“And is there a reason, Student Gowen, why I should not make complaint of you to the proctor?”

Werik Gowen swallowed a sob. Hovering at a safe distance, three more students. Avid and peering, horrified by their friend’s predicament, relieved it was his and not theirs. The absence of other students roaming the College grounds suggested that all four of them were late to their next class.

“Please, sir, please…” The boy’s voice had sunk to a near whisper. His damp, mortified gaze was trained on the grass. “I humbly beg your pardon. I meant no offence.”

Morgan considered him. The afternoon was fast dwindling. He had no more time to waste. “You are pardoned. But should you again come to my attention, Student Gowen, you can be sure the repercussions will not be to your liking. Now get to class. Quickly!”

“Sir!” the boy gasped. “Thank you, sir!”

Shaking, Werik Gowen retreated to the safety of his goggling fellow students. With a final scorching stare Morgan continued down the tree-shaded brickwork pathway that led from the College’s front gates to its sprawling complex of lecture halls, staff offices and heavily warded practical application workrooms. As he walked, he repinned his Council insignia to the inside of his tunic. His purpose was to assess the situation here discreetly. When that was done he’d once again identify himself.

Though years had passed since he’d breathed College air, he recalled every twist and turn of its central thoroughfare, every sinuous side path, every ancient, flowering tree. The lecture hall he sought sat in the furthest north-east corner of the College grounds, shrouded in ferns and rambling hancinthia vines. He’d timed his arrival so he could slip into the hall while the students were getting settled for Bellamie Ranowen’s last class of the day. Their bustle and flurry meant he’d go unnoticed, and once the lecture began he’d observe, unnoticed, and so be perfectly poised to deliver an accounting of his findings to Lord Varen. Though in truth, whatever he said would be aimed at Sallis Arkley.

And what Sallis will do with it, or make of Varen’s insistence on involving me in Nevin Jordane’s crisis, justice alone knows.

For himself, he didn’t care. For now it was enough to know that Arkley could only be lemon-sour knowing he’d have to abide by Morgan Danfey’s recommendations.