“Shall I tell you what I think?” Stooping, he picked up the thrown flower. “I think that without you, Barl Lindin, my incant was doomed. I think we were meant to find each other. I think that together, we can remake the world.”

He was standing so close she could feel his power, hot as the sun. She could feel her cold, bitter memories thaw and warm and melt.

I think that together, we can remake the world.

Her cold, bitter memories were trickling down her face. “Councillor—”

Smiling, beautiful, he pressed his palm to her cheek. She felt herself lean into him. Fall into him. Fall.

“Morgan. Barl, call me Morgan. Say it. I want my name on your lips.”

“Morgan,” she whispered. “Morgan Danfey.”

“Louder,” he commanded. “Shout it. Shatter the ceiling. The midnight sky.”

So she shouted it, laughing.

“Morgan. Morgan. Morgan.”

And knew, as he laughed with her, that there was no going back.

Not far enough past dawn, Morgan was roused from a pleasurable dream of crimson and purple flowers by Rumm, roughly shaking his shoulder.

“Sir—sir—come quickly. It’s his lordship.”

Almost half an hour later, Pother Ranmer was in the mansion, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, straightening. “His lordship has indeed taken another turn for the worse.”

Savage with fear, Morgan stared down at his father, so still and sickly pale against the pillows. “Thank you, I had noticed. The question is, Ranmer, how do you intend to fix this?”

Ranmer looked up from rummaging in his leather bag of pills and potions. “Councillor?”

He jerked his head toward the chamber door. “Outside.”

“Sir, I understand this is hard,” said Ranmer, once they were alone in the sitting room. “You feel angry and helpless, which is only natural. But you must understand, sir, your father—”

“Is dying,” he said, crossing to the window and pulling back its heavy curtains. The sun was well-risen, and a day of obligations awaited. “I know. But he must not die yet. It is his dearest wish to see me married and the father of a son. I would grant him as much of that wish as I can. So you will see that he at least stands at my wedding. Do I make myself plain?”

Ranmer snorted. “Quite plain. And now I shall make my own position equally clear. I can make you no promises. I am not some Brantish charlatan, waving a bottle of coloured water claiming it comes from a secret spring and can defy the laws of nature. I will do everything in my power to help Lord Danfey, but you must accept that my power has limits.”

“I do,” Morgan said, and rubbed his burning eyes. “Now return to him, Ranmer. I cannot stay, I have Council business. Leave your instructions with Rumm. He’ll see they’re carried out.”

“Sir,” said the pother, and did as he was told.