“Maris,” Venette said, yet again. “My dear, you really must compose yourself. Please, do sit down, and tell me what’s wrong.”

Although she was tolerably certain she knew the answer already, or part of it. Morgan. Only a man could put a woman into such a state.

Chalky pale, Maris whirled about, narrowly missing an exorbitantly expensive Feenish vase. “Who is she, Venette? Who is the whore with her claws sunk into Morgan Danfey?”

The whore? What was the girl talking about? Who could—And then she realised. Barl Lindin. Flooding cold, Venette stared.

Oh surely not, Morgan. Surely not, you fool.

“Ah! So you do know her!” said Maris, angrily triumphant. “Don’t bother denying it, the truth is written all over your face.”

Venette sat a little straighter. Chilled her voice. “Do be careful, my dear. I’m not in the habit of being spoken to like that.”

But Maris was too upset to notice her trespass. “I don’t understand, Venette! I thought you cared for me!”

“Don’t be silly, Maris. Of course I care!”

“Then how could you push me into Morgan’s arms knowing he already had a mistress? He flaunted her before me, Venette. I could smell the passion on them, they stank like alley cats. Who is she? I shall ruin her. I shall see that she is dragged through the mud.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” she snapped. “You will leave this to me.”

“To you?” Maris’s laugh was almost hysterical. “Venette, you are the cause of this debacle! I’m spurned. He’s discarded me. For that nobody, that unranked mage, that thieving little whore!”

Much more of this unbridled hysteria and she’d be forced to slap Maris’s face. “Mage Garrick! Control yourself! You will leave this to me!”

“Why?”

“Because I’m telling you to. Because the situation is more delicate than you realise. There are ramifications that—”

“Do not speak to me of ramifications!” Maris said, close to screeching. “I know there are ramifications, Venette! What mage of rank will wed with me now? When news of this spreads, I—”

“Maris, it won’t spread,” she said quickly. “Between us we’ll make sure of that. You’ll not be humiliated.”

Maris snatched up a pillow and threw it, haphazard. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen them together!”

She felt a wave of rage at Morgan so thick and hot that for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

Oh, Morgan, you thoughtless, selfish bastard.

“Maris,” she said, fighting for composure. “Please, my poor child, sit down so we can discuss this matter calmly.”

The tears came then, as she’d expected. She let Maris sob stormily for a few moments, then handed her a handkerchief.