She nodded. “Agreed. Now come see what I’ve done with this next variation. I fear the transmutation will still be deadly, but I think I might now have found a glimmer of hope.”

For the next few hours they worked side by side, deconstructing Hartigan’s reimagined incant syllable by syllable, searching for the elusive combination of paired harmonics that would let them create a transmutation without killing the subject. So far they’d had no success with that. And until they did, his dream of an invincible defender for Dorana would never be more than a dream.

The thought of failure was a constant haunting. If it hadn’t been for Barl, he wasn’t sure he could sustain his hope. But with her at his side, he could believe nothing was impossible. The sun would be his, and the moon, and the stars.

As the morning ticked its steady way toward noon, Morgan kept catching himself no longer working, just watching, entranced by the way his beloved lost herself inside her mind.

His father’s last words to him were a wound yet to heal. If he still lived, Greve Danfey would claim his son’s adoration of Barl Lindin was merely a childish rebellion. Greve Danfey would say that, a man who never loved his wife.

He never knew what love was. He never loved me, I think, to want for me a loveless union like his.

Tongue nipped between her teeth, Barl scribbled down more of her quicksilver thoughts. Then, feeling his regard, as she always felt it, she glanced up.

“What?”

Instead of answering, he kissed her. And in kissing her ignited his passion, which these days was insatiable, sleeping lightly beneath his skin. No need for words, for asking permission. If he wanted her, she wanted him no less fiercely. Ink, quill and scribbled incants were swept to the floor. A jar of rathil crashed after them, scattering glass splinters and expensive dried leaves. Pleasure was pain, and pain gave pleasure, and when he looked into her eyes he saw nothing but the future.

In the aftermath, replete and panting, she pushed back her tousled hair and laughed. “Curse you, Morgan. Now I don’t remember what harmonic key I wanted to use.”

“You will,” he said, sliding off the workbench. Then, as he put his clothing to rights, he smiled. “Think about it while I fetch us lunch. Oh—and while I’m doing that, you might also tidy this workroom.” Glass cracked beneath his feet as he retreated to the attic door. “Such a disgrace, these unranked mages. No sense of decorum, no notion of tidiness…”

Laughing, he closed the door on her outraged shriek.

But his amusement was short-lived. Rumm intercepted him on the third floor landing, his jaw tight, his eyes anxious.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I did my best, but… she was insistent.”