
Sonea eyed the bundle dubiously.
"I'll give you time to get changed, then send my servant in with some food." He turned to the door.
After he had left, Sonea unwrapped the bundle. To her relief, he had not brought magicians' robes. Instead she found a pair of simple trousers, undershirt and a high-collared shirt— much the same as the clothes she had been wearing in the slums but made of soft, expensive materials.
Shrugging out of the leisure coat and night robe, she pulled on the new clothes. Though she now felt decently covered, her skin still felt strangely bare. Looking at her hands, she saw that her fingernails had been clipped and cleaned. She sniffed them and smelt a soapy fragrance.
A shiver of alarm and indignation ran through her. Somebody had washed her while she had slept. She stared at the door. Rothen?
No, she decided, tasks like that would be left to the servants. Running her hands through her hair she discovered that it, too, had been washed.
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