So he showed her, and she risked his anger by half-way agreeing with Sallis Arkley, that he’d been hurried in his scholarship and careless in their execution. Surely he could see that if he’d taken a little more time he’d have realised that his incant for the more perfect distillation of temperamental Iringan sour-pips into a teeth-shuddering liqueur would in fact be better suited to the less inimical Brantish pea-currant. And then, by combining the distilled pea-currant with robust Doranen icewine, he could in fact create a new luxury tipple entirely.

As for his reworking of Beckins’ privy ward, well, that seemed a waste of effort entirely. If he wanted to impress, why not create an incant that relied upon a mage’s unique magical signature to keep it strong for years? The fact that such a ward had been tried already, only to fail, wasn’t a good enough reason to abandon the idea. Especially if he paired this sigil with that one, and used syllabic harmonics vibrating in a different minor key.

Morgan called her rude names, then admitted she was right.

Entranced with each other, with the magework, they scarcely noticed the bright day dwindling toward dusk. Rumm appeared at intervals with hot food on a tray, which they devoured in haste so they could continue their discoveries. When Lord Danfey stirred, wanting company, Morgan reluctantly withdrew to sit with his father until the old man drifted back to restless sleep.

Not wanting to magework without him, Barl buried herself in the library, gleefully devouring scholarly works instead of cake. After supper they returned to the attic, taking some of the books with them, and Morgan assumed the role of teacher. But he learned as much as he taught, for her mind was a gift to him. A constant surprise. It was past midnight when they admitted exhaustion and retreated to their separate beds.

At the next day’s dawning they rose… and eagerly lost themselves in magework again.

“Mage Lindin.”

Almost at the library door, Barl turned. “Rumm? Is something wrong?”

“No.” Rumm came down the rest of the stairs, frowning as they both heard Dilys’s tuneless humming along the other corridor. “A privy word, though, if you’ve time.”

She held the door open for him, and pushed it shut after. “There is something wrong. Is it his lordship? Morgan’s just gone to sit with him.”

“His lordship’s condition is unchanged,” Rumm said. “Your clock-making supplies arrived while you and the councillor were in the attic. I’ve put them in your chamber.”

“Rumm, that’s remarkable. It’s only been four days. I thought it would take a week or two, at least. Some of the items I asked for are quite obscure.”

Rumm looked down his nose. “I have long been in the habit of procuring obscure items for the Danfeys.”