“Do you think they will test your resolve, my lord?”

“I don’t know, Rumm,” he said, after a moment. “I hope not, for their sakes.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Turning, he offered the master servant a grim smile. “It’s not too late to find other employment.”

“Thank you, my lord, but I am perfectly satisfied in my current position.”

“Which now involves cooking, dusting, laundry, scullery, chickens, hounds and stables.”

Rumm’s severely proper expression eased. “I was developing a little paunch. Happily, it would appear that danger has been averted.”

“Very happily,” he said, and laughed, though his mood was so grim. “Rumm—”

“It seems to me, my lord,” said Rumm, serious again, “that though the Council of Mages must be honoured for its services to Dorana, that honour should not extend to giving it power over a man’s heart, and upon whom that heart might be bestowed.”

“Rumm,” he said, after a moment. “You should know I voted aye on the amendment that now prevents you from marrying.”

“I am not surprised to hear it. In almost all things, you are your father’s son. But as you say, my lord.” Rumm smiled, very dry. “There are two Councils in Dorana… and rules can be amended. Was there anything else you required?”

“Dinner, in due course,” he said, staring. “And on the morrow there will be mageworking supplies to procure. I should warn you, that task will likely occupy the whole day and be something of an onerous undertaking.”

Rumm bowed. “My lord.”

“Just so we understand each other,” Morgan said, as Rumm turned to leave. “I meant what I said. I will start a civil war before I let Brice Varen steal Mage Lindin from me.”

Rumm’s gaze was steady. “Yes, my lord. I did take that to be your meaning.”

“That frightens you.”

“Yes, my lord. It does.”

“Let’s hope it frightens Lord Varen, too. And Sallis Arkley.”

Rumm hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sure it does, my lord. Just as I’m sure Lady Martain won’t let things go so far. She’s your friend. She’ll speak up for you.”

Venette. A perpetual thorn in his side. He grimaced. “She was my friend until I spoiled her plan for Maris Garrick.”

“No, my lord. She’s still your friend.”

“Certain of that, are you?”

“Quite certain, my lord.”

And perhaps Rumm was right. Perhaps Venette would forgive him. Had already forgiven him.

The question is, do I forgive her?

“Very good, Rumm. You can go.”

In the library, waiting for him, Barl had pulled down almost a shelf’s worth of books and was sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded. Without looking up at his entrance she waved an impatient hand at him.

“At last! I thought you’d get rid of them much faster than that. Now come sit beside me, for I’ve found something here that might help us with our transmutations.”