She thought the danger of being here was outweighed by what she’d learn. If she could unravel Morgan Danfey with a hair clasp, how much deeper could she plumb him by exploring his heart? And this attic was his heart, of that she was sure.

Same as his privy parlour, his workroom was ruthlessly neat, with shelving and cupboards and a long, wide workbench. He had crucibles and mortars in every possible size, lined up like Remmie’s pupils before the start of class. One whole wall was shelved full of catalysts. Scores of them, with a jar or pot for every element, and every element in its place. Running her fingertips along the rows, Barl marvelled at their variety. And the cost? After so many months of Arndel’s moaning over the prices of even the most common tinctures and powders, she dreaded to think what the councillor had spent here.

And it wasn’t just the amount of money spent that shocked her. He possessed catalysts far trickier than gedlef and bidaline. There was susquinel and urvil and dozens of substances she’d never seen before, that set her mage-sense on edge. What kind of magework was Morgan Danfey doing, that he’d need dangerous catalysts like these?

A pile of notebooks sat on the workbench. Acutely aware of time ticking by, she crossed to give them a cursory look. But when she flipped open the topmost journal and read the first neatly inscribed entry, describing the intricate theory behind a reworked elementary transmutation… time stopped.

His mind was beautiful. Beautiful. Clarity and precision and unfettered imagination, tempered by a dash of arrogant recklessness she couldn’t help but admire.

Almost laughing, she turned the page. Quickly read the next entry, a notation upon travel, and then eagerly read on. A theoretical postulation regarding the nature of time. An argument in favour of single-helixed wards, though they were old-fashioned and long out of favour. An exploration of the relationship between harmonic incants and the sigils that triggered them.

Oh, he was bold. More than bold. He was fearless. Willing to run where most mages would not crawl.

Being an incant for the creation of a fabulous cat…

Seeing his witty sketches for an artisan cat toy complete with a rat to chase and a rusty, rumbling purr, she did laugh. How Remmie would love it. A perfect prize for his classroom.

There were other toys imagined in the notebook. A windless kite incanted to tamely follow its owner, a sailed riverboat that created its own breeze, a little girl’s tea set, its transmutation incant designed to change cordial flavours with one word. Astonished, Barl tried to reconcile the mage who’d bound her with the man who could dream up such delights for the young.