As the others denied it, Lorkin considered her and the lessons he’d learned. In the last year he’d met a few women who were both good company and good lovers, and wanted no more than that. He’d found he preferred this sort of encounter. The seductions that Dekker undertook, which only ended in hurt and scandal – or worse – did not appeal. And the affectionless marriage that Reater had been forced into by his parents sounded like his worst nightmare.

Father’s family hasn’t attempted to find me a bride in a while now. Maybe they’re starting to realise how much pleasure Mother gets from spoiling all their plans for me. Though I’m sure she wouldn’t block anything if I wanted it.

He dragged his thoughts back to the present as the conversation turned to the exploits of mutual friends of Beriya and Dekker. Lorkin listened and let the afternoon slip by. Eventually the two Healers left to visit the new racecourse, and Beriya left for a dress fitting. Dekker, Sherran and Jalie set off on foot to their family homes, which were in the same main street of the Inner Circle, leaving Lorkin to return to the Guild alone.

Walking through the streets of the Inner Circle, Lorkin looked at the grand buildings thoughtfully. This place had been his home all his life. He had never lived outside of it. Never been to a foreign country. Never even left the city. Ahead he could see the Guild Gates.

Are they the bars of a prison to me, or a wall to keep out danger? Beyond was the front of the University, where his parents had once fought Sachakan black magicians in a last desperate battle. Those magicians were only Ichani, the Sachakan version of outcast criminals. How would that battle have ended if they’d been Ashaki, black-magic-wielding noble warriors? We were lucky to have won that battle. Everyone knows that. Black Magician Kallen and my mother may not be able to save us if the Sachakans ever decide to invade us properly.

A familiar figure was approaching the gates from within. As the man passed through them, Lorkin smiled. He knew Lord Dannyl through his mother and Lord Rothen. It had been a while since he’d seen the historian. As always, Dannyl wore a slightly distracted frown, and Lorkin knew the older magician could easily walk past without seeing him.

– Lord Dannyl, Lorkin called, keeping his mental voice quiet. Mental communication was frowned upon, since it could be heard by all magicians – whether friends or enemies. But calling another magician’s name was considered safe, as doing so gave away little information to anyone listening.

The tall magician looked up, saw Lorkin, and his frown disappeared. They walked toward each other, meeting at the entrance of the street Dannyl lived on.

“Lord Lorkin. How are things?”

Lorkin shrugged. “Well enough. How’s your research going?”

Dannyl frowned down at the bundle he was carrying. “The Great Library sent some records that I hoped would provide more details of the state of Imardin after Tagin’s death.”

Lorkin could not remember who Tagin was, but he nodded anyway. Dannyl had been caught up in his history of magic for so long he often forgot that other people did not know the details as well as he. It must be a relief to know what you want to dedicate your life to, Lorkin thought. None of this wondering what to do with yourself.

“How… how did you come up with the idea to write a history of magic?” Lorkin asked.

Dannyl looked at Lorkin and shrugged. “The task found me,” he said. “I sometimes wish it hadn’t, but then I find some new piece of information and,” he smiled wryly, “I remember how important it is that the past isn’t lost. History has lessons to teach us, and perhaps one day I’ll stumble on some secret that will benefit us.”

“Like black magic?” Lorkin suggested.

Dannyl grimaced. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve as much risk and sacrifice.”

Lorkin felt his heart skip. “Another sort of defensive magic? That would be a great thing to find.” It would not only free the Guild from having to use black magic, but could either provide a defence against the Sachakans, or persuade the Sachakans to give up black magic and slavery and join the Allied Lands. If I found such a thing… but this is Dannyl’s idea, not mine…

Dannyl shrugged. “I might find nothing at all. But to find the truth, record and preserve it, is achievement enough, for me.”

Well… if Dannyl doesn’t care… would he mind if someone else searched for an alternative to black magic? Would he mind if I did? A tingle of hope ran down Lorkin’s spine.

Lorkin took a deep breath. “Could… could I look at the work you’ve done so far?”

The older magician’s eyebrows rose. “Of course. I’ll be interested to hear what you think of it. You might notice something I haven’t.” He looked down the street, then shrugged. “Why don’t you join Tayend and me for dinner? Afterwards I’ll show you my notes and sources, and explain the gaps in history I’m trying to plug.”

Lorkin found himself nodding. “Thank you.” If he went back to his room in the Guild, he’d only end up alternating between brooding over Beriya and telling himself his life was better without her. “I’m sure it’ll be fascinating.”

Dannyl gestured toward his house, a grand two-storey building he had rented since retiring from the position of Guild Ambassador to Elyne. Though it was known that Dannyl and Tayend were more than mere friends, little was said about it these days. Dannyl had chosen to live in the city rather than the Guild grounds because, as he said, “it’s an agreement of sorts: the Guild pretends blindness, so we give them nothing to see.”

“Do you need to return to the Guild first?”

Lorkin shook his head. “No, but if you need to give Tayend and the servants some warning-”

“No, they won’t mind. Tayend brings unexpected visitors to the house all the time. Our servants are used to it.”

He beckoned and started toward his home, and Lorkin fell into step beside him.

His desk is always such a mess,” Tayend told Lorkin. As Dannyl frowned at the scholar, Tayend grinned, the few lines crossing his forehead smoothing out. Nobody would guess that he’s more than forty years old, Dannyl thought. I’m turning into a wrinkly skeleton while Tayend… Tayend looked better than ever, he noted. He’d put on a little weight, but it suited him.

“It only looks disorganised,” Dannyl said, not for the first time. “I know where everything is.”

Tayend chuckled. “I’m sure it’s just a ploy to ensure nobody can steal his research and ideas.” He grinned at Lorkin. “Now, don’t let him bore you to death. If you feel your mind is starting to shrivel up, come talk to me, and we’ll open another bottle of wine.”

Lorkin smiled and nodded. “I will.”

The scholar waved a hand in farewell, then effected a jaunty walk as he left the room. Dannyl resisted rolling his eyes and sighing, and turned back to Sonea’s son. The young man was eyeing the piles of documents and books on Dannyl’s desk doubtfully.

“There is order to the madness,” Dannyl assured him. “It starts at the back. That first pile contains everything relating to the earliest records of magic. It’s full of descriptions of places like the Tomb of White Tears, and a lot of conjecture about what the glyphs suggest magic was used for.” Dannyl took out the sketches Tayend had made when they had visited the Tombs over twenty years before. He pointed out the glyph of a man kneeling before a woman, who was touching his upraised palms. “This glyph means ‘high magic’.”

“Black magic?”

“Perhaps. But it might be Healing magic. It may be only coincidence that our predecessors called black magic ‘higher magic’.” Dannyl leafed through the pile and another sketch, this time of a crescent moon and hand, flipped into view.