The reworked transmutation incant, left to languish uncompleted while he tossed and turned it every which way, seeking to unravel its stubbornly elusive mysteries. The cursed thing haunted him. Taunted him. Racked him with doubt.
But that wasn’t something he could share with his father.
“I work on it when I can, my lord. I have had much Council business of late.”
“Indeed?” His father scowled. “Remember who you’re talking to, Morgan. The work falters, am I right?”
Curse it. “It is a trifle slippery.”
“So you’ve abandoned it? Do not tell me you are a butterfly mage, Councillor, alighting first on this notion and then flitting to that, no more constant or enduring than a flurry of snow in sunshine!”
“A butterfly mage?” Morgan kept his voice light, even though the accusation stung. “My lord, you serve me rough justice.”
An unsteady wag of one finger as his father snorted. “And you cozen me, boy. What, then? Are you truly trammelled?”
Boy. Though he longed for the solitude of his own chamber, Morgan sat once more in the chair beside his father’s vast, ornate bed. “I am… jiggered,” he admitted. “But I shall find my way out of the thicket, never fear.”
“On the morrow, Morgan, I shall assist you,” his father declared, his colour ashen, his chest sounding like an old bellows. “Bound, miscreant mage underfoot or no. Together we shall unjigger you. Not a Danfey born was ever defeated by magic.”
There was no use arguing. “Indeed, my lord, I would welcome your advice. Provided I am not called once more to the Council. And I must warn you, I might be. There is an outstanding matter that is not yet put to bed.”
“I see.” His father grunted. “What’s the to-do this time? Or can’t you discuss it?”
If it had been anyone other than Nevin Jordane’s girl, he’d likely answer and no harm done. But his father and hers were friendly enough that the news would be a cause of pain and even confrontation, and he’d had enough discord for one night.
“I am sorry, my lord, but it’s best I err on the side of caution. Be sure I’ll tell you everything, just as soon as I can.”
“Morgan—” His father shifted against his pillows. “Your Council work. Is it everything I imagined?”
Pushing again to his feet, he leaned down and kissed his father’s uncomfortably cool, clammy cheek. “My lord, you would have made an exemplary councillor. And your leadership would have thrown Varen into the shade. It is a wickedness that Dorana was ever denied your wisdom.”
And then he withdrew from his father’s chamber, so that they might not be discomfited by the tears in Lord Danfey’s grateful eyes.
Alone in his own chamber, no gentle glimfire glowing, he stripped himself naked and dropped haphazard to his bed. Showed the darkness his naked face, showed it the depth of his pain as his fingers touched the naked skin where Luzena’s locket used to rest.
And in the midst of anguish, slid into exhausted sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Binding was a terrible thing.
Skin crawling, pain simmering in her blood like water on the boil, Barl sat on the floor in the corner of a stone room deep beneath Elvado’s soaring Hall of Knowledge. Four blank walls surrounded her. The blank ceiling pressed down on her. Even if she’d had somewhere to run, she couldn’t. The same two mages who’d dragged her from Hahren’s chamber to face the Council, and then down to this bleak cell, stood sentinel beyond its heavy, brass-bound timber door. She couldn’t feel them, because the binding had left her deaf, dumb and blind, or as good as. But they’d marched her down here, ignited one tiny ball of glimfire so they could tell themselves they weren’t downright cruel, then closed that heavy door on her. And if she listened hard she could hear faint, muffled snatches of their sporadic conversation.
Most likely they were gloating, celebrating how the upstart mage had been so thoroughly chastised.
She couldn’t help but wonder what Remmie would say, could he see her now. Would her predicament at last prompt him to an exasperated I told you so? Surely he deserved to say it, having yet again been proven right. If just this once she’d listened to him, tempered her outrage with a pinch of his caution, disaster would’ve been avoided.
“But it’s a good thing you can’t see me, Rem,” she whispered to the echoing, empty stone room. “You’re far safer where you are. No unranked mage should come to notice by the Council.”
Because Dorana’s Council of Mages was a sham. It was meant to protect every mage from harm, not just the ranked ones, but if not for Morgan Danfey she’d either be dead now, or waiting to die. She still found it difficult to believe he’d saved her. That haughty mage, who’d stunned her at Winsun with his easy wielding of power?
Why did he speak for me? It did him no favours. That prune-faced mage, he wanted to see me thrown down. He’ll not forget Morgan Danfey’s defiance. He’s like Arndel, that councillor. He has a mean, shrivelled soul.
So did the older woman. What a hateful look in her eyes! As for the younger woman, she wasn’t sure. There’d been anger at Danfey, that much was clear, but the reason for it was unclear. Something else stirred there.
And Lord Varen. Why did he support Councillor Danfey? Does he lull me into a false sense of reprieve? Does he hope to catch me law-breaking again, so he can condemn me to death with a clean conscience?
It seemed more than likely. He’d not be head of the Council if he wasn’t first and foremost a champion of Dorana’s ranked mages.
How long do they intend to leave me bound? And after I’m released, if I’m released, what then? Will this binding leave me damaged? Will I live the rest of my days a cripple?
The thought of that left her almost paralysed with fear. Could even the Council of Mages be so brutal?
I think they could. I think, given free rein, there is nothing those mages would not dare to do.
Round and round inside her aching skull the questions marched, so she couldn’t find a moment of peace.
What about Remmie? Is he never to know what’s become of me? Will they let me at least write to him? Or would they rather he gave me up for dead and forgot me?
She’d wanted to ask the Council to at least tell her how long she’d be held on Morgan Danfey’s estate, but the binding incant had stolen her voice. It had stolen everything.
Fresh tears slid down her cheeks. She didn’t care. There was no-one to see them. How long had she been locked away down here? It could be sunrise outside, or midday, and she wouldn’t know it. Thanks to the Council, until the binding was lifted she’d need a clock made by someone else to know what hour it was.
They’ve made me no better than a Brantish tramp.
The injustice of it burned, even hotter than the binding. It felt like every nerve in her body was seared.
I think they wish I’d never been born. I think it’s their hope that this binding will destroy me, so they can pretend Barl Lindin never existed.
Not just tears now, but whimpers too. She pressed her palms to her face and turned to the stone wall, trying to stifle the sounds of distress. If the mages beyond the door heard her they’d certainly tell the Council. And the Council would rejoice to know how humbled she was.
Perhaps even Morgan Danfey would enjoy it. How can I trust him? I can’t let it matter that he saved me. He’s still one of them.
Somehow she had to find a way to tell Remmie what had happened, warn him that he must leave this mess alone. Though she’d left him hurt and furious behind her, she knew her brother. His anger wouldn’t last forever. Knowing Remmie, it wouldn’t last past a week.
And then he’ll come to Elvado and raise a ruckus. The Council will see that he loses his position, and probably ensure he’s never allowed to teach again. They might even bind him.
The thought of Remmie bound, and denied his precious schoolhouse, slid more tears down her cheeks, hot and fast.
The sound of the stone chamber’s door opening turned her face from the wall. Had her sm
earing her wet cheeks dry on her sleeve. And then she was blinking, because her visitor wasn’t Morgan Danfey.
“Lady Venette Martain,” the mage said, cool and self-contained, closing the door. “We met last night, if you recall.”
So. It was morning. Barl nodded. “My lady.”
With a careless snap of her fingers the woman ignited more glimfire. The jewelled gold clasping her throat and wrists flashed warm fire. The gold threads in her deep-green silk tunic spangled and sparked. She was beautiful and powerful… a dangerous combination.
“No, no, Mage Lindin,” she said, her smile swift and sharp. “It’s quite all right. Don’t get up.”
Barl matched her smile for smile, feeling reckless. “I wasn’t going to.”
One eyebrow lifted, then Venette Martain began a seemingly aimless wander. “I’m trying to decide,” she said at last, “whether you’re stupid… or deep.”
“Perhaps I’m deeply stupid,” she suggested.
“Yes. Perhaps you are.” Still wandering, Venette Martain folded her arms. “You’re certainly fortunate. If Morgan hadn’t spoken up for you when he did…”
“You’d have let them do away with me? Thank you, my lady. It’s good to know where I stand. Or sit.”
Venette Martain flung out a pointing finger. “Young woman, you’d be well-advised to mind your manners. If you think binding is the worst thing that can happen to you, trust me when I say you’re incorrect.”
“Trust you?” Barl laughed. “Oh, certainly. That would be my first impulse.”
Anger didn’t diminish the councillor’s beauty. “You consider yourself hard done by?”
“Trust me, Lady Martain. So would you, if our positions were reversed.”
Venette Martain snorted. “If you’re going to talk nonsense, Mage Lindin, I can’t see any point continuing this conversation.”
She hadn’t yet seen the point of starting it. But she felt certain there was one. “Nonsense is all that’s left to me. The Council’s binding took everything else.”
“Except your life,” said Venette Martain, smiling again. “Remember that.”
As though he sat close beside her, she heard Remmie’s whisper. Careful, Barl. Only a fool pokes a hornet’s nest with his finger. And since that was quite true, she made an effort to smooth her expression into a more pleasing meekness.
“Tell me,” said Venette Martain, halting at the chamber’s far wall and swinging round. “How do you come to know Morgan Danfey?”
“Know him?” She blinked. “I don’t.”
“You must.”
“No, I don’t,” she insisted. “And before you ask, no. I have no idea why he saved me. Do you?”
With an impatient flutter of her fingers, the councillor began wandering again. “Morgan is subject to fits of sentimentality.”
“You can’t expect me to regret that.”
“I expect you to fall face-down before him and weep with gratitude that he saved your life!”
Oh. Breathing carefully, Barl looked at Venette Martain. She was quite a few years older than Morgan Danfey, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be… involved. So if the councillor had come here to protect what she saw as hers, then—
“Don’t be vulgar!” Venette Martain snapped. “I am many years happily wed, and Morgan is about to make an excellent match that I have promoted. Don’t think to interfere with it, girl. My voice carries weight on the Council. If I decide I want you locked in a deep, distant cellar, far from Elvado or any other decent-sized town, you will be.” Coming close, she dropped to one knee and leaned forward. “And if I decide you shouldn’t breathe unbound air ever again, you won’t.”
Barl believed her. Heart thudding, she shook her head. “I have no interest in Morgan Danfey.”
“Good,” said Venette Martain, and stood. Her smile was keener than a Vharne swordsman’s blade. “It would be most unfortunate if that changed.”
The woman scared her. Resenting that, she folded her arms. “Lady Martain, I have a brother.”
“Do you?” Venette Martain fiddled with her bracelet. “Then he has my sympathies.”
“I need to let him know where I am. I need to—”
“Take it up with Morgan,” Venette Martain said, impatient. “It’s none of my concern.”
Was she truly this heartless? Or was she playing some kind of game? “If I do, will he listen? Will he—”
Hand raised, Venette Martain frowned at her, quelling. “I expect so. As I said, he’s sentimental. Now hold your tongue. You’ll shortly be leaving for the Danfey estate. Don’t think I won’t be kept apprised of your conduct there. Don’t think Sallis Arkley isn’t itching for an excuse to make a bloodthirsty example of you. Behave yourself, Mage Lindin, and it might be you can escape this regrettable affair unscathed.” Another edged smile. “Well. Almost.”
As the chamber’s heavy door banged shut behind her visitor, Barl pulled her knees tight to her chest and let her aching head drop. The binding incant crawled and burned beneath her skin.
Oh, Remmie. Remmie. What do I do now?
Eventually the stone chamber’s door opened again, and the sentinel mages escorted her along a maze of glimlit stone corridors and up short flights of stone stairs until, at last, they reached a stout, iron-bound door.
Standing on the other side of it, in a quiet, walled courtyard, Barl saw shimmering in the distance the topmost sunlit spires of Elvado’s Hall of Knowledge. So, she’d been spirited away from the town’s bustling centre. The Council was making sure there’d be no inconvenient witnesses to her banishment.
“Come along,” her male guard said, touching her arm. “There’s a carriage waiting.”
“Why a carriage? Why not just—”
“Bound mages can’t use travel incants,” the woman said. “Now come.”
Both mages turned for the warded door in the wall. Experimenting, Barl stood her ground.
“I don’t want to go.”
The male mage turned back to glare at her with slitted grey eyes. “The Council’s not interested in what you want,” he said, and snapped his fingers. “Come.”
The binding incant leapt to blazing life beneath her skin. Blinking away tears of pain, Barl tried to resist its implacable compulsion to obey… but it hurt too much. Welts were blossoming beneath her crumpled linen tunic, she could feel the hot bite of them like the strike of a poisoned lash.
“Don’t be a fool, Mage Lindin,” said the woman. She was young, not much older than her prisoner. If she felt any sympathy, she kept it hidden. “You’re only going to make matters worse.”
“How?” Barl demanded, stumbling forward. “And how can you support this? The Council’s as good as torturing me. Is this what Dorana’s come to? Are we no better than Ranoush?”
“It’s not our place to question the Council of Mages,” the woman said. “Be quiet, Mage Lindin, and do as you’re told.”
Forced to obedience, Barl followed the mages out of the courtyard. After a few dragging steps the binding’s punishment stopped. The welts faded. Trembling, she climbed into the carriage halted in the narrow laneway beyond the courtyard’s door. Her guards climbed in after her, and sat in grim silence facing her as the carriage’s driver stirred up the horses.
Neither of them said a word, to her or each other, as the carriage carried them through the outskirts of Elvado then into the surrounding countryside. Its windows were shuttered. A little glimfire leavened the gloom, and a whisper of fresh air seeped in through a small painted grille near the low roof. But the close confinement and steady side-to-side swaying churned her empty belly to miserable nausea.
The least they could’ve done was give her a few mouthfuls of breakfast. But no, it seemed that as a Council-bound mage, she was to be treated only a little less harshly than if she’d been a sheep-worrying cur.
At long last the carriage slowed and turned, then continued slowly along what sounded like a gravel driveway. The driver’s deep voice sounded above them
in a soothing Whoa and the carriage slowed further until it rolled to a stop.
“Out,” said the mage with grey eyes, his voice clipped with dislike of her. “Quickly. We’ve wasted enough time on you.”
She opened the carriage door and clambered to the gravelled ground, clinging to the handle because there was nobody to let the folding step down and she didn’t want to fall.
“Barl Lindin.”
Turning, she saw a neatly dressed man some twenty years her senior, with close-cropped hair and measuring eyes. Dressed in plain but immaculate black, hands relaxed by his sides, oddly he reminded her of Remmie. They shared an air of calm authority, a teacherly confidence that they were completely in charge of the situation.
“Where’s Councillor Danfey?” her female guard demanded, leaning out of the open carriage door. “This woman isn’t to be left here like a parcel. She’s dangerous.”
The man’s brow creased in the faintest of frowns. “Councillor Danfey is otherwise occupied.”
“We’ve strict instructions. Mage Lindin is to be delivered to the councillor. No-one else.”
“I am Rumm, Lord Danfey’s master servant,” the man said, still frowning. “During her time on the Danfey estate, Mage Lindin will be answerable to me. As for her being a threat, do you tell me Councillor Danfey’s binding has been removed?”
Taken aback, the mage shook her head. “No. Of course not. But—”
“Then I expect the only danger she poses is to the crockery,” said the man, Master Servant Rumm. “You may return to the Council and assure them you have properly discharged your duty.”
If she hadn’t felt so faint, so ill, Barl would have laughed at her erstwhile guard’s stunned face. A moment, as the mage pulled back inside the carriage to confer with her fellow guard. Another moment as a hasty, whispered conversation ensued. Then the mage leaned out again.
“Very well. She’s your problem now.”
As the carriage door slammed shut, and the driver stirred up his horses, Master Servant Rumm turned on his heel. “With me, Mage Lindin.”
For the first time since setting foot on the gravel, Barl paid attention to where she’d been abandoned exactly like an unwanted parcel. She stood in the forecourt of an imposing, mellow brick mansion. Ruby ivy climbed its walls and flirted with the sun-sparkled windows. There were neatly tended garden beds, colourful with flowers. The air smelled sweet with them, and with the wilder scent of woodland. A breeze flirted with her hair, limp and unravelling now, and tugged at her woefully rumpled linen tunic. The breeze dropped and suddenly she could smell herself, unwashed, the stink of sweat tainted by the binding incant. A brassy kind of smell, it was, leaving a metallic aftertaste in the mouth.