Slowly, that twitching muscle fell quiet. “I’m told you’ll be mageworking with Councillor Danfey.”

Interesting, that Morgan had trusted this man with the truth. She nodded. “I will.”

“Then I hope you’re a better mage than you are a housemaid.”

“I believe I might be,” she said gravely, resisting the urge to smile at his tartness. “Master Rumm—”

“Mage Lindin?” he said, perfectly polite.

“How soon, do you think, will Lord Danfey die?”

She saw anger leap in him, and grief. Watched as he wrestled both into proper, servantly submission.

“Too soon,” he said at last, his voice tight. “Why?”

“There’s something I’d like to do, Rumm. Before I fell foul of the Council I was an artisan mage. A clock-maker. I’d like to make Lord Danfey his funeral clock. But I’ll need your help, for I have no money and no clock-making supplies.”

She’d startled him. Eyes intent, he tapped one forefinger against his lips. Assessing her.

“I will have money again, one day,” she said. “And however you purchase what I need, I’ll repay you. Or the mansion coffers. I give you my word.”

“And are you a good clock-maker, Mage Lindin?”

“Master Rumm, I am the best clock-maker in Dorana.”

He snorted. “But not the most modest.”

Now she did smile. “No, sir. Never that.”

“Very well, Mage Lindin,” Rumm said, nodding. “Give me a list of what you require and I shall do my best to obtain it.”

“Without mentioning it to the councillor?” She stood. “I don’t wish to distress him.”

Did she imagine it, or was that approval in his eyes? “A good master servant knows when to hold his tongue.”

Agreement, then… and maybe even a promise, that if anyone were to betray her, it wouldn’t be him.

“Thank you, Master Rumm.”

“You’re welcome, Mage Lindin.”

The next morning, after breakfast, she and Morgan hid the Danfey estate from prying eyes.

It wasn’t a warding, not exactly. Instead they took a standard deflection incant, used by some considerate mages to keep from disturbing their neighbours with the more combustible magics, and… enhanced it. The rush of heat and power as they melded their mageworking was headier than the finest wine. When it was done, the estate guarded, they retreated to the mansion’s attic, determined to forget the outside world.

First of all, just to make certain they’d not dreamed it, they invoked the reworked transmutation incant. Laughed to see yet another new flower created. Then another. And another.

“Stop!” Barl said at last. “Morgan, no more, or we’ll turn the workroom into a garden. Why don’t you show me those incants the Council denied?”