The Ambassador's Mission

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.

Pushing bitterness aside, she turned her mind to Cery and his family for a while, allowing herself to remember grief and feel the ache of sympathy. To allow memories to return, some welcome, some not. After a while the sound of footsteps roused her from her thoughts and she realised the sun had risen completely.

Turning to face the visitor, she smiled as she saw Rothen walking toward her. For a moment his wrinkled face was a mask of concern, then it relaxed into an expression of relief.

“Sonea,” he said, pausing to catch his breath. “A messenger came to see you. Nobody knew where you’d gone.”

“And I bet it caused a lot of unnecessary fuss and excitement.”

He frowned at her. “This is not a good time to be making the Guild question their trust of a common-born magician, Sonea, considering the change of rules about to be proposed.”

“Is there ever a good time for that?” She rose and sighed. “Besides, I didn’t destroy the Guild and turn all Kyralians into slaves, did I? I went for a walk. Nothing sinister at all.” She looked at him. “I haven’t left the city in twenty years, and have only left the Guild grounds to work in the hospices. Isn’t that enough?”

“Not for some. And certainly not for Kallen.”

Sonea shrugged. “I expect that from Kallen. It’s his job.” She hooked her hand around his elbow and they started back down the path. “Don’t worry about Kallen, Rothen. I can handle him. Besides, he wouldn’t dare complain about me visiting Akkarin’s grave.”

“You should have left a message for Jonna, saying where you were going.”

“I know, but these things tend to be a little spontaneous.”

He glanced at her. “Are you all right?”

She smiled at him. “Yes. I have a son who is alive and thriving, hospices in the city where I can do some good, and you. What more do I need?”

He paused to think. “A husband?”

She laughed. “I don’t need a husband. I’m not sure I even want one. I thought I’d be lonely once Lorkin moved out of my rooms, but I’m finding I like having more time to myself. A husband would … get in the way.”

Rothen chuckled.