“Mage Lindin! You look unwell, is aught amiss?”

Swallowing a groan along with her travel sickness, she turned to Remmie’s inconvenient friend, Barton. “Naught, Mage Haye. Thank you.”

His overhelpful expression collapsed in the face of her briskness. “Oh.”

Remmie looked up from his goggling, giggling, pointing pupils. So many of them, bobbing about like corks in a stream. It was a wonder he could keep their names straight.

“My sister doesn’t translocate well.”

“What a shame,” Barton Haye said again, annoyingly sympathetic. “Then perhaps, Mage Lindin, you could try—”

Hold your tongue, Remmie. “Runip berries, yes, I know,” she said, smiling tightly at Barton Haye. “Thank you.”

Remmie’s lips pinched. He didn’t care for her manner in front of his pupils. But for one thing the wide-eyed school children were too distracted by Elvado’s glorious Hall of Knowledge, towering over them, and for another, well, Barton had brought it upon himself.

He’s no business being solicitous with me.

Barton turned aside. “We should discern where the Council desires us to stand for the demonstration.”

“Agreed,” said Remmie. “We’re here in plenty of time, but doubtless there’ll be crowds arriving within the hour. We want to find the best vantage point before giving the children a chance to explore.”

Hearing that, the chattering horde of pupils broke into a louder clamour. Barl stepped well back, leaving Remmie and Barton Haye to their self-inflicted task of calming them. When that was done, and Barton had launched into a lecture about Elvado’s central plaza, she tugged her brother several prudent steps sideways.

“I think I’ll take a wander elsewhere until the Council deigns to grace us with its presence.”

Remmie started to object, then changed his mind. “If you like. Don’t get lost. We’ll look for you in a little under an hour’s time.”

As always, he’d taken great pains with his appearance, wearing silk for the occasion instead of his customary linen and wool, with a gold and carnelian stud in his right ear. His long hair was intricately braided, a thin, bright blue ribbon threaded sinuously through it. He was so fine she had to smile.

“What?” said Remmie, suspicious. “Barl, what mischief are you—”

“None!” she protested, and patted his brocade weskit with its bold emerald and purple stripes. “What a mind you’ve got, always seeking the nefarious. I was only thinking I have a very dashing brother. A compliment I think I regret, now.”

“A pity I can’t return the sentiment,” he said, grinning. He was forever twitting her about wrinkled tunics and flyaway hair. “Still, I suppose I should be grateful that at least your stockings match.”

Wretch. To say such a thing, with Barton Haye listening! She’d have to devise a suitable revenge for when they were alone.

“I’ll see you presently, Mage Lindin,” she said, repressive. “Mage Haye.”

Barton nodded, very formal. “Mage Lindin.”

So that was him discouraged, any road. Good.

Abandoning Remmie to his child-ridden fate, Barl turned her back on the plaza with its magnificent fountain, mosaicked with unicorns and mermaids and dolphins and eagles, and made her way along the nearest of the wide, crowded thoroughfares leading away from the city centre.