“Her loyalty to me extends to you, Barl. We are one and the same. Venette understands that.”

Uncertain, Barl dabbled her fingers on the sheet. “You’re so sure we can trust her. But Morgan, while she doesn’t know everything, she knows enough to do us great harm.”

“Not without harming herself as well,” he said, faintly smiling. “Trust me, my love. Venette is nothing if not a survivor. We are quite safe.”

He’d known Venette Martain his whole life. It was hardly surprising, she supposed, that he’d trust her, defend her, even when they were at odds and she made it plain she cared not at all for some of his recent choices. The same way she trusted Remmie, even though they were at odds.

Remmie.

The look on his face, in his eyes, as he’d shouted. He’d often been impatient with her. But disgusted? Never. Not until now.

Well, so am I disgusted. He wants the protection of magic without paying the price. He really is a hypocrite. Give me the roast beef, he says, but don’t show me the slaughterhouse. And under no circumstances invite the slaughterman to tea.

“Barl?” Morgan took her hand again. “What is it?”

Scant hours ago she’d railed at him for lying… or at least, withholding the truth. And now here she was with a secret of her own.

Speaking of hypocrites…

“It was Remmie who told me about Dorana’s strife,” she said, frowning at his fingers, wrapped around hers. “And the mage-mist.”

Morgan shifted a little more upright. “I wondered when you were going to tell me.”

She looked at him. “You knew?”

“I guessed.”

“We had a terrible fight. He’s gone back to Batava.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“He said he was going. And while we are very different, in one respect we’re the same. We say what we mean, and we mean what we say.”

Morgan let go of her hand and stroked his fingers down her cheek. “He hurt you.”

“He was angry.”

“He hurt you.”

“And if he did, it’s my problem,” she said sharply. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

His eyes glittered. “I beg to differ.”

“Morgan.” She raised a warning finger at him. “No. He’s my brother.”

“Mine also, if you and I now count ourselves family.”

“Really?” She snorted. “Then what does that make Venette Martain, I wonder? My stepmama?”

That surprised laughter from him. “She would be alarmed to hear it.”

Barl lay back down beside him. Rested her palm on his chest. She could feel his heart beating, drumlike, through his skin. “Please, Morgan. Leave it be. We have enough to deal with.”

Morgan didn’t answer. When she glanced up at him, she saw he was frowning. She felt her own heart thud harder.

“He won’t betray me, Morgan. He won’t betray us. I promise.”