“There is no question of malfeasance,” Varen said, silencing Arkley with a look. “If you are confident you can keep her restrained while dealing with your father’s illness, I see no reason to remove her. As far as other Council business is concerned, you’ll be sent for if you’re needed. But for now, Councillor Danfey, you are excused.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-three

Morgan’s return to the Danfey estate was so stormy that Barl, washing dishes, dropped a soap-wet tureen to the scullery floor where it smashed into glazed clay shards.

“Mage Lindin!”

On her hands and knees, picking up the pieces because Rumm couldn’t know she was unbound, she winced. Of course the master servant had to be passing the scullery’s open doorway at precisely the wrong moment.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’m not interested in apologies!” Rumm snapped, glaring. “Be more careful in future. I have no desire to present Councillor Danfey with a new list of household expenses!”

“Yes, sir,” she said, hastily scraping the shattered tureen into a prosaic dustpan. One piece missed. She reached for it and cut her finger. Blood welled, dripping. Curse it. Sucking the shallow, stinging wound, she could feel the master servant’s unsympathetic regard like dragon’s breath on the back of her neck.

“I notice you’ve still not taken the kitchen scraps out to the poultry.”

“No, sir. I’m sorry, I—”

“You will be if you don’t complete your tasks in a more timely fashion.”

Biting her tongue, Barl tipped the bits and pieces of tureen into the scullery bin. Then, because life would be far simpler with Rumm on her side, she showed him her meekest face.

“I was wondering, sir, how his lordship’s faring after the pother’s visit.”

From the way Rumm tensed, she’d have to guess badly. His lips thinned. “That’s no concern of yours, Mage Lindin.”

“I’m under his roof, Master Rumm, so I think it must be, a little,” she said, daring. “I’ve no wish to leave here. There are far crueller places for me to serve the term of my punishment.”

“Since you have no say in the matter, I don’t see how it serves you to dwell on it,” Rumm said. “Dwell on not breaking any more crockery, instead.”

And with that reproof delivered, he left her to the sink full of soapy water and dirty dishes.

She finished washing them without breaking any more, even though Morgan’s distress still shivered through her. Next she dried the plates and pots and pans and put them away. With no further tasks to be done inside, she found some astringent ointment for her cut finger, then collected the scrap pail from the kitchen and resigned herself to an afternoon with the chickens.