Rumm didn’t smile back, but his gaze softened, just a little. “You should know I’m a man who puts stock in actions, not words. Behave yourself while you’re under his lordship’s roof, give me no trouble, cause no mayhem with the other servants, do nothing that reflects poorly on Lord Danfey or the councillor, and you’ll have no cause to complain of your treatment. But should you prove mettlesome, should you betray Councillor Danfey’s great kindness? Mage Lindin, I will make you rue the day.”

She didn’t doubt that for a heartbeat. “I’ll behave myself, Master Rumm.”

He nodded. “Good. You can start by finishing your repast, washing that plate and mug, then shelling those peas. There’s not much damage you can do to them.”

According to Remmie, in his more irritated moments, she only had to look at food, cooked or uncooked, in order to render it inedible. But with her position so vulnerable, and Master Rumm lord of the mansion’s servants, she wasn’t about to argue.

He left the kitchen soon after, and the aproned man returned to continue with his aromatic pot-stirring. He scarcely spared her a glance, and said not a word. Either he’d been born taciturn or Master Rumm had warned him to hold his tongue around her. She suspected the latter, and was grateful for it. The last thing she felt like was explaining her presence in the mansion.

Shelling peas proved oddly soothing, a small, manual task that kept her fingers busy and her mind free to absorb and finally accept the bewildering events since she’d stormed to Elvado. As she reached for the last pod, Master Rumm reappeared.

“His lordship will be wanting his morning tea,” he said. “You’ll take it up to him, Mage Lindin.”

She thought, from the hint of constraint in his voice, that Rumm didn’t approve of that arrangement. Had he objected and been overruled? The pinching of his lips suggested it. While the master servant made the tea and set out fresh-baked scones, clotted cream and berry jam on a lace-doilied plate, she shelled the last of the peas, disposed of the emptied pods into the kitchen’s composting bin, then waited with her hands meekly folded for Rumm to load Lord Danfey’s morning tea on a polished silver tray.

“Third floor,” he said curtly. “The double doors at the end of the corridor. Knock twice, then wait until you’re bid enter. And mind your manners.”

She took the heavy tray. “Yes, Master Rumm.”

“And Mage Lindin?”

“Yes?” she said, looking back.

Rumm’s face was severe again. “You’ll set not so much as a toe above the third floor landing. Councillor Danfey’s strict instruction.”

Oh, yes? And what was hidden up there that he was so eager she didn’t see? Magework, most likely.

As if there’s anything I can do about that.