Venette Martain snorted. “If you’re going to talk nonsense, Mage Lindin, I can’t see any point continuing this conversation.”

She hadn’t yet seen the point of starting it. But she felt certain there was one. “Nonsense is all that’s left to me. The Council’s binding took everything else.”

“Except your life,” said Venette Martain, smiling again. “Remember that.”

As though he sat close beside her, she heard Remmie’s whisper. Careful, Barl. Only a fool pokes a hornet’s nest with his finger. And since that was quite true, she made an effort to smooth her expression into a more pleasing meekness.

“Tell me,” said Venette Martain, halting at the chamber’s far wall and swinging round. “How do you come to know Morgan Danfey?”

“Know him?” She blinked. “I don’t.”

“You must.”

“No, I don’t,” she insisted. “And before you ask, no. I have no idea why he saved me. Do you?”

With an impatient flutter of her fingers, the councillor began wandering again. “Morgan is subject to fits of sentimentality.”

“You can’t expect me to regret that.”

“I expect you to fall face-down before him and weep with gratitude that he saved your life!”

Oh. Breathing carefully, Barl looked at Venette Martain. She was quite a few years older than Morgan Danfey, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be… involved. So if the councillor had come here to protect what she saw as hers, then—

“Don’t be vulgar!” Venette Martain snapped. “I am many years happily wed, and Morgan is about to make an excellent match that I have promoted. Don’t think to interfere with it, girl. My voice carries weight on the Council. If I decide I want you locked in a deep, distant cellar, far from Elvado or any other decent-sized town, you will be.” Coming close, she dropped to one knee and leaned forward. “And if I decide you shouldn’t breathe unbound air ever again, you won’t.”

Barl believed her. Heart thudding, she shook her head. “I have no interest in Morgan Danfey.”

“Good,” said Venette Martain, and stood. Her smile was keener than a Vharne swordsman’s blade. “It would be most unfortunate if that changed.”

The woman scared her. Resenting that, she folded her arms. “Lady Martain, I have a brother.”

“Do you?” Venette Martain fiddled with her bracelet. “Then he has my sympathies.”

“I need to let him know where I am. I need to—”

“Take it up with Morgan,” Venette Martain said, impatient. “It’s none of my concern.”

Was she truly this heartless? Or was she playing some kind of game? “If I do, will he listen? Will he—”