Leaning on the wall beside the attic window, arms folded, Morgan stirred himself out of melancholy and smiled. The sideways-slanting light threw his face into sharp relief, merciless in its revelation of weariness and sorrow.

“I believe you’re right. And I believe the outrageous cost of the base materials will be more than covered by the trading returns.”

Outrageous cost. Penitent, she stopped dancing. “I was so caught up in creating this I forgot what you’d be spending on the gold and silk and topaz. Morgan—”

“You owe me nothing, Barl,” he said, still smiling. “We can’t act on this yet, but as soon as the Council deems you sufficiently punished we’ll submit the incant for Guild ratification. And once it’s ratified I’ll talk with our man of business about its trading prospects. Within a year I’ll wager you’ll find rich women from Trindek to Vharne adorned in your glittering creations… not to mention every ranked mage in all fourteen districts.”

Struck silent, she stared at him.

Just like that? He snaps his fingers and my dream of being the best-known artisan mage in Dorana comes true?

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”

“No, I do,” she said, dazed. “Only… nothing in my life has ever been so simple. I’m not used to wanting and having standing close enough to hold hands.”

“There’s no great mystery to it, Barl. The Danfeys have been involved in trading within and beyond Dorana for generations.”

And this was when, of a sudden, Morgan transmuted into a stranger. The things he took for granted. The easiness of his life. It wasn’t his fault. Doubtless birds never noticed the air as they flew.

But for those of us who are earthbound and gasping, the air is all we can think of.

Smile faded, he was frowning now. “If you mislike the notion, we don’t have to—”

“Mislike it? No!” she said quickly. “Thank you. Thank you. But you may yet come to regret your generosity. Glossy material is but the start of things, you see. My head is stuffed full of ideas for artisan work!”

“As mine is full of…”

“Transmutations,” she said, when he didn’t finish. “I know. And we should work on that now, Councillor. You’ve indulged me long enough with my frivolous fabrics. We should have at least an hour before—” She faltered, seeing his imperfectly concealed pain. “Or perhaps a little longer, if his lordship rests more comfortably this afternoon.”

She rarely asked how his father was faring. Left it to him to tell her what he could, when he could. He was pressured enough. He didn’t need her to push him.

“Yes,” he said, straightening. “That would be helpful.”