“Morgan… do not strife yourself over this,” his father murmured, dragging open his half-lidded, cloudy eyes. “You are a great man who will in time become greater. Once the Garrick bitch has whelped you a son you need not muddy yourself with her after. Most like you’ll not have time, your magework and Council duties will take up your days.” He managed the faintest of smiles, as though the locket weren’t ruined, as though an only son’s happiness had not been sacrificed without a second thought. “I have no doubt you’ll be Council leader within a hand’s span of years.”

And what did it say about him, that despite his pain, his anger, his father’s praise was welcome and warming?

“Brice Varen will doubtless have an opinion about that.”

His father snorted. “That old goat. It’s true he’ll outlive me, but I dare say it won’t be by so very many years.”

It cost him, more than he wanted it to, but he once again took his father’s wasted, unsteady hand. “My lord, I have high hopes you will see my first son born.”

“I won’t,” his father said roughly. “Don’t talk like a fool, or think I’m to be comforted by flummery.” He tugged his hand free. “Now, who’s this unranked mage you wish to discuss?”

“Her name is Barl Lindin,” he said, after taking a moment to order his thoughts. “She was brought before the Council tonight as a miscreant. I bound her, and told Varen that from the morrow I’d keep her close here, beneath our roof, while more thought is given to her disposition. She can help Rumm. There’s always dusting to be done about the place.”

“You bound her?” Wheezing, his father struggled to sit higher against the pillows. “Morgan—”

“Don’t fret, my lord,” he said, and gently eased his father back to the bed. “I’ll not call the experience pleasant, but I took no harm from it.”

“So you might think, but binding magic is not to be trusted,” his father retorted. “It can strike back at you without warning. I’ve seen it before, a vile thing. You should send for Ranmer, have him brew you a nossip to ward off an ill flux. I tell you, Morgan, you won’t tread careless over this!”

He does care. I must remember that. Even when he wounds me, he wounds me out of love.

“My lord, you can be sure I know what signs to look for,” he said, soothing. “Varen schooled me most carefully when I was taught the binding incant. I feel nothing untoward. But if I do, I promise I will send direct to Ranmer.”

Little by little, his father calmed. “This bound mage. This miscreant. Must you bring her here?”

“She’ll make no trouble,” he said, sidestepping the question. “You have my solemn word on that.”