Cery stared back at her. If this is the rogue… if it is the Thief Hunter… is she worming her way closer to Skellin by working for his rot-sellers? “A strange accent,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“Did you get a look at her?”

“No. But there have been rumours of rogue magicians in the city for years. It kind of makes sense if they’re foreigners. Magicians from countries outside the Allied Lands aren’t going to be part of the Guild.” She paused, then shrugged. “Of course, she could’ve been faking it.”

Cery nodded approvingly. “You were right to leave. Better to assume she has magic and get out of there. Have you got another hiding place?”

She scowled. “No. I had a few, but they’ve all been spoiled in one way or another.” She looked up at him. “You’re doing okay, from the look of it.”

“I’m not sure how much of that is because of what I’ve done, or sheer luck,” he admitted.

“Still, with the money and contacts you have, you must have a better chance than me.”

Cery shrugged. “They do help.”

“They do, do they? Well, how about I come and stay with you, then? Because hiding doesn’t earn me any money, and I’ve used up all mine – as well as my contacts.”

As Cery opened his mouth to protest, she leapt to her feet.

“Don’t go telling me I’d be safer away from you. Nobody but you and Gol know we’re related and I have no intention of making it public gossip. I’m not going to be with you all the time because I’m your daughter.” She straightened and put her hands on her hips. “I’m going to be there as your bodyguard.”

Gol made a choking noise.

“Anyi-” Cery began.

“Face it, you need one. Gol’s getting old and slow. You need someone young. Someone you can trust as much as him.”

Gol’s choking became a spluttering.

“Youth and trustworthiness aren’t all that a bodyguard’s gotta be,” Cery pointed out.

She smiled and crossed her arms. “You don’t think I can fight? I can fight. I’ve even had some training. I’ll prove it.”

Cery bit back the sceptical remark he would normally have made. She is my daughter. We haven’t exchanged this many words in years. I’ll gain nothing by dismissing her. And… perhaps she does have a little of her father’s talent.

“Well, then,” he said. “How about you do that? Show me how old and slow Gol is.”

He nearly laughed aloud at the expression on his bodyguard’s face. Gol’s look of hurt and dismay changed to wariness as Anyi turned to face him and dropped into a crouch. There was a glint of metal in one hand. Cery hadn’t seen her reach for the knife. He noted the way she held it and nodded in approval.

This could be interesting.

“Don’t actually kill him,” he told her.

Gol had recovered from his surprise now, and was drawing closer to Anyi with the careful, well-balanced steps that Cery knew so well. He slowly drew out a knife. The big man might not be fast on his feet, but he was as solid as a wall and knew how to use an adversary’s momentum and weight against him. Or her.

Anyi was edging closer as well, but Cery was pleased to see she wasn’t rushing in. She was circling Gol though, and that wasn’t good. A bodyguard ought to keep him- or herself between an attacker and the person they were supposed to be protecting. I’ll have to teach her that.

Cery caught himself and frowned. Will I? Should I even keep her near me, let alone put her in a position where she is more likely to be attacked? I should give her money and send her away.

Somehow he knew she would not be content with that. Whether he sent her away or let her stay with him, she would want to be doing something. And she has no place to hide. How can I send her away?

But she was tenacious. If he sent her back out into the city – especially if he gave her some money – she would find new places to conceal herself. Or she will decide she can’t stand being cooped up any more and throw all caution to the wind.

A flurry of movement drew his attention back to the fight. Anyi had attacked Gol, he noted. Again, not the best move for a bodyguard. Gol had neatly dodged her knife, caught her arm and used her lunge to propel and twist her to the floor behind him. She gave a yelp of protest and pain as he held her arm behind her back, stopping her from rising.

Cery walked forward and prised the knife out of her hand, then he stepped back.

“Let her up.”

Gol released her and backed away. He met Cery’s gaze and nodded once. “She’s fast, but she has some bad habits. We’ll have to retrain her.”

Cery frowned at the man. He’s already decided I’m going to keep her!

Rising to her feet, Anyi narrowed her eyes at Gol, but said nothing. She glanced at Cery, then looked at the floor.

“I’ll learn,” she said.

“You have a lot to learn,” Cery told her.

“So you’ll take me on as a bodyguard?”

He paused before answering. “I’ll consider it, once you’ve been trained right, and if I think you’re good enough. Either way, you’re working for me now, and that means you must do what I tell you. No arguments. You obey orders, even if you don’t know why.”

She nodded. “That’s fair.”

He walked over to her and handed back the knife. “And Gol’s not old. He’s close to the same age as me.”

Anyi’s eyebrows rose. “If you think that means he’s not old, then you really do need a new bodyguard.”

Healer Nikea stepped into the examination room as the last patient Sonea had seen left – a woman who was trying, unsuccessfully, to give up roet. Sonea had Healed the woman, but it had made no difference to the cravings.

“There’s something I need to show you,” Nikea said.

“Oh?” Sonea looked up from the notes she had been taking. “What is that?”

“Something,” Nikea said. She smiled, and her eyes widened meaningfully.

Somehow Sonea’s heart managed to skip a beat and then, straight after, sink to her stomach. If Cery had merely sent a message, Nikea would have delivered it. This meaningful look suggested that more than a note had arrived, and Sonea suspected that “something” was Cery.

He knew she didn’t like him coming here. Still, there had to be a good reason for him doing so.

Rising, she stepped out of the room and followed Nikea down the corridor. They entered the non-public part of the hospice. A pair of Healers stood in the hallway, heads close as they talked in whispers. Their eyes were on a storeroom door, but shifted to Sonea as she appeared. They immediately straightened and inclined their heads politely.

“Black Magician Sonea,” they murmured, then hurried away.

Nikea led Sonea to the door they’d found so interesting and opened it. Inside, a familiar figure sat on a short ladder, between rows of shelving filled with bandages and other hospice supplies. He stood up. Sighing, Sonea stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind her.

“Cery,” she said. “Is it good news or bad?”

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I’m good, thanks for asking. How are you?”

She crossed her arms. “Fine.”

“You seem a bit cranky.”

“It’s the middle of the night, yet for some reason we have as many patients as we get during the day, nothing I try cures roet addiction, there’s a rogue magician loose in the city, and instead of telling the Guild about it I’m risking the little freedom I have by working with a Thief who insists on visiting me in a public place, and my son is still missing in Sachaka. I’m supposed to be in a good mood?”

Cery grimaced. “I guess not. So… no news on Lorkin?”

“No.” She sighed again. “I know you wouldn’t have come here if there wasn’t a good reason, Cery. Just don’t expect me to be all calm and relaxed about it. What’s the news?”

He sat down again. “How do you feel about another Thief helping us find the rogue?”

Sonea stared at him in surprise. “Is it anyone I know?”