“Forgive me,” he said, his throat tight. “I intended to please, not disappoint.”

With halting, shuffled steps and a rustle of silk tunic, his father came close and tapped a finger to his cheek. “Perfect your magecraft within the bounds of law and I will be pleased.”

A fresh prickle of resentment. “The law must bend itself to the weakest amongst us, not taking into account the strengths of greater mages.”

“Mages such as yourself?”

“Yes!” Morgan waved his hand across the emptied crucibles. “My lord, the choice is plain. Either we remain mired in the familiar, dooming ourselves to stagnation, or we accept the challenge of the unfamiliar and push ourselves to greater heights.”

Heights that will save us when the need arises.

“Morgan—” His father pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Brahn Sorvold thought like that.”

“I am not Brahn Sorvold!” he snapped, then took a deep breath to subdue his own temper. “My lord, I know what I’m doing.”

“As do I!” said his father. “You tempt fate.”

“No, my lord. I simply encourage it to smile on me. I am a councillor, it’s true, but the Danfey name can rise higher.”

“And it can fall,” his father retorted. “Or be pushed, by those who do not relish your achievements. By mages who wait in the shadows for the chance to see you eclipsed.”

He shook his head. “Small mages, my lord. Jealous and spiteful. As a Danfey should I fear them?”

“As a Danfey you should fear nothing,” said his father, with all the strength left to him. “But prudence is a survival trait, Morgan, not a fault. Dorana’s mages are bound by rules for good reason. Magework kills the careless without compunction! And a father should not be asked to bury his only son.”

He had to harden his heart against the pain in his father’s voice. But even as he felt that echo of distress, he felt a fresh wash of resentment drown it.

Perhaps not, my lord. But should an only son be held prisoner by his father’s unfounded fears?

And they were unfounded. Magework might well be dangerous, but he was not that overpraised sot Brahn Sorvold. Besides, success and timidity could not leap to achievement’s summit hand in hand. His father should know that it was unjust of him, to demand in one breath that he bring honour to the Danfey name, then in the next berate him for being too bold.

“Morgan…” Lord Danfey’s clawed left hand gestured at the roomy attic. “Why do you lock yourself away in here for days on end, in pursuit of new incants, when those you’ve already perfected still await Council ratification? You wish to impress me? Get your patents and you can be sure, I will be impressed!”

“I assure you, my lord,” he said, wincing, “I have done all within my power on that score. Now I must wait. And in the meantime—”

“Yes, Morgan, I know! In the meantime you are determined to pursue these new incantations, these—these experiments of yours—to whatever end awaits you. A father’s broken heart is no counterweight to your ambition.”