As she thought of her son, memories rose of him as a child. Memories mixed together, older and younger, happy and disappointed, and she felt a familiar tight feeling that was part joy and part pain. When he was quiet and brooding, thinking hard or being clever, he reminded her so much of his father. But the confident, charming, stubborn, vocal side of him was so unlike Akkarin that she could only see a person who was unique and utterly himself and like no other. Except that Rothen claimed the stubborn and vocal part of his nature had definitely come from her.

As they emerged from the forest, Sonea looked down at the Guild grounds. Before them stood the Magicians’ Quarters, a long rectangular building that housed those magicians who chose to live in the grounds. At the far end was a courtyard, beyond which another building mirrored the placement and shape of the first – the Novices’ Quarters.

At the far end of the courtyard was the grandest of the Guild buildings, the University. Three storeys tall, it rose above all other Guild structures. Even after twenty years, Sonea felt a small glow of pride that she and Akkarin had saved this building. And, as always, it was followed by sadness and regret at the cost. If they had let the building fall, killing those that remained inside, and instead taken the power of the Arena, Akkarin might have lived.

But it wouldn’t have mattered how much power we’d gathered. Once he had been injured he would have still chosen to give me all his power and die rather than heal himself – or let me heal him – and risk us losing to the Ichani. And no matter how much power we’d taken, I’d never have had the time to defeat Kariko and heal Akkarin as well. She frowned. Maybe it isn’t me Lorkin gets his stubborn side from after all.

“Are you tempted to speak out in favour of the petition?” Rothen asked as they started down the path. “I know you’re in favour of abolishing the rule.”

She shook her head.

Rothen smiled. “Why not?”

“I might do more harm to their cause than good. After all, someone who grew up in the slums then went on to break a vow, learn forbidden magic, and defy the Higher Magicians and king to such a degree they were forced to send her into exile, is hardly going to inspire trust in lower-class-origin magicians.”

“You saved the country.”

“I helped Akkarin save the country. There’s a big difference.”

Rothen grimaced. “You played as great a part – and struck the final blow. They should remember that.”

“And Akkarin sacrificed himself. Even if I wasn’t slum-born and a woman, I’d have a hard time measuring up to that.” She shrugged. “I’m not interested in thanks and recognition, Rothen. All that matters to me is Lorkin and the hospices. And yourself, of course.”

He nodded. “But what if I told you that Lord Regin has offered to represent those opposed to the petition?”

She felt her stomach sink at the name. Though the novice who had tormented her during her early years in the University was now a grown man, married and with two adult daughters, and had only ever treated her politely and respectfully since the Ichani Invasion, she could not help feeling an echo of distrust and dislike.

“It doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “He’s always been a snob.”

“Yes, though his character has improved a great deal since your novice days.”

“So he’s a well-mannered snob.”

Rothen chuckled. “Tempted now?”

She shook her head again.

“Well, you had better expect to have your opinion sought on the issue,” he warned. “Many will want to know your views and seek your advice.”

As they reached the courtyard, Sonea sighed. “I doubt it. But in case you’re right I will consider how I’ll reply to any questions that come my way. I don’t want to be an obstruction to the petitioners, either.”

And if Regin is representing the opposition, I had better be alert to any clever tactics. His manners may have improved, but he’s still as intelligent and devious as ever.

There was a small, neat tailor’s shop in West Gliar Street in the North Quarter that, if you knew the right people, gave access to small, private rooms on the second floor offering entertainment to young, rich men of the city.

Lorkin had been brought here for the first time four years ago, by his friend and fellow novice, Dekker, along with the rest of their friends. As always, it had been Dekker’s idea. He was the boldest of Lorkin’s friends, though that was a typical trait of most young Warriors. Of the rest of the group, Alchemist Sherran had always done whatever Dekker suggested, but Healers Reater and Orlon were not so easily led into mischief. Perhaps it was only natural for Healers to be cautious. Whatever the reason, Lorkin had only agreed to accompany Dekker because the pair hadn’t refused to.

Four years later they were all graduated magicians, and the tailor’s shop was their favourite meeting place. Today Perler had brought his Elyne cousin, Jalie, to visit their haunt for the first time.

“So this is the tailor shop I’ve heard so much about,” a young woman said, looking around the room. The furniture was finely made, worn cast-offs from the wealthier houses in the city. The paintings and window screens were crude in both execution and subject.

“Yes,” Dekker replied. “All the delights you might desire.”

“At a price,” she said, looking at him sideways.

“At a price we may be willing to pay on your behalf, for the pleasure of your company.”

She smiled. “You’re so sweet!”

“But not without her older cousin’s approval,” Perler added, giving Dekker a level look.

“Of course,” the younger man said, bowing slightly in Perler’s direction.

“So what delights do they offer?” Jalie asked of Dekker.

He waved a hand. “Pleasures of the body, pleasures of the mind.”

“Of the mind?”

“Ooh! Let’s get a brazier in here,” Sherran said, his eyes gleaming. “Have a little roet to relax us.”

“No,” Lorkin said. Hearing another voice speak along with his, he turned to nod in gratitude to Orlon, who was as repelled by the drug as Lorkin was.

They had tried it once before, and Lorkin had found the experience disturbing. It wasn’t how it had brought out Dekker’s cruel side, so that he had teased and tormented the girl who had been besotted with him at the time, but how this behaviour suddenly hadn’t bothered Lorkin. In fact, he’d found it funny, but later could not understand why.

The girl’s infatuation had ended that day, and Sherran’s love affair with roet had begun. Before then, Sherran would have done anything Dekker had asked him. Since that day, he would only do so if it didn’t come between him and roet.

“Let’s have a drink instead,” Perler suggested. “Some wine.”

“Do magicians drink?” Jalie asked. “I thought they weren’t allowed to.”

“We are,” Reater told her, “but it’s not a good idea to get too drunk. Losing control is as likely to involve magic as much as your stomach or bladder.”

“I see,” she said. “So does the Guild have to make sure any of the lowies it takes in aren’t drunks?”

The others glanced at Lorkin, and he smiled, knowing that it wasn’t because his mother was a “lowie” but because they knew he would walk out if they made more than the occasional joke about the lower classes.

“There are probably more snooties that are drunks than lowies,” Dekker told her. “We have ways of dealing with them. What wine would you like to drink?”

Lorkin looked away as the conversation turned to wine varieties. “Lowies” and “snooties” were the names that the rich and poor novices had given each other after the Guild had decided to accept entrants to the university from outside of the Houses. The nickname “lowie” had been adopted because none of the novices that had come from lower classes were actually poor. All novices were paid a generous allowance by the Guild. As were magicians, though they could supplement their income by magical or other means. A term had to be invented, and it happened to be an unflattering one, so the lowies had retorted with their own nickname for novices from the Houses. One that Lorkin had to admit was appropriate.