Arrogant… impertinent… Glaring, he showed her a little of his temper. Smiled to see her see it, and see her bite her lip. Cheeks colouring, she clasped her hands behind her back.

“Councillor, I’ll make a bargain with you. Leave Remmie be, and I’ll show you where and why your reworking of Hartigan’s incant has gone wrong.”

For a moment he thought he must have misheard her. But then he realised no. And for a moment found it very hard to breathe.

“I know it was rude,” she added, “but I read some of your notes. You can’t get the syllabic balance to hold, can you?”

He found his voice. “My magework is none of your business. The incant is nothing. A theoretical puzzle to be solved, that’s all.”

A scornful glitter in her eyes. “Really? Now who’s lying?”

She meant it. This girl, this unranked nobody, thought she had the skill to outmage him.

“You’d school me, Mage Lindin? When I am a dozen years or more your senior? College trained? Patented and the youngest mage ever appointed a member of the Council?”

She tilted her chin at him. “Yes.”

She was outrageous. And also… magnificent.

“You take a grave risk, Mage Lindin. I could promise you anything and then carelessly betray you once I had what I desired.”

A pulse was beating at the base of her throat. Her slender, elegant, kissable throat. Beneath her crumpled linen tunic her breasts rose and fell as she breathed.

“If ever you betrayed me, I think it would not be careless,” she whispered. “I don’t think you’ve lived a careless day in your life.”

“And you’ve not lived a safe one.”

Despite her unease, she gave him a brief, mocking smile. “Since when is magework safe?”

He was drowning in her blue eyes. His blood threatened fire. If she touched him he’d ignite. He thought he might die if she didn’t.

You’re handfasted, you fool. You’re to wed with Maris Garrick.

Mere hours since he’d breached Parnel Garrick’s daughter, and he couldn’t remember the girl’s face.

“Since you’ve read my notes, Mage Lindin, you know that aspects of my magework are… unorthodox.”

Her smile widened. “You mean someone like Lord Arkley is bound to disapprove?”

“Not just Sallis.”

“Good.” She almost spat the word. “I’m not inclined to court the approval of a man who wants me dead.”

He snorted. “You and I both know you’re not inclined to court anyone’s approval.”

“And why should I?” she said, haughty and unsmiling now. “I tell you, Councillor, my days of bowing and scraping before lesser mages are done with.”

“And are all the other mages of Dorana lesser, in your eyes?”

She looked at his notebooks. “No, Councillor. Not all.”

It was a compliment, and it thrilled him.