Miserable, he slapped at his spoiled carrots. Curse you, Barl, come home. Or if you won’t, at least—

“Remmie Lindin?”

Startled by the unexpected voice, deep and melodious, he pushed onto his knees and turned. Saw a mage walking down the garden toward him, tall and expensively dressed and oddly familiar.

“Yes, I’m Remmie Lindin,” he said, and got to his feet. Where had he seen this man before? He knew him from somewhere… “Winsun! You’re the councillor who demonstrated Mage Sorvold’s incant.” Which meant—

Oh, justice. Barl, what have you done?

The councillor halted at the edge of the vegetable patch. “You were there?”

Remmie nodded. “With my students. I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know your name. You were never formally introduced.”

A glitter of amusement in the mage’s clear blue eyes. “I am Morgan Danfey.”

“And you’re here because—” He had to clear his throat. Tighten his fingers by his sides, to still their trembling. A mage from the Council was standing in his garden. “My sister. Barl.”

Councillor Danfey nodded. “We should go inside. Some discussions are best held privily.”

“Of course,” Remmie said faintly, sweat rolling down his ribs. “If you’ll follow me, sir?”

He escorted Councillor Danfey to the parlour, then excused himself so he could wash clean of garden dirt and sweat. When he returned, the councillor favoured him with a raised-eyebrow look.

“Do you have tea, Mage Lindin? Travel incants wake in me a raging thirst. We could sit in the kitchen and talk.”

In the kitchen? So was this an official visit or not?

“Of course, sir,” Remmie said, cautious and confused. “This way.”

As he took the kettle off the hob and filled it at the sink, Councillor Danfey stared out of the kitchen window.

“I’ve never been to the Eleventh district before.”

“Nor had I, sir, before I took a place teaching here.” He put the kettle back and fired up the range. “Batava’s very quiet, of course. Not as grand as Elvado. But then, where is?”

Turning, Councillor Danfey smiled. It made him seem friendly. Just a regular mage, no great power at all. But that was an illusion… and he’d best not forget it.

“Nowhere,” the councillor said, with a careless shrug. “But I’d think there’d be worse places to live than this.”

Remmie pulled out a chair at the table. “Please, sir. Have a seat. Would you care for some cake with your tea? It’s baked fresh, and I’m counted a passable cook.”

Another smile, as the councillor dropped neatly into the chair. “Unlike your sister, or so she says.”

Startled, Remmie almost dropped the tea caddy. “Sir? Please tell me, where is she? What’s happened? I know it’s bad. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. But—”