His fingers caught her chin, forced her head up so she was looking at him. “You’re certain? If I leave now, for Batava, I’ll not find you collapsed when I return?”

There were tears on her face. Humiliated, she brushed them away. “You can’t go now. Remmie’s a schoolteacher. At this time of day he’ll be in class.”

The councillor shook his head. “There’s no school today.” Releasing her, he retrieved the silver tea tray and held it out. “Tell Rumm I’ll be back before dinner. If his lordship asks after me, I’m about Council business and had to step out betimes.”

“Yes, sir.” She took a deep breath and tightened her cold fingers on the tray. “Sir, the incant will put you at our front gate. If there’s no answer at the door, go round behind. Given half a chance Remmie will spend hours pottering with his vegetables. And sir—”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Mage Lindin?”

“He’ll have to know the truth, there’s no avoiding that. But if you could spare him a little, in the telling of it? He’s going to take this hard.”

Morgan Danfey nodded, his expression cool and disinterested again. “I’ll do my best, Mage Lindin. Now get back to Rumm, before he comes looking for you.”

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, and even started down the stairs. But then she stopped and waited, watching as he used the incant she gave him… and stepped into the air.

Sighing, Remmie held the ravaged carrot-top high enough for the sun’s light to lift it from shadow. Frowned at the tiny insects scurrying along the vulnerable green fronds and sighed again.

Naphins. I knew it.

“And that means poison,” he said glumly, tossing the ravaged carrot aside. “Which I hate.” He pulled another carrot from the carefully tended, damp earth. “But not as much as I hate you.”

Indifferent to his enmity, the naphins scurried and chewed.

So much for his plan to take dinner at The Greased Pig, Batava’s cosy alehouse, then stay after for Griff Holcomb’s fiddle-playing and a game or three of spindle stones with Barton and Hobbie Melton and Mickel Dassify. And he’d been looking forward to it, immensely. An evening with friends was guaranteed to take his mind off his infuriating, terrifying, angrily absent sister.

His heart thudded hard, once. It did that every time he thought of Barl, remembered their last harsh conversation. And now she was run off to Elvado, likely mired to her armpits in trouble by now, and one minute he was all set to chase after her, then the next he dug his heels in and told himself no. Because leaving had been her choice. Ignoring him? Her choice. Refusing to admit she might be wrong? Her choice. Proud, stubborn and unreasonable. That was his sister.