And all of us know it’s just a matter of time before we won’t be able to keep it a secret any more. We might not have admitted it aloud yet… but we know.
“Venette?” said Maris. “Are you all right?”
With an effort she thrust the fear out of sight. “Hardly, my dear. Your news has quite broken my heart. And now I’ll ask a favour of you. Don’t incant back to the country. I’ll have my travelling carriage take you. Incanting such a distance when you’re upset isn’t safe. Please, Maris,” she insisted, as the girl began to protest. “I’d never forgive myself if something went wrong.”
Sighing, Maris nodded. “All right.”
Light-headed with relief, Venette summoned her master servant. “Jarman, Mage Garrick is leaving. I want the travelling carriage put to so it can take her home. And while she waits, bring her refreshments.”
Jarman bowed. “My lady.”
“I’ll have to desert you now, I’m afraid,” she said, forcing a smile. “You’ve brought me quite the knot to untangle and it’s best if I get to work straight away.” She held out her arms. Maris hesitated, then went to her. Holding the girl tight, she kissed her damp cheek. “You must not worry about this, my dear. I will make everything right, I promise.”
“I told you!” With rare, unchecked anger Sallis slammed both fists to the Council table. “We had no business letting Danfey take that troublemaking mage out of here. Now, Brice, see where your soft-hearted pity leads us!”
Venette watched Brice’s lips pinch bloodless, and held out a calming hand. “Please, Sallis. Shouting recriminations at each other is hardly going to solve anything. Besides, it’s not as if any law has been broken.”
“If you didn’t think this was a disaster you wouldn’t have called for an emergency meeting,” Sallis snapped. “So kindly—”
“I called for this meeting because Greve Danfey is dead and Morgan has not seen fit to inform us of the fact,” she retorted. “The death of a ranked mage is very much Council business. That one of our own is bereaved makes it doubly a matter of concern. As for this other unpleasantness—”
“Is that what you call it, Venette? When a ranked mage, a councillor, stoops to rutting below his station?” Shari Frieden tittered. “Unpleasantness?”
“It is highly unpleasant, I promise you, when a charming young woman like Maris Garrick is put in such an untenable position!”
Shari sniffed. “A great pity you didn’t seek advice when it came to pushing a match between the Garrick girl and Morgan Danfey. I could have told you it would all end in tears. The Danfey men’s history with women is—”
“Not the point, surely. I don’t see—”
“Of course you see,” said Brice, frowning. “You simply chose to ignore your misgivings, Venette. As I chose to ignore mine when it came to allowing Morgan custody of Barl Lindin.” He shifted his dour gaze to Shari. “But I suggest you reconsider your accusations, Lady Frieden. It might well be inadvisable for ranked and unranked mages to mingle, but doing so is not a legal transgression.”
“It is when she’s a proven miscreant and he’s her Council-appointed custodian,” said Sallis. “Why are we even debating this, Brice? Mage Lindin must be retrieved, immediately, and put under a judiciary’s lock and key. As for Morgan, well, I think he has more than made my argument for me. He must be expelled from this Council.”
“For what?” Venette demanded, before Brice could reply. “Seeking an escape from his grief by dallying in the wrong bed?”
Sallis laughed, mocking. “Of course you defend him. The sun has yet to rise on a day in which you won’t defend Morgan Danfey.”
“Defend him, Sallis? I could slap him until he begged for mercy! I am so angry I happily admit I agree with you in that Barl Lindin cannot remain where she is. But I won’t support you in Morgan’s expulsion. However distasteful we might find his behaviour, he isn’t a miscreant. We don’t have the grounds.”
“Lack of judgement is grounds,” said Shari. “A resolution of no confidence is grounds.”
“You require a unanimous opinion for that,” she retorted. “You don’t have it.”
Flushed with temper, Shari leaned across the table. “It seems to me, Venette, that when it comes to Morgan Danfey your judgement is equally lacking. Perhaps—”
“Enough,” said Brice, his voice heavy with warning. “I will not preside over a catfight. We are in agreement on one thing. Barl Lindin must return to the Hall of Knowledge, after which time we will further consider her fate. To that end, I suggest we pay Morgan a visit.”
“Why should we go to him?” Sallis demanded. “Like supplicants? Summon him to us, Brice. Let him answer for his gross behaviour here.”
“No, Sallis,” said Brice, shaking his head. “I would not put him on the defensive. As Venette says, he is grieving. Let us show him some little mercy. Express our condolences for his loss, as is proper, then exert our influence as tactfully as we can.” He looked around the table, his lined face weary. “Do you feel comfortable travelling by incant? I’d prefer no delay in this.”
If any of them were nervous, they weren’t about to admit it. They incanted to the Danfey estate, and were greeted at the mansion’s imposing front doors by its master servant.
With a glance, Brice ceded his authority for the moment. Grateful, Venette stepped forward. “Rumm. We must speak with Councillor Danfey.”
Looking past her to Brice, the master servant hesitated then bowed. “Councillors.”
Rumm’s form of address wasn’t incorrect, but it lacked a certain… deference. Uneasy, Venette looked at him more closely.
“We’ve heard your sad news, Rumm. You have the Council’s sympathy.”
Rumm’s eyes glittered, his grief close to the surface. “Thank you, my lady.”
“Where is the councillor now?”
“His lordship is occupied with privy business,” said Rumm, a note of censure in his voice. “I shall inform him of your arrival. Please come with me.”
As Rumm left them stranded in the foyer and withdrew to fetch Morgan, Brice gestured her a little aside. “This is most odd. There is a powerful warding around this estate. Can you feel it?”
Of course she could. Morgan’s country home dwelled within a cocoon. “Yes.”
“Venette, I do not care for it.”
And neither did she, but if they didn’t tread carefully this visit would end in disaster. “I’m sure it’s nothing nefarious,” she murmured, with a worried look at Sallis and Shari. “Brice, please, one fight at a time. First let us settle—”
“More uninvited visitors?” a brittle voice said behind them. “How irritating. I think I must consider some kind of lock on the gate.”
They turned. Morgan. Seeing the grief in him, feeling it, Venette bit her lip. Her anger still burned, but who could remain indifferent to such pain? A touch to her arm told her Brice was resuming his authority. She eased back, her heart pounding.
Don’t be a fool, Morgan. Please. Don’t be a fool.
“Councillor,” Brice said quietly. “The Council extends to you its formal condolences on the death of Lord Danfey. All of Dorana shares in your loss.”
“You should have told us yourself he was dead,” said Sallis. “Why didn’t you?”
Brice turned. “Lord Arkley.”
Chastened, at least for the moment, Sallis stared at the foyer floor. Shari stepped closer to him, her inevitable allegiance truculently declared.
“Let me guess, Brice,” Morgan drawled. He was clad in indigo silk, unrelieved by jewels. The colour heightened his pallor, and all the planes and edges in his face. “Maris ran to Venette, and Venette ran to you.” He laughed. “And now you’ve run to me, doubtless with a list of demands. We’ll make this quick, shall we? You cannot have her.”
Sighing, Brice clasped his hands before him. “Morgan, you—”
“Lord Danfey.”
Risking Brice’s displeasure, Venette took a step toward Greve’s reckless son. “Wheth
er or not Maris should have involved me, Morgan, one thing is indisputable. Mage Lindin can’t remain on this estate. You must see it’s not… advisable. And quite apart from the social implications there is the brute fact that she’s a miscreant. She belongs in a cell.”
“She belongs here. You wanted her punished? She was punished. And now she is with me.”
“Which is surely some kind of punishment,” said Shari, “but not the sentence meted out by the Council.”
Morgan’s eyes were so dark they looked like polished obsidian. “The Council’s sentence was that she be bound until she saw the error of her ways. She has seen it.”
“So you say,” Brice said, with admirable restraint. “But that is not your decision.”
“Nor is it yours,” said Morgan, so haughty. “You forfeited your power over her when you chose to treat her differently for no better reason than she is unranked.”
Sallis made a spitting sound of disgust. “We’re wasting our time, Brice. Unbridled lust has overturned his judgement.”
“And unbridled arrogance long ago destroyed yours!” Morgan stared at them, his thin face twisted with contempt. “Who do you people think you are, to barge into my home demanding the life of a blameless young woman? You cannot have her. Whatever small mistake Barl Lindin made with Hahren is paid for and done. And if you think to force my hand on this, be warned. I will shout your injustice into every corner of this land. I will see you bound, I swear it, with unbreakable chains of your own making. Have you forgotten that in Dorana we have two Councils? And that the General Council is the voice of the unranked… who outnumber us?”
Shari broke the shocked silence with a disbelieving laugh. “You are threatening us? With a rabble?”
“No,” said Morgan, thinly smiling. “I merely remind you of an uncomfortable truth. But if you’re eager for a rabble, Shari, then all you need do is persecute Barl Lindin. You’ll have your rabble then. I promise.”
Another silence. Then Brice sighed. “Lord Danfey—”
Morgan folded his arms, so proud. So unapproachable. So like his dead father.
“Don’t bother, Lord Varen. You can keep your Council seat. I have no further use for it. I have no use for you.” He flicked his fingers, and behind them the foyer doors swung open. “My thanks for your condolences.”
For a moment Venette thought Brice was going to argue. Then he nodded. “Farewell, my lord. For now. But we shall speak again. Soon. When you are less… distempered.”
He turned for the doors, and with a sharp look took sputtering Sallis and Shari with him. Venette stayed, waiting for Morgan to speak. When he didn’t, she sighed.
“Well, my dear. This is something of a tangle.”
“For you, perhaps,” he said, shrugging. “Not me.”
There had to be a way to reach him. “You must know you’ve hurt Maris.”
He snorted. “A pinprick. She’ll live.”
“Morgan… what are you doing?”
“I’m following my heart.”
“Your heart?”
His laugh was bitter. “What—you don’t think I have one?”
“Don’t be silly,” she snapped. “I think—”
I think Barl Lindin will ruin you. I think this is a mistake.
And then she shook her head. What was the point? He had no intention of listening. His mind was made up.
“My dear, I am so sorry about Greve.”
His lips tightened. “He’s at peace now.”
Perhaps. If only she could say the same about his son. “Morgan—”
“You should go,” he said, nodding at the doors. “Or they’ll be claiming I hold you here against your will.”
He really was unreachable. She’d never felt like that before. Despite Maris, despite her anger and disappointment, she was deeply grieved. Somehow, she’d failed him. She’d failed his mother, her friend. Close to tears, she nodded.
“Well, then. Goodbye, my dear.”
“Goodbye, Venette.”
But before she reached the foyer doors, she slowed then turned back. “Morgan, why is the estate warded?”
“Why do you care?” he said, sneering. “Or is it you’d like to add that to my list of transgressions?”
“Of course not. You’ve broken no law. Tell me… is it because you’ve been mageworking with Barl Lindin?”
“And if I have?”
“Then some might say that is breaking the law. She hasn’t been formally released from her binding.”
He shrugged, faintly smiling. “I released her. All perfectly legal, since I was a councillor at the time.”
Which was true. Conflicted, Venette bit her lip. She should say something of Bellamie Ranowen’s alarm. But if Brice found out she’d directly disobeyed him…
I must speak. Morgan’s one of our best mages. And we need all the help we can get.
“During your mageworking, you’ve not felt anything… out of the ordinary, have you?”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Out of the ordinary?”
“Peculiar. Odd. You know. Unusual.”
“No, Venette,” he said, and gestured at the open doors. “Goodbye.”
Defeated, at least for the moment, she left.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Morgan didn’t need to look round to know that Rumm had returned cat-footed to the foyer and was standing ready, the model master servant. Waving the open doors shut again, he considered his departed visitors.
“Do you think they will test your resolve, my lord?”
“I don’t know, Rumm,” he said, after a moment. “I hope not, for their sakes.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Turning, he offered the master servant a grim smile. “It’s not too late to find other employment.”
“Thank you, my lord, but I am perfectly satisfied in my current position.”
“Which now involves cooking, dusting, laundry, scullery, chickens, hounds and stables.”
Rumm’s severely proper expression eased. “I was developing a little paunch. Happily, it would appear that danger has been averted.”
“Very happily,” he said, and laughed, though his mood was so grim. “Rumm—”
“It seems to me, my lord,” said Rumm, serious again, “that though the Council of Mages must be honoured for its services to Dorana, that honour should not extend to giving it power over a man’s heart, and upon whom that heart might be bestowed.”
“Rumm,” he said, after a moment. “You should know I voted aye on the amendment that now prevents you from marrying.”
“I am not surprised to hear it. In almost all things, you are your father’s son. But as you say, my lord.” Rumm smiled, very dry. “There are two Councils in Dorana… and rules can be amended. Was there anything else you required?”
“Dinner, in due course,” he said, staring. “And on the morrow there will be mageworking supplies to procure. I should warn you, that task will likely occupy the whole day and be something of an onerous undertaking.”
Rumm bowed. “My lord.”
“Just so we understand each other,” Morgan said, as Rumm turned to leave. “I meant what I said. I will start a civil war before I let Brice Varen steal Mage Lindin from me.”
Rumm’s gaze was steady. “Yes, my lord. I did take that to be your meaning.”
“That frightens you.”
“Yes, my lord. It does.”
“Let’s hope it frightens Lord Varen, too. And Sallis Arkley.”
Rumm hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sure it does, my lord. Just as I’m sure Lady Martain won’t let things go so far. She’s your friend. She’ll speak up for you.”
Venette. A perpetual thorn in his side. He grimaced. “She was my friend until I spoiled her plan for Maris Garrick.”
“No, my lord. She’s still your friend.”
“Certain of that, are you?”
“Quite certain, my lord.”
And perhaps Rumm was right. Perhaps Venette would forgive him. Had already
forgiven him.
The question is, do I forgive her?
“Very good, Rumm. You can go.”
In the library, waiting for him, Barl had pulled down almost a shelf’s worth of books and was sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded. Without looking up at his entrance she waved an impatient hand at him.
“At last! I thought you’d get rid of them much faster than that. Now come sit beside me, for I’ve found something here that might help us with our transmutations.”
Amused, he closed the door. “You don’t want to hear what our revered Council had to say?”
“No,” she said, glancing up. “Why? Was it other than we expected?”
“It was not.”
“Well, then.”
“You’re not interested in what I said?”
Now she smiled, brilliant. “You said what I would’ve said, had someone come to threaten you. Go away or be very sorry.”
He laughed. “Is that what I said?”
“Isn’t it?”
“More or less. Though you should know, I resigned.”
“From the Council?” She blinked. “For me?”
“And for me. I’ve had more than enough of their prosing interference.”
“Yes, but Morgan…” Troubled, Barl laced her fingers and stared at them. “I do wish you hadn’t done that. Not even partly for me. It’s an important thing, a prestigious thing, being on the Council of Mages. Your father would never have wanted you to resign.”
Morgan joined her on the floor. “Barl, there are many things I plan to do that my father would never have wanted. But I cannot live my life dancing to a tune played on a dead man’s violin.” He touched his fingers to her knee. “This was my choice, and I am content with it.”
She looked up. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“All right,” she muttered, and blew out a sharp breath. Then she thrust the book she was reading at him. “See here. Ollet’s Compendium. It’s terribly quaint, isn’t it? All these old-fashioned incants nobody uses any more. But I’ve found this one. What do you think?”