“Of course not,” Brice said, at last provoked to emotion. “But Venette, we must accept that we might not find an explanation for this. Or a remedy. Consider the truth of our situation. We do not know magic’s source. We do not know why our race and no other is able to use it. And we cannot explain why some of us are more gifted in its application than others. In short, magic is a mystery.”

“And that’s it?” she said, staring. “That’s how you’d have me soothe myself? Brice Varen, are you mad?”

“What would you have me say?” Brice retorted. “Would you have me treat you like a child and declare that all will be well, when it might not be well? When there is a chance that our world is ending?”

She stabbed a finger at him. “I want you to say that you’ve not given up hope! I want you to say that you’ll fight to your last breath to preserve and protect Dorana and its mages!”

“And so I will.”

“Then sound like it, Brice! Don’t you understand? I’m frightened. And though they’ll never admit it, Sallis and Shari are frightened too. We look to you for guidance, for leadership. We need—Dorana needs—more than magic is a mystery.”

Brice’s eyes in his seamed, aged face were shadowed and cool. “What Dorana needs, Venette, should this unravelling persist, and become public knowledge, is a Council of Mages that is not afraid. A Council of Mages that is a beacon of calm. Without that beacon, we will surely be lost. So whatever your misgivings, you must keep them to yourself.”

“Of course,” she said, insulted. “I’m not reckless. I don’t need you to tell me what face I should wear in public. But we’re not in public, are we? We’re in your parlour, Brice, and I am confiding in you. Believe me, I’d much rather be confiding in my husband, but since you’ve made that impossible…”

“So it’s my fault I’m being shouted at in my own home?”

She glowered at him. “Yes.”

“And do you intend to go on shouting?”

“Quite possibly. Yes.”

Brice stood. “In that case, Venette, I require more brandy.”

He refilled his glass, and then topped up hers. She nodded her thanks and drank, wishing the leaping flames in his fireplace could chase away the chill of fear. When he was seated again, she fixed him with a baleful stare.

“And what are you going to do about Morgan?”

He sipped from his glass, eyeing her mildly over its rim. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re not going to accept his resignation, are you? You must know he didn’t mean it.”

“He seemed genuine to me.”