She reached for the small jar of tinctured bidaline and pushed it into the bag’s last nook. “I wouldn’t have to, Orwin, if Brice and Sallis and Shari weren’t forcing my hand. But Brice is so overwhelmed, he’s letting Sallis and Shari bully him. It is madness to keep Morgan from returning to the Council.”

“Morgan prevents his own return, my dear,” Orwin said wearily. “All he has to do is renounce Barl Lindin and every objection to him will be dropped. But he won’t.”

Finished lacing the bag shut, Venette hefted its long leather strap over her shoulder. “And can you blame him? I can’t. As much as I deplore his slutting with an unranked mage, I despise Sallis and Shari even more. That they would risk Dorana to pursue a petty, personal vendetta? It’s disgraceful. And as for Brice’s refusal to call their bluff? Well. He drives me to despair.”

“But Venette…” Orwin moved to stand between her and the door. “You don’t even know what Morgan wants with those catalysts. You have no idea what magework he performs!”

“I don’t have to know the particulars. He’s told me he works toward saving us, and I believe him.”

“Why?”

Sighing, she rested her palm above Orwin’s heart. “Because for all his faults, and justice knows they are many, Morgan loves Dorana. He always has. He always will.”

Orwin’s kindly face was racked with anguish. “If he loved Dorana he would discard that wretched girl!”

The bag of catalysts was cumbersome. Easing its weight on her shoulder, Venette raised an eyebrow. “And if you were Morgan, Orwin, would you discard me?”

An unkind question, but it had the desired effect.

“Go to bed, my dear,” she said. “And I’ll see you in the morning.”

She met Morgan on the empty Brantone road, beneath a night sky full of stars. Most of the day had been rainy. The open meadow on either side of her smelled of wet grass and burned mage-mist. Harnessed between her small buggy’s shafts, her horse tossed its head, whickering, at the sound of another horse’s approaching hooves.

Since not even glimfire could be trusted any more, she lit a torch and waited.

“Venette,” Morgan said, drawing rein just out of the flickering light’s reach. “You’re alone?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Not ridiculous,” he chided, nudging the stallion into the light. “Cautious.”

She hadn’t seen him for many weeks. He looked tired… but then, these days, who didn’t? Beneath the weariness she thought she could see something else. An almost frenetic excitement, at odds with his usual reserve.

“Well? Did you bring them?”

She hefted the leather bag in her lap. “Orwin thinks I’m making a terrible mistake.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think I’d like to know what it is you’re doing.”