The Traitor Queen (The Traitor Spy Trilogy #3)(83)

The Guild would not want him to get involved, either. The Allied Lands had shied away from direct conflict with King Amakira for fear that the Traitors would lose, and the king would seek revenge. A Guild magician among the Traitors would make it look as though the Guild supported the Traitors.

But they’re going to send Healers. How is that different?

They were simply being hired for their services, and would not join in the fighting. They would probably time their arrival after the battle. They would be of no use before and during it, and it allowed them to retreat to Kyralia, hastily if necessary, if the Traitors lost.

Perhaps he could volunteer to join them. He wasn’t a Healer, but he could Heal, and he could be a mediator between Healers and Traitors. That still means not being there, at the battle. Where Tyvara will be. He knew that there was no way she would abandon her people and go with him to Kyralia. And that he would do anything to ensure she survived. Even fight with the Traitors.

But if he was going to fight with the Traitors, he could not do so as a Guild magician.

He looked at her. “What do you want?”

She stared at him intently. “I want you,” she said. “But not if you won’t be happy. And not if you won’t be safe.”

He smiled. Which is exactly what I want for her. But we can’t both be happy and safe.

Which made the decision easy.

“I won’t be happy if I don’t at least try to make you happy and safe,” he told her. “So I guess I’m going to have to come with you and make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Her eyes widened. “But … the Guild … What’s the point of you learning stone-making if—”

“Lord Lorkin,” Savara called. “We are getting thirsty.”

He leaned down and kissed Tyvara. “Don’t worry about the Guild. They’ll work something out.”

She nodded. “I’ll get the raka. You go back.”

Turning away, he made his way over to join the queen and his mother. His heart was racing, but he was not sure if it was panic and terror, or joy and excitement. Probably all of those. Am I really prepared to leave the Guild and join the Traitors? Am I crazy enough to risk my life in battle?

As he sat down, he looked back at Tyvara. She gazed back at him, her face shifting from happy to worried and back again. He smiled, and her lips widened in reply.

Yes. Yes I am.

As the Guild House carriage rolled through the gates of Achati’s mansion, slaves hurried out of sight. All of them – except for the door slave, who threw himself at Dannyl’s feet as he climbed out – disappeared. Looking around, Dannyl recalled no female slaves among those he’d seen. Was this because Achati simply preferred male slaves, as with lovers, or did he hope that it would lessen the chance that he had any Traitor spies in his household?

“Take me to Ashaki Achati,” Dannyl ordered.

The slave leapt to his feet with all the nimbleness of youth, and led Dannyl through the unadorned, polished wood door into the coolness of the corridor beyond. Achati’s invitation had arrived that morning. Dannyl had agonised over whether to accept or decline until midday, when he gave in and consulted Tayend.

“Of course you should go,” Tayend had said, barely looking up from his desk. “An Ambassador must maintain good relations, and Achati’s the only one here still willing to have any relations with us.”

So here Dannyl was, walking down the corridor to the Master’s Room, his heart beating a little too fast and his stomach stirring in an annoying and disconcerting way. As he reached the end of the corridor he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, schooling his face into a polite smile as he saw the man waiting for him.

“Ambassador Dannyl.” Achati stepped forward and grasped Dannyl’s arm in the Kyralian manner of greeting.

“Ashaki Achati,” Dannyl replied.

“I am so pleased that you accepted my invitation,” Achati said, smiling broadly. “Come and sit. I’ve ordered the kitchen slaves to do their best tonight. Here – I even have Kyralian wine.”

He beckoned Dannyl over to the stools and leaned down to pick up a bottle. He held it out to show the label.

“Anuren dark!” Dannyl exclaimed, impressed. “How did you get hold of this?”

“I have my sources.” Achati gestured to the stools. “Please sit.”

It appeared Achati was determined to behave as if nothing had happened since the last time Dannyl had visited. Perversely, this made Dannyl feel less comfortable. Surely the Ashaki ought to acknowledge in some way the trials his king had put them through. Pretending they hadn’t happened would not mend their friendship.

Then, just as Dannyl began to grow annoyed, Achati surprised him.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said as he poured a second glass of the wine.

Dannyl paused. “I’m not sure what to say to that,” he said honestly.

“Don’t say anything. You don’t have to lie in order to be diplomatic.”

“If you don’t expect me to forgive you, I gather you won’t be apologising.”

Achati smiled. “No. And you won’t be thanking me for getting Lorkin out of Arvice, although I did arrange it.”

“I should thank you for not handing him over to the king, at least,” Dannyl pointed out.