“Oh no, Morgan, don’t,” she said, holding him as the tears came. “He was suffering. It’s better this way.”

He didn’t mean to kiss her. His lips just… found hers. He felt her fingers thread through his hair, tasted her sweetness as she kissed him in return. His senses swam.

“Morgan,” she murmured. “Morgan.”

Entwined with her, drowning in her, he let Barl pull him to the attic floor. Let her hands glide beneath his stained tunic. Didn’t try to stop her as her fingernails scored his skin. Her touch flamed through him like wildfire. He gave her heat for heat, and smiled to hear her gasp. Tasted her again, her lips, her throat… and wondered if he dared taste any more.

She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head lower. Looked into his eyes, smiling, her own eyes glimfire bright. “It’s all right, Morgan. It’s all right. I’m not afraid.”

Maris Garrick had said that. But Barl wasn’t Maris. She’d not been strumpeted to him by Venette. This time was different. This time he wasn’t prey.

With his last coherent thought he summoned a feather quilt from his chamber. Rolled it beneath them… and murdered grief with love.

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-five

I’m sorry, councillors,” said Bellamie Ranowen. “But I have no idea what this phenomenon might be. At least—” She shook her head. “Let me rephrase that. I know too well what it might—what is most likely is. What I don’t know is why it’s happening. Which means I don’t know how to stop it.”

Sallis snorted. “And you are held up as some kind of expert? The best mage to advise us the College can find?”

Not waiting for Brice to respond, Venette rapped her knuckles on the Council table. “My lord, please don’t vent your fears upon Mage Ranowen. Without her it’s likely we’d still be ignorant of this strife.” She spared the younger woman an apologetic glance. “Instead I suggest we consider what’s to be done. It can only be a matter of time before this—this—instability comes to wider attention.”

As Sallis opened his mouth to reply, Brice glared. “I warn you, Lord Arkley. I am not in the mood.”

Wisely, Sallis subsided. Beside him, as always, Shari patted his hand in consolation.

“Mage Ranowen…”

Bellamie Ranowen, less drab this time in muted blue, without a sheltering shawl, turned her attentive, carefully noncommittal face toward Brice. “My lord?”

“For the benefit of Lord Arkley and Lady Frieden, who have not felt what you and I and Lady Martain have felt, explain what it is you think we are facing.”