“There have also been several instances of catalysts bursting into flame within their jars and bottles,” said Brice. “Violent explosions. Four mages have been injured that way. One seriously.”

“I have combed through every last recorded note and journal in the Council archives,” said Sallis. “There is no precedent for such events, Mage Ranowen. Since Dorana’s first mage first commanded magic, never has it failed us.”

“Is that the extent of the trouble?” said Bellamie Ranowen. “Or is there more?”

Scowling, Sallis dropped his gaze to the table. “There might be more. Dorana has many districts. Our enquiries are ongoing.”

Slowly, as though his bones ached, Brice pushed his ornate chair back from the Council table and walked to the double doors leading onto the chamber’s balcony. Flinging them open, he stepped into the clouded late-morning sunshine. Let the fresh breeze whip his hair around his sombre face, mould his silver-grey silk tunic to his gaunt frame. He was beginning to stoop, Venette saw, the weight of this mysterious, burgeoning crisis curving a spine that all his life had stood so straight.

Shaken, Sallis and Shari stared at each other, then at her. “Well—don’t just sit there, Lady Martain,” Sallis snapped. “You know him best. Prod the truth out of him. Is there something else to do with this business that he’s neglected to tell us?”

Prod the truth out of him? Just like that? How unlikely. But with a warning look at Bellamie Ranowen, who looked inclined to speak up, she followed Brice onto the balcony and even went so far as to rest a hand on his arm.

“What is it, my lord? You can’t keep secrets. Not from us. Not now.”

Glancing at her, Brice shook his head. “It’s not a secret. I don’t even know if it’s relevant. More than likely it’s a coincidence, nothing more.”

“I think you should let Mage Ranowen be the judge of that. You ask us to defer to her opinion in this crisis. Surely you can do no less?”

Sighing, Brice nodded. “You’re right.” His voice was low, guarded. “But in truth, Venette, I fear to tell her. For if she says that this is relevant… that this is part and parcel of Dorana’s strife, then…”

“Not so long ago,” she said, dropping her own voice to a near-whisper, “you sat in your parlour and roundly scolded me for surrendering to my fears. Allow me to remind you of what you said, Lord Varen. You said—”

“Thank you, Venette. I remember quite well what I said.”

“You said,” she continued, “that Dorana’s Council of Mages must be a beacon of calm and that we, as councillors, should keep our fears to ourselves. So I suggest you take your own excellent advice, my dear. Because as I said, we are looking to you, Lord Varen, to lead us safely through these dark days.”