The Ambassador's Mission: Book One of th - By Trudi Canavan Page 0,30
behaves as we wish them to.”
“If only we could trust that they would,” Regin replied. “But it is true of all novices and magicians, no matter their background and fortune, that those exposed through family or friends to dishonest people and business are more likely to succumb to the temptation of criminal involvement than those who are not.” He grimaced. “I believe this rule helps them, particularly when they are unable to help themselves. It can be an excuse to back out of a situation when under pressure from others.”
“Or it can drive them to rebel, when the rule is seen to be unfairly upheld. Or if it is inadvertently broken then they may reason that having broken one rule it will not matter so much if they break another. Then there are those who find what is most forbidden is the most exciting.”
“For which we need the deterrent effect of the rule.”
“Deterrent or, perversely, encouragement?” She sighed. “The weakness of this rule is that it is inconsistently applied – and I don’t believe that can be resolved.”
“I agree that is the weakness, but not that it cannot be resolved.” Regin leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “The trouble is, things have changed. Crime has seeped up into the higher classes like damp rising through the walls. It is they we need the rule for, not the lower classes.”
Sonea raised her eyebrows. “Surely you don’t believe that the higher classes weren’t gambling and whoring in the past? I can tell you some stories—”
“No.” Regin opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m not talking about the usual mischief. This is bigger. Nastier. And far more organised.”
Sonea opened her mouth to ask him to elaborate, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. She turned away and sent a little magic out to unlatch the door, and as it swung inward she felt her heart lift as Jonna entered the room, carrying a large platter laden with food.
Sonea’s aunt and servant looked from her to Regin, then bowed politely. “Lord Regin.” She set the platter down, then glanced at Sonea and took a step back.
“Don’t leave for my sake.” Regin rose and turned to face Sonea. “I will return another time.” He inclined his head. “Thank you for hearing me out, Black Magician Sonea.”
“Good night, Lord Regin,” she replied.
Jonna stepped aside to allow him past. As the door closed behind him, the woman raised an eyebrow.
“Did I interrupt?” she asked.
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter.”
As her aunt arranged the covered dishes on the table, Sonea sighed and looked around the room.
When she had first seen inside the rooms in the Magicians’ Quarters, she had been impressed by how luxurious they were, but hadn’t noticed anything unusual about their size. She hadn’t known that they were small compared to the houses most higher-class men and women lived in. Each suite contained two to four rooms, depending on the size of the magician’s family, and the rooms were of a modest size.
Aside from the occasional complaint, most magicians were willing to live in such small quarters in order to reside within the Guild. They had adapted to the restrictions. They did not eat at a dining table, but instead meals were served on a low table set before the guest room chairs. The only exceptions were the formal meals of the Guild, served at a long dining table in the Banquet Room within a purpose-built building.
Though there was another exception – the small dining room in the High Lord’s Residence.
A memory flashed through her mind of that room, and flavours she hadn’t tasted in years. She found herself wondering, not for the first time, what had happened to Akkarin’s servant, Takan, the Sachakan ex-slave who had cooked such amazing meals. Nothing had been heard or seen of him since the invasion. She had always hoped he had survived.
Jonna sat down with a heavy sigh of relief. Sonea looked down at the cooling dishes on the table. It wasn’t an exotic meal, just the usual fare from the Guild kitchens. She frowned. It should have been Lorkin who had interrupted Regin.
“He’ll be here soon,” Jonna assured her, guessing the source of her worry. “He wouldn’t dare miss a meal with his mother.”
Sonea humphed. “He seems quite prepared to defy me and get himself killed in Sachaka. Why would a mere missed dinner bother him?”
“Because he’d have me to answer to as well,” Jonna replied.