Arndel’s lips pressed so tight they all but vanished. “Mage Ventin has been with me for nine years. You have worked here less than one. And you think I should discard my good opinion of him on your unproven say-so? Give credence to your outlandish claims?”

“Yes! Master Arndel, you can’t make me pay for Baret’s mistake!”

“No, Mage Lindin,” said Arndel. His cold voice cut as deep as a plunged knife. “The mistake was mine, in appointing you to this artisanry. I have rectified it. Leave. And you can be sure a report on this disgraceful affair will be sent forthwith to the Guild.”

The workroom was so hushed Barl thought she could hear every watching mage’s heartbeat. Light-headed with pain and disbelief, she searched Baret Ventin’s face for any hint of shame. His blank eyes stared back at her. On his lips a small, derisive smile.

You bastard.

Arndel pointed to the workroom door. “Will you leave, Mage Lindin? Or must I have you removed by rough handling? If so I will make sure you cannot find magework anywhere in Dorana!”

Did he have so much influence? Perhaps. His client list was impressive. Most likely Lord Bren or Lady Grie or another of his patrons would see her ruined in return for a lifetime of generous considerations.

Barl made herself smile. “You’re a fool, Arndel. If you’d given me the chance I’d have made clocks to make you famous. I would have made you renowned throughout the known world. Now all you have is Baret Ventin. And I promise… before either of you is much older he’ll bring this artisanry down around your foolish ears.”

And on that parting note, she walked from the workroom. Every step was a torment, her magic-battered body a shouting of pain. She welcomed it. Her bruises and scorch marks were her badge of honour. She’d done what was needful. She’d done nothing wrong.

And now she knew what it was she had to do next.

The question is, will Remmie forgive me?

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Troubled, Venette tapped her neat fingernails to the table. The sound rattled loud in the hushed Council chamber.

Brice frowned. “You wish to say something, Lady Martain?”

He only ever called her that when he was vexed. But she wasn’t the one who’d requested this urgent meeting. That was Sallis Arkley’s doing. With Shari’s connivance, of course. Thick as Feenish thieves, those two.

“I fail to see why this matter couldn’t wait,” she said, letting her own vexation show. “Without Morgan we can hardly claim a united stance, can we?”

Shari Frieden grimaced. “True enough, which is why he should be here. His absence reflects poorly upon his dedication.”

“He has personal business this morning, Shari, that couldn’t be postponed.”