Before the lecture concluded, while the hall was still mostly dark, he slipped out and made his way to the College proctor’s domain. There he closed the door to Mage Lowyn’s chamber, explained enough of his presence to receive an alarmed surety of discretion, and skimmed through Student Jordane’s privy records.

Finished, setting them aside, he kept his expression sternly noncommittal, but on the inside he was laughing. There was no pleasure quite so exquisite as being proven right.

After a sharp conversation with hapless, chagrined Proctor Lowyn, he made his way to the Hall of Knowledge. The afternoon was fast drawing to a close, dusk creeping in, wreathed in purplish shadows. Provided there were no last minute, unpleasant surprises, like running into Sallis Arkley, he’d have this matter dealt with in plenty of time to meet Maris Garrick for dinner at The Opal.

Voln Hahren was in his privy chamber on the Hall’s seventh floor, reading from a haphazard pile of correspondence.

“Yes?” he said, looking up. There was a vague impatience in his voice, as though College matters were tiresome, even though their oversight was entirely his responsibility. “Can I help you, Councillor Danfey?”

Morgan closed the door and sat in a chair, uninvited. “Have you been made aware of the complaint lodged against Bellamie Ranowen?”

Hahren dropped the letter he was reading and sat back, the corners of his mouth turned down. He was a proud man with finicking standards, quick to take offence at visitors to his privy chamber taking liberties. Most particularly he was jealous of his position as College overseer, but if he resented Councillor Danfey’s investigation of this matter, he was wise enough not to show it.

“Yes, Councillor,” he said, very civil. “Lord Varen informed me. You’ve looked into it?”

“I have. The complaint is spurious.”

Hahren stared. “Spurious?”

“Voln…” Enjoying himself, Morgan drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I am more likely to suggest a censure against Lord Nevin Jordane than I am to approve Bellamie Ranowen’s dismissal from the College.”

Nonplussed, Hahren fidgeted behind his desk, pushing bits of paper around while he ordered his thoughts.

“I’m not sure I find your conclusion satisfactory,” he said at last, eyebrows pulled low over his unpleasantly deep-set eyes. “I think you should return to the College and—”

Not so wise after all. Morgan stood, a single, swift movement explosive with power. “Did I hear you aright, Lord Hahren? Did you just contradict me?”

“Councillor Danfey—” Swallowing, with difficulty, Hahren collected his wits. “No. Of course not. I’m sorry if I gave that impression. It’s just—”

“Believe me, Hahren, I know perfectly what it’s just,” he said, unleashing his temper. “It’s just you bowing and scraping with no thought beyond ingratiating yourself with Nevin Jordane.”