The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (3 page)

“How disappointing, after all you did – all the Thieves did – to help them.” Skellin smiled crookedly. “I’m afraid your reputation as a friend of magicians is nowhere near as exciting as the reality, Cery.”

“That’s the way with reputations. Usually.”

Skellin nodded. “So it is. Well, I have enjoyed our chat and made my offers. We have come to one understanding, at least. I hope we will come to another in time.” He stood up. “Thank you for meeting with me, Cery of Northside.”

“Thank you for the invitation. Good luck in catching the Thief Hunter.”

Skellin smiled, nodded politely, then turned and strolled back the way he had come. Cery watched him for a moment, then gave the statue another quick glance. It really wasn’t a good likeness.

“How did it go?” Gol murmured as Cery joined him.

“As I expected,” Cery replied. “Except …”

“Except?” Gol repeated when Cery didn’t finish.

“We agreed to share information on the Thief Hunter.”

“He’s real then?”

“So Skellin believes.” Cery shrugged. They crossed the road and began striding back toward Wildways. “That wasn’t the oddest thing, though.”

“Oh?”

“He asked if Akkarin taught me magic.”

Gol paused. “That isn’t
that
odd, though. Faren did hide Sonea before he handed her over to the Guild, in the hopes she would do magic for him. Skellin must have heard all about it.”

“Do you think he’d like to have his own pet magician?”

“Sure. Though he obviously wouldn’t want to hire you, seeing as you’re a Thief. Perhaps he thinks he can ask favours of the Guild through you.”

“I told him I hadn’t seen Sonea in years.” Cery chuckled. “Next time I see her, I might ask if she’ll help out one of my Thief friends, just to see the look on her face.”

A figure appeared in the alley ahead, hurrying toward them. Cery noted the possible exits and hiding places around them.

“You should tell her Skellin was making enquiries,” Gol advised. “He might try to recruit someone else. And it might work. Not all magicians are as incorruptible as Sonea.” Gol slowed. “That’s … That’s Neg.”

Relief that it wasn’t another attacker was followed by concern. Neg had been guarding Cery’s main hideout. He preferred it to roaming the streets, as open spaces made him jittery.

The guard had seen them. Neg was panting as he reached them. Something on his face caught the light, and Cery felt his heart drop somewhere far below the level of the street. A bandage.

“What is it?” Cery asked, in a voice he barely recognised as his.

“S … sorry,” Neg panted. “Bad news.” He drew in a deep breath, then let it out explosively and shook his head. “Don’t know how to tell you.”

“Say it,” Cery ordered.

“They’re dead. All of them. Selia. The boys. Never saw who. Got past everything. Don’t know how. No lock broken. When I came to …” As Neg babbled on, apologising and explaining, words running over themselves, a rushing sound filled Cery’s ears. His mind tried to find some other explanation for a moment.
He must be mistaken. He’s hit his head and is delusional. He dreamed it.

But he made himself face the likely truth. What he had dreaded – had nightmares over – for years had happened.

Someone had made it past all the locks and guards and protections, and murdered his family.

I
t was much earlier than her usual waking time. Dawn was still some hours away. Sonea blinked in the darkness and wondered what had woken her. A dream? Or had something real brought her to this state of sudden alertness in the middle of the night?

Then she heard a sound, faint but undeniable, in the next room.

Heart beating fast, the skin of her scalp tingling, she rose and silently moved to the bedroom door. She heard a footfall beyond, then another. Taking hold of the handle, she drew magic, threw up a shield and took a deep breath.

The handle turned silently. She pulled the door inward slightly and looked beyond. In the faint moonlight filtering through the window screens she saw a figure pacing the guestroom. Male, short of stature, and instantly familiar. Relief flooded through her.

“Cery,” she said, pulling the door open. “Who else would dare sneak into my rooms in the middle of the night?”

He turned to face her. “Sonea …” He drew in a deep breath, but said nothing more. A long pause followed and she frowned. It was not like him to hesitate. Had he come to ask a favour he knew she would not like?

She concentrated and created a small globe light, enough to fill the room with a soft glow. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment. His face was so lined. The years of danger and worry living as a Thief had aged him faster than anyone else she knew.

I’m wearing plenty of signs of my years
, she thought,
but the battles for me were only the petty squabbling of magicians, not surviving in the uncompromising and often cruel underworld.

“So … what brings you to the Guild in the middle of the night?” she asked, stepping into the guest room.

He looked at her thoughtfully. “You never ask me how I get here without being noticed.”

“I don’t want to know. I don’t want to risk anyone else finding out, in the unlikely event that I must allow someone to read my mind.”

He nodded. “Ah. How are things going here?”

She shrugged. “The same. Rich and poor novices squabbling. And now that some of the formerly poor novices have graduated and become magicians, we have squabbling on a new level. One we have to take seriously. In a few days we’ll be meeting to consider a petition to abolish the rule against novices and magicians associating with criminals or people of low repute. If it’s successful then I will no longer be breaking a rule talking to you.”

“I can walk in the front gate and formally seek an audience?”

“Yes. Now that’s a scenario to give the Higher Magicians a few sleepless nights. I bet they wish they’d never allowed the lower classes to enter the Guild.”

“We always knew they would regret it,” Cery said. He sighed and looked away. “I’ve come to wish the Purge hadn’t ended.”

Sonea frowned and crossed her arms, feeling a stab of anger and disbelief. “Surely not.”

“Everything has changed for the worse.” He moved to a window and parted one of the screens, revealing nothing but darkness beyond.

“And that’s because the Purge was stopped?” She narrowed her eyes at his back. “Nothing to do with a certain new vice ruining the lives of so many Imardians, rich and poor?”

“Roet?”

“Yes. The Purge killed hundreds, but roet has taken thousands – and enslaved more.” Every day she saw the victims in her hospices. Not just those caught up in the drug’s seductions, but their desperate parents, spouses, siblings, offspring and friends.

And for all I know, Cery’s one of the Thieves importing and selling it
, she couldn’t help thinking, and not for the first time.

“They say it stops you caring,” Cery said quietly, turning to face her. “No more worries or concerns. No fear. No … grief.”

His voice caught on the last word and suddenly Sonea felt all her senses grow sharper.

“What is it, Cery? Why did you come here?”

He drew in a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “My family,” he said, “were murdered tonight.”

Sonea rocked back on her heels. The edge of a terrible pain stabbed her, reminding her that some losses can never be forgotten – and should never be. But she held it back. She would be of no help to Cery if she let it consume her. He looked lost. In his eyes was an unshielded shock and agony. She strode to him and drew him into her arms. He stiffened for a moment, then slumped against her.

“It’s part of being a Thief,” he said. “You do all you can to protect your people, but there is always danger. Vesta left me because she couldn’t live with it. Couldn’t stand being locked away. Selia was stronger. Braver. After all she’d put up with, she didn’t deserve to … and the boys …”

Vesta had been Cery’s first wife. She’d been smart, but prickly and prone to temper tantrums. Selia had been a much better match for him, calm and with the quiet wisdom of someone who watched the world with open, yet forgiving eyes. Sonea held him as he shook with sobs, feeling tears in her own eyes.
Can I imagine what it must be like to lose a child? I know the
fear
of losing them, but not the pain of actual loss. I think it would be worse than I can ever imagine. To know one’s children will never grow up … except … what of his other child? Though she must be all grown up by now.

“Is Anyi okay?” she asked.

Cery stilled, then drew away. His expression was taut with indecision. “I don’t know. I’ve let people think that I didn’t care about Vesta and Anyi after they left, for their own protection – though I’ve occasionally arranged for Anyi and I to cross each other’s paths so she would at least continue to recognise me.” He shook his head. “Whoever did this, got past the best locks money can buy, and people I trusted completely. They did their research. They might know about her. Or they know, but they don’t know her location. If I check on her I might lead them to her.”

“Can you get a warning to her?”

He frowned. “Yes. Perhaps …” He sighed. “I have to try.”

“What will you tell her to do?”

“Hide.”

“Then it won’t matter if you lead them to her or not, will it? She’ll have to go into hiding either way.”

He looked thoughtful. “I suppose so.”

Sonea smiled as a look of determination hardened his face. His entire body was now tense. He looked at her and his expression became apologetic.

“Go on,” she said. “And next time don’t wait so long to visit me.”

He managed a faint smile. “I won’t. Oh. Also, there’s something else. It’s just a niggle, but I reckon one of the new Thieves, Skellin, fancies having his own magician. He’s a rot supplier, so you better hope none of your magicians has a weakness for the stuff.”

“They’re not
my
magicians, Cery,” she reminded him, not for the first time.

Instead of his usual grin, he responded with a grimace. “Yes. Anyway. Unless you want to know how I get in and out of here, you better leave the room.”

Sonea rolled her eyes, then walked to the bedroom door. She turned back before closing it. “Good night, Cery. I’m so sorry about your family and I hope Anyi is alive and not in any danger.”

He nodded, then swallowed. “I do, too.”

Then she closed the door behind her and waited. There were a few faint thuds from the guest room, then silence. She counted to a hundred then opened the door again. The room was unoccupied. She could see no sign of his entrance and exit.

The darkness between the window screens was not so impenetrable now. It had gained a greyish tone, a hint of shape and form just discernible in the early morning light. She took a step toward it and stopped. Was that the square bulk of the High Lord’s Residence, or was she imagining it? Either way, the suggestion sent a shiver down her spine.

Stop it. He’s not there.

Balkan had lived there for the last twenty years. She had often wondered whether he felt haunted by the shadow of the former occupant, but had never asked, sure such a question would be tactless.

He’s up on the hill. Behind you.

She turned and looked beyond the walls, seeing in her imagination the shiny white new stone slabs among the grey of the ancient cemetery. An old longing filled her, but she hesitated. She had much to do today. But it was early – dawn was only just breaking. She had time. And it had been a while. Cery’s terrible news brought a need to … to what? Perhaps to acknowledge his loss by recalling her own. She needed to do more than act out the usual daily routine and pretend something awful hadn’t happened.

Returning to her bedroom, she washed and changed quickly, threw a cloak around her shoulders – black over black – then slipped out of the main door to her room, walked as quietly as she could down the hall of the Magicians’ Quarters to the entrance and out onto the path to the cemetery.

New paths had been laid since the first time she’d visited, with Lord Rothen, over twenty years before. Weedy vegetation had been removed, but the Guild had left a wall of protective trees around the outermost graves. She noted the smooth slabs of freshly carved stone. Some she had seen laid, some she hadn’t. When a magician died, any magic left in his or her body was released, and if there was enough of it their body was consumed. So the old graves had been a mystery. If there was no body to bury, why were there graves here?

The rediscovery of black magic had answered that question. The last remaining magical energy of those ancient magicians had been drawn away by a black magician, leaving a body to bury.

Now that black magic was no longer taboo, though strictly controlled, burials had become popular again. The task of drawing the last of a magician’s power fell to the Guild’s two black magicians, her and Black Magician Kallen.

Sonea felt that, if she had taken the last of a magician’s power at death, she ought to be present at the funeral.
I wonder if Kallen feels the same sense of obligation when a magician chooses him.
She moved to a plain, undecorated slab of stone and dried the dew from one corner with magical heat so she could sit down. Her eyes found the name carved into it.
Akkarin. You would have found it amusing to see how many of the magicians who were so against reviving the use of black magic resort to it in the end, so their flesh remains after death to rot in the ground. Perhaps you’d have decided, as I have, that allowing your body to be consumed by your last magic is more appropriate for a magician and
, she glanced at the increasingly elaborate decoration on the newer graves provided by the Guild,
considerably less expensive.

She looked at the words on the grave she sat upon. A name, a title, a house name, a family name. Later the words “Father of Lorkin” had been added, in small, begrudging letters. But of her own name there was no mention.
And will never be, while your family has anything to do with it, Akkarin. But at least they’ve accepted your son.