“Oh, yes, well, seemed.” She waved that away. “You can’t possibly pay any attention to seemed. He was angry. He’s grieving. We shouldn’t have gone in a group. We should have left Sallis and Shari behind. You should have let me go, Brice. Alone.” To her surprise, the parlour blurred. She blinked away tears. “I can’t believe Greve is dead. I can’t believe Morgan didn’t tell me.” She stared into her brandy glass. “I can’t believe he’d wilfully hurt me like that.”

“Which is why, dear Venette, I did not send you to see him alone.”

The sympathy in Brice’s voice was a surprise, too. She looked up. “Oh.” Terribly weary, of a sudden, she crossed to the parlour’s other armchair and sat. Drank more brandy, then gave him a sideways glance. “Does this mean you are going to accept his resignation?”

“I take it you think I shouldn’t?”

“Absolutely! Brice, accepting his resignation would be a grave mistake. Not only do we need his talent during this crisis, if we don’t keep him close to us we’ve no hope of influencing his erratic behaviour.”

Brice gave her a look. “And you’re of the opinion he’s in the mood to be influenced?”

“Not just at the moment, I’ll grant you,” she admitted. “But once he calms down…” She bit her lip against a fresh surge of anger. “Once he tires of that terribly tiresome Barl Lindin…”

“And you think that’s likely? I think he meant what he said, about rousing Dorana against us should we interfere with him and the girl.”

“Oh, no. Surely not, Brice. He said that in the heat of the moment. Heat cools.”

“Not always,” said Brice, grimacing. “Some fires burn hot. Some fires burn forever.”

Luzena Talth.

“But Brice, he’s only known the wretched girl a handful of weeks,” she protested, not wanting to think that he might be right. “Morgan can’t truly love her. Why, she’s entirely unsuitable. This is simply a childish rebellion against Greve.”

Brice put down his brandy, unfinished. “Why can’t it be both?”

“Both?” Disconcerted, she looked at him. “Brice Varen, do not tell me you’re a romantic.”

A long, thoughtful silence. Elbow propped on the arm of his chair, chin resting on his hand, Brice stared across the room at the fire.

“I am romantic enough,” he said, at last, “to know that daring Morgan Danfey to prove his love for this unsuitable girl would be nothing short of folly. And while you might not be romantic, Venette, I think you know I am right. You can’t challenge him over her.”

Yes, he was right, curse it. “Fine,” she muttered. “But what about his resignation?”