“All right, all right, leave well enough alone,” Lord Danfey commanded. “Poke a fire too much and you kill it. Never learned that, did you?”

The fire was billowing merrily, resurgent flames greedily feeding. She added one last log and turned.

“Do you require anything else, my lord?”

The old man’s pale lips were flour-dusted, smeared sickly red, and he made a wet gobbling sound as his jaw worked an overlarge mouthful of scone, cream and jam. His cloudy eyes below their sparse, pale brows glared at her, brimful of suspicion.

“What’s your name? My son told me, but I don’t remember trivialities.”

She stared back at him. If I even once show him I’m intimidated, he’ll bully me to death. “I am Barl Lindin, my lord.”

“Ha.” The old man reached for another scone. “You say that as though I should be impressed. Lindin?” He pushed more lavishly topped scone past his yellowing teeth. “If you were of consequence I’d have heard of you. I haven’t.”

And what did he expect her to say in reply? What could she say, that wouldn’t land her in even more trouble?

“Lord Danfey—”

“My son risked himself to bind you, Barl Lindin. Risked himself on some upstart, unranked little nobody from nowhere.” The old man raised a crooked, shaking finger. The front of his wine-red velvet jacket was littered with crumbs. “He’s a grown man, a councillor. He can do as he pleases, no need to seek my permission. But you know this, girl. If he had sought it, I’d have denied him. Morgan’s a great man. A great mage. He’ll grow greater in time. You hobble him, Barl Lindin, and it’s me you’ll answer to.”

There was genuine menace in him. Beneath his crusting of sickness, a blood-chilling threat. Feeling it, Barl braced her shoulders.

“Do you even know what I did? Why I’m bound? My lord?”

Contemptuous, he glared over the rim of his teacup. “What do I care for the undisciplined follies of an unranked mage?”

“If justice means anything to you, my lord, you’d care.”

The teacup slammed back in its saucer. “Did I ask you for a lecture? Get out. Take this tray with you. And tell Rumm there wasn’t enough butter in the scones.”

And if she did, would Rumm blame her for the slight?

Perhaps. But if I don’t tell him I’ll be caught out in disobedience.

It seemed she’d have been better off caged at the Hall, after all.

“Well?” said Lord Danfey. “What are you waiting for, girl? Good thing I’m not being asked to fork over a wage for you. Seems to me you’re halfway to being an imbecile. Go on. Get out!”

Rearranging the cup and plates on the tray so they’d not slide as she carried it, she felt a humiliating sting of tears.