“I am Barl Lindin, with urgent news for Lady Martain. I am told by her husband she is here, in Council session. Let me pass.”
“Barl Lindin?” The duty mage on the right narrowed his eyes. “The same Barl Lindin who—”
“Yes. Let me pass.”
The duty mage’s chin jerked at Remmie, who stood beside her silent and watchful and just a little bit unnerved. “Who is he?”
“My brother.” She smiled, not quite pleasantly. “You know who I am. You know what I did. Do you think I’ll not do it again if you persist in this obstruction?”
After an exchange of glances, the two duty mages stood aside.
“Enter the chamber at your own peril, Mage Lindin.”
Ignoring them, she looked at Remmie. “Don’t forget, these councillors aren’t our friends. Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Don’t give them any excuses. They’ll bind you as soon as look at you, just because we share the same name.”
The duty mage who’d recognised her swung open the doors. Barl took a deep breath and led the way into the chamber.
I’m not afraid. I’m not. These mages do not frighten me.
But her heart was beating too fast, and she was glad that Remmie walked with her. Even a Remmie whose faith in her she’d destroyed.
The whole Council was there, seated around the book-scattered table, and with them two mages she’d never seen before. Both women, both powerful. One was quite young, weary, her linen tunic stained with a rainbow of catalysts. The other not yet middle-aged, dressed in fine silks and jewellery, and her plain face was stamped with authority and a formidable intelligence.
As the doors closed behind her and Remmie, Lord Varen stood, his aged face darkening with anger.
“What are you doing here? How did you gain admittance to the Hall, let alone this Council chamber?”
“It doesn’t matter why she’s here, Brice,” said Sallis Arkley, almost shrill with fury. “If you don’t bind her, I will. She cannot be permitted to leave the Hall, ever again.”
As Remmie opened his mouth to protest, she touched his arm. “No. Don’t.”
It was hard to look at these important, arrogant mages. To meet their eyes and see such fear and loathing and contempt in them. Lady Frieden was shaking, fingers curled almost to talons.
No. No. Don’t think about talons.
“Mage Lindin,” said Venette Martain. She looked as exhausted as Morgan had, deep lines of sleeplessness grooved into her face. “Despite what you might think, despite my colleagues’ understandable disaffection, it’s good that you’re here. We’ve been talking about you, as it happens. And there are a few things we’d like to know.”
On principle, because this woman loathed her for no better reason than Maris Garrick’s disappointment, Barl lifted her chin. “Such as?”
Reaching amongst the scattered books, Venette Martain produced a flower. Slender-stemmed. Pink and cream petals brushed with blue along their edges. Morgan had laughed as he’d made it, created beauty out of a poor, plain daisy.
“Such as, how long you have been corrupting Dorana with forbidden magework?” Venette smiled. “And corrupting Morgan Danfey with it. Let’s not forget that.”
Before she could stop him, before she could remember how to speak, Remmie pushed forward. “She didn’t corrupt him. Morgan Danfey corrupted her. The transmutation incant is his doing. Barl would never have sullied herself with this filth if he hadn’t—”
“You’re her brother?” said Venette Martain, eyebrows lifting. She let the flower drop. “Remmie, isn’t it? Yes. Morgan mentioned you. The resemblance is remarkable… in more ways than one.” She glanced around the table. “You all feel it?”
“Indeed, Lady Martain,” said the younger of the two unknown women. “Extraordinary.”
Lord Varen, seated again, rapped his knuckles to the table. “You seem well-informed, Mage Lindin. Tell this Council everything you know about your sister and her doings with Morgan Danfey.”
Remmie shook his head. “Not before you promise me she won’t be bound again.”
“You are in no position to make demands!” said Lady Frieden. “Answer his lordship or be bound yourself and taken to a cell.”
Barl winced. Her brother was no fool. As a schoolteacher he was used to summing up others quickly… and recognising genuine authority when he met it.
It was one of the worst things she’d ever lived through, listening to him tell the Council first what he’d found at Morgan’s estate, and then what she’d told him at the Shooting Star. Because he had a generous heart he tried to go gently, this time, but his rage and disgust were too deep, too heartfelt, to remain hidden.
The one thing he didn’t speak of was Rumm, and how he died. But why? To spare her? Or to punish her, by making her be the one to tell that tale? She didn’t know.
When Remmie finished he was near to tears. “That’s the truth, my lords, my ladies. I swear to you, in the name of justice, Morgan Danfey is the cause of this.”
“He is part of it,” said Lord Varen coldly. “But according to your testimony, by her own admission your sister is the one who enabled him to perfect his transmutation incant. She has performed it with him, over and over again, and in doing so has brought Dorana to the brink of utter destruction!” He nodded at the younger woman. “Mage Ranowen, here, of the College, has closely examined this abominable flower and proven that beyond all shadow of doubt. The magic that created it is unravelling us. Can you truly think this Council will do no more than say tut-tut and let her go her merry way?”
Remmie hung his head. “No.”
Leaning forward, Venette Martain tapped the table. “Mage Lindin. Where is Morgan now? How is it you come to be here without him, weeping and wailing and beating your breast in an orgy of contrition that may or may not be genuine.”
Rumm.
This wasn’t going as she’d planned, and now there was nothing she could do to soften the consequences of her actions, and Morgan’s actions, and the harm that they’d wrought.
The other woman, still unnamed, was staring at her intently. “There’s something they’ve not told us,” she said, her mellow voice clipped with distaste. “A piece of this ugly puzzle is missing.”
“Well, Mage Lindin? Is Lady Brislyn correct?” said Lord Varen, and when she didn’t reply, banged his fist to the table so hard that all the heavy books on it jumped. “Answer me!”
“Morgan is in the mansion, asleep,” she said, dully. “I drugged him and warded him inside the library.”
Venette Martain didn’t even try to hide her shock. “Why?”
Barl felt Remmie shift closer. Felt the sorrow and sympathy muddled in with his anger. So. He’d been trying to shield her. Perhaps, when this was over, they’d have something to salvage after all.
“Answer Lady Martain, Mage Lindin.”
Brice Varen’s harsh, imperious tone made her flinch. Breathing hard she looked up.
“He used a transmutation incant on his master servant, Rumm. It failed. The man died.”
A chorus of gasps. From the sudden pallor in his cheeks, not even Sallis Arkley had expected to hear such a thing.
“But why would Morgan do something so—so monstrous?” Shari Frieden whispered, her voice shaking. “He is arrogant and unapproachable but he has never been this misguided.”
“He thought—he wanted—” Barl’s throat closed, and she could hardly breathe, let alone speak. All she could see was Rumm, ruined and dead on the attic floor.
“Dorana has no warriors,” Remmie said, stepping closer again. “He thought to rectify the lack.”
Lord Varen was the only councillor who’d kept himself in hand. “Into what form did Morgan attempt to transmute his unfortunate servant?”
“I’m not—” She had to swallow. “Lord Varen, it’s hard to say. I saw wings. Like a bat. I saw fangs. His fingernails…” She couldn’t stop her voice from failing. “Nothing human.”
“Something our superstitious
neighbours would see as demonic, then,” Varen murmured. “The better to strike fear into their bellicose hearts.”
“I think so. My lord—” Remmie would be furious if she tried to defend Morgan, but how could she not? When she understood what drove him, even as she had to condemn what he’d done? “You have to know he did it for Dorana.”
“I hope you cannot think his motive will excuse this vile act?”
Not a mage at the table tried to hide his or her revulsion, for Morgan, for her, for the things they had done.
“No,” she whispered. “I don’t.”
Venette Martain’s eyes were bright with tears. “Is this my doing, Mage Lindin? Did I get poor Rumm killed?” She looked at Brice Varen. “You might as well know, my lord, that when I told Morgan of his dismissal from this Council, I also told him of the news Lady Brislyn brought us. He knows about the threat of war from our neighbours.”
Lord Varen’s eyes turned icy. “That was most foolish, Lady Martain.”
“Well, what do you expect?” Sallis Arkley demanded. “Where Danfey’s concerned she is nothing but a fool!”
As Lady Frieden opened her mouth to join in Lord Arkley’s attack, Barl stepped forward and slapped the table. “Oh, stop your bickering! What does it matter now who said what to whom? All that matters is that we help Morgan… and find a way to help Dorana before the mage-mist destroys it, or our frightened neighbours attack. That’s why I’m here. I might only be a lowly, unranked mage, but—”
“You want to magework?” said Lady Frieden, incredulous. “After your crimes? Girl, are you—”
“Forgive me, but you shouldn’t be so quick to spurn her offer,” said Mage Ranowen. “Mage Lindin might be unranked, and her judgement appalling, but she is one of the greatest natural talents I have ever seen. I’ve no doubt she’d be an asset in the great working.”
“And Morgan Danfey?” said Lord Varen, very dry. “What have you to say of him?”
“Sadly, I think Lord Danfey must be deranged.”
Lady Brislyn sat back in her chair. “As head of the General Council, Mage Lindin, I will not presume to comment on matters of illegal magework. I want to know only one thing. Do you possess the skill to turn back the tide of destruction unleashed upon us by you and Lord Danfey?”
Another cold silence. Another onslaught of hostile stares. Barl felt her eyes sting.
“I don’t know, Lady Brislyn. But I want the chance to try.”
“As do I,” said Remmie. “I’ll do all I can to help put right what’s gone wrong.”
“So.” Sallis Arkley drew the word out. “Remmie Lindin. Are we to take it, then, that you do not approve of your sister?”
Remmie looked at Lord Arkley steadily, as he’d so often looked at a pupil who’d said something crude. “My lord, I love my sister. A man may love with all his heart, yet have that heart broken by a foolish, thoughtless act.”
“In other words—” Sallis Arkley was sneering now. “You’d have us believe she acted without malice?”
“Completely without malice. On that you have my word.”
“Then how do you explain her destructive behaviour?”
“I don’t, my lord,” said Remmie, curtly. “Not here, and not to you. I won’t read this Council a shopping list of my sister’s faults. I don’t see that as a provident use of my time.”
Lord Arkley’s face flushed. “You’re as arrogant as she is.”
“And you, my lord, seem intent upon proving her right about ranked mages.”
“That’s enough,” Lord Varen said, forestalling Sallis Arkley’s furious reply. “Mage Lindin is right about one thing, at least. We have not assembled here to indulge in petty brawling. Now, I think that before anything else is decided, we must hear what Lord Danfey has to say for himself. This time, however, we will not go to him. Mage Lindin—”
Still surprised by Remmie’s defence of her, sick with fear that he’d made of himself a target for Sallis Arkley’s revenge, Barl looked up.
“Yes?”
“You say you left Lord Danfey warded in his mansion?”
“I did, yes.”
“You’ll provide me with the unwarding key, then wait in the Council’s antechamber with your brother while Lord Danfey is sent for. Neither of you will speak of this. Is that understood?”
She nodded. “Yes. My lord.”
For a moment he looked at her, his sickened, tired eyes searching. Then he sighed. “I wonder, Mage Lindin, if you truly comprehend what you’ve done?”
More tears gathered, desperate to burst free. There was a terrible pain in her chest, as though guilt and grief were grinding her heart to a pulp. “I do, my lord.”
He grunted. “So you say. But that remains to be seen. The unwarding key?”
At his gesture, she fetched pen and paper from the chamber’s cupboard and wrote out the sequence of sigil and syllable that would free Morgan from the library. Taking it without thanks, Lord Varen looked at Remmie.
“Escort your sister to the antechamber and wait there until you are summoned.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Remmie, and led her from the room.
It was Remmie who spoke first, breaking the long and miserable silence.
“It’s been nigh on two hours. Do you think he’ll come?” he murmured, mindful of the duty mages standing close by. “Or will he—resist?”
Barl stared at the floor. “He is devastated about… what happened. He won’t hurt those mages the Council sent to fetch him.”
“I hope you’re right.”
His disappointment in her was unbearable. “I am. You’ll see.”
Remmie’s deep sigh was shatteringly sad. “I don’t know. Barl, I don’t know what to think any more.”
His sorrowful declaration broke her. Folding over herself, she surrendered to the grief that was tearing her apart. Dimly, she felt his arm slide round her shoulders. Collapsed against him and sobbed without restraint. Wept as she’d never wept, not even when their parents died. When she sat up at last, emptied of tears, she saw that Venette Martain and Lady Brislyn were seated on a low padded bench opposite. Raised voices from within the Council chamber turned her toward its closed doors.
“They’re arguing the finer points of Mage Ranowen’s deconstruction of your magework, Mage Lindin,” Venette Martain said, sounding exhausted. “I did suggest they ask you to adjudicate but alas, I was ignored. Oh. And Sallis has just been sent word from his mysterious informer. It seems Morgan’s the one who’s been bringing in all those dubious catalysts. Which of course you already knew.”
Barl shrugged. “I know a lot of things, Lady Martain. Of course, it’s not always easy to decide what’s important, and what isn’t. What should be spoken of… and what’s best forgotten.”
They looked at each other in silence. Then Venette Martain smiled. “Well, my dear, I’m sure that whatever you speak of, you’ll keep everyone’s best interests in mind.”
Lady Brislyn spared her an impatient, puzzled glance then turned. “Mage Lindin. It’s clear that even though Dorana is blighted with strife, your mageworking talent thrives while the rest of us wither. Can you explain that? It seems the Council of Mages is at a loss.”
Feeling ill from weeping, Barl shook her head. “No. Not for certain. It might be the way Morgan and I magework together. We enhance each other’s strengths to an amazing degree. It might be the shielding incant we placed over the estate. It might be serendipity. I’m sorry. I can’t say.”
“Lady Brislyn—” Remmie cleared his throat. “If I might ask… the danger from Dorana’s neighbours. Is it real? You truly believe they intend to harm us?”
“Mage Lindin…” Lady Brislyn’s lips thinned. “I think if we cannot solve this crisis, our neighbours will do their best to slaughter us all.”
“Which is why I did what I did. So our neighbours would fail.”
Startled, they all turned. Stared. Flanked by the duty mages sent to retrieve him, Morgan stared back. Unsmiling. Very c
old.
Barl shook off Remmie’s fiercely restraining hand and crossed the antechamber, her eyes never leaving his haughty, beautiful face.
“Morgan.”
He touched his lips to hers, lightly. “Barl.”
Palm resting on his silk-clad chest, feeling his heartbeat and his warmth, she looked up into his eyes. Saw something in them that made her skin crawl, and her blood chill.
“I love you.”
“You drugged me,” he said, faintly smiling.
“You were exhausted. You needed to sleep.”
“True. And I did sleep. But now I am awake.”
She watched her fingers slowly close until they were clutching his dark green tunic. “It’s gone too far, Morgan. We’ve gone too far.”
His mild gaze shifted past her, to fall on Remmie and Venette Martain and Lady Brislyn. “Is that what they’ve told you?”
“No, Morgan, it’s what I’m saying.” She shook him, just a little bit. “I need you to hear me. What happened to Rumm—what you did to Rumm—what we did—”
“It upset you,” he said softly, his hand covering hers. With a sigh he lowered his forehead until it rested on the top of her head. “I am sorry. I never wanted you to see that. And you have my word you’ll never see it again.”
“So we can stop now?” she whispered. “No more changelings like Rumm? We can work together to heal Dorana? I know you think it can’t be done, Morgan, but there’s nothing we can’t do when we join our hands and our hearts.”
“Barl, Barl…” His warm breath sighed over her hair. “You never said a truer thing.”
His lips captured hers, entreating, demanding. She felt her bones turn to molten gold, felt passion’s dizzying rush.
“Lord Danfey,” said Brice Varen’s cold voice, behind her. “The Council awaits you.”
With a groan he lifted his head. Rubbed his thumb over her lips. “Wait here for me, my love. I won’t be long.”
She watched him walk to the Council chamber, to Brice Varen who stood in the wide open doorway, his lined face stiff with disapproval. His lordship stepped back, in a parody of hostly invitation, and Morgan swept past him with an elegant disdain.