Seemingly placid, Brice smiled. “Tomorrow will be soon enough, Venette. Or even the next day. This Council does not leap to any mage’s finger-snap.”

“Brice—”

Not placid at all now, Brice silenced Sallis with a look. “I warn you, Lord Arkley, do not further presume upon my forbearance. It was improper of Nevin Jordane to approach you, and ill-advised for you to promise anything on this Council’s behalf. Be satisfied I’ve agreed to investigate the matter. And should your friend mislike the way it’s being handled, by all means refer him to me.”

Leaving Brice and Sallis to their fuming, and Shari to murmur anxiously impartial support, Venette departed the Council chamber. Someone called her name as she hurried toward the Hall’s imposing entrance, but she didn’t stop. Whoever it was would have to wait. Outside, paused by the fountain, she tipped her face to the cool rain and let it wash the heated flush from her cheeks.

Morgan, I swear, I’m going to kill you.

Trembling, but not from a chill, she recited a travel incant and let it carry her out of Elvado.

“Lady Martain.” One flickering glance at the foyer ceiling, then the Danfeys’ master servant executed a punctilious bow. “Forgive me, my lady. Were we expecting you?”

“No,” she said shortly. Oh, what was the wretched man’s name? Something to do with whiskey, wasn’t it? Ah, yes. “Nevertheless, Rumm, I must ask you to disturb Councillor Danfey on my behalf. Council business, you understand. Although, before I deal with that, I would like a moment with his lordship. Lord Varen has asked me to convey his respects.”

Another ceilingwards glance. “Of course,” said Rumm, exquisitely polite. “That is most kind of his lordship. However, Lord Danfey has yet to rise this morning. Might I prevail upon you to take some refreshment in the parlour while I make certain he is able to receive you?”

Nearly midday and Greve was still abed? So, things were gone downhill as far as that, were they? Worse and worse. Morgan, you should have told me. “That would be lovely, Rumm,” she said, smiling through her temper. “Thank you.”

By the time the servant returned with the news that Lord Danfey would be only too pleased to entertain a visit from her ladyship, she’d accounted for two cups of tea and three small cakes.

“I take it Morgan is at home?” she said, following Rumm up the stairs to the mansion’s third floor.

The servant nodded. “Indeed, my lady. He is working, at present, with the Danfey estate manager expected within the hour.”

In other words, she should keep her unexpected visit short and sweet. “Don’t fret, Rumm. What I’ve come to say won’t take long at all.”

“Very good, my lady,” Rumm replied, with just the right amount of deferential approval. The man was a marvel.