After cleaning ten perches the water was too stinking and filthy to keep using, so she dropped the scrubbing brush and hauled the sloshing pail outside.

And found she wasn’t alone.

Councillor Danfey crossed the clipped grass, his long strides swallowing the distance between them. The pail slid from her nerveless grasp, tipping and splashing. Mouth sucked dry, heart thudding, she waited for him to reach her.

With one of those faint, almost mocking smiles, he halted an arm’s length away and looked her up and down. “It’s a good thing your brother thought to pack you clean clothes, Mage Lindin. You’ve reduced what you’re wearing to little better than rags.”

She wasn’t in the mood for teasing. “You saw Remmie? Is he—is he very angry with me?”

“Angry?” The councillor shook his head. “No. He was most grieved.”

And that was worse than anger. Oh, Remmie, I’m sorry. Scalded with her own grief, with a throat-closing shame, she blinked back tears.

“What else did he say?”

“He was swift to assure me you are no threat to Dorana.”

Bitterness trampled common sense. “Not to Dorana, no. But I’m a threat to those mages who would deny others the rights they so heedlessly take for granted. Best you know that about me, before I spend my first night beneath your roof.”

Councillor Danfey’s gaze shifted to the woodland beyond his estate’s cultivated heart. She found his expression difficult to decipher. There was resignation, and impatience, a grudging sympathy at war with… yes, contempt. For her? Or for those mages she railed against to no avail? She didn’t know, and didn’t dare ask.

“Mage Lindin.” Jaw tight, he looked at her. “If ever you wish that binding to be lifted, do not say such things where Lord Arkley can hear you.”

“Who?”

“My Council colleague. The one who was keen to see blood spill for your crime.”

Oh, yes. Him. It was good to know the name of a man who so passionately wanted her death.

“He’s not the only one, is he? Who was the older woman seated beside him?”

“Lady Frieden.” Councillor Danfey’s lips thinned with distaste. “And you’re correct. She is another mage around whom you’d be wise to guard your tongue. Lord Varen, too, though he’s not bloodthirsty. And in case you’re curious, the final member of the Council, in whose hands your life and liberty rest, is—”

“Lady Martain,” she said. “I know. She came to see me early this morning.”

And that had his gaze sharpening with suspicion. “Venette did?”

Curse it. So much for holding her tongue on that.

“Yes, sir.”

Councillor Danfey’s brows were drawn close, the fingers of his right hand drumming his thigh. “What did she want?”

“To remind me that I was lucky you were there last night.” She shrugged. “And she’s right, of course. I was.”

“What else?”