Rumm took the question as leave to enter. “Mage Lindin. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“But?”

“But I was wondering if—”

“No, Rumm. He’s not come down and he won’t until he’s finished.” With another sigh she did lift her gaze, to see Rumm’s ordinarily disciplined face creased with worry. “You know as well as I do, he’ll go his own way and there’s nothing you or I can say about it.”

“Yes, Mage Lindin. It’s his own way that concerns me.”

She put the pen down. That was as close to criticism as she’d ever heard Rumm tread. “Aren’t you used to this by now? How long have you been in the Danfeys’ service?”

“Since I was fourteen,” Rumm said. “So there’s nothing you can tell me of him that I don’t already know. Mage Lindin, these catalysts he’s got me chasing. Some of them—I’ve no idea what incants he’s brewing and it’s not my place to ask, only—” He shook his head. “Azafris is bad enough. But this time he’s after domish too, and gribb, and crushed crulin leaf. I might not be a mage, but I’ve made it my business to learn a few things. I tell you, this concerns me.”

One of the first books she’d studied was Banlid’s Complete Guide to Catalysts. Rumm’s list was indeed alarming. Domish, gribb and crulin leaf were even more volatile than azafris. Banlid warned that their use should be avoided if another catalyst could be used. Their use had, in some cases, led to mental instability and a disordering of the wits.

But those affected were lesser mages. Not Morgan.

Besides, he would never forgive her if she sided with Rumm in his doubting.

“You’ve no reason to fret,” she said, schooling herself to careless confidence. “His lordship is more than capable. Now go find a length of banister to polish, or something.”

Rumm’s expression chilled to its customary servant’s mask. “Mage Lindin.”

As he reached the door she added, “Rumm. These catalysts. I know they’re quite rare. Have you managed to procure them?”

“Of course I have, Mage Lindin. I expect their arrival within a day.”

“Good.”

Alone again, not needing to dissemble, she sat back in her chair and stared at the ceiling.

Morgan… Morgan… what are you doing up there?

The catalysts arrived.

“And I am to tell you, my lord,” Rumm said, frowning at the wrapped and warded boxes on the workbench, “that this is the last of them. No amount of money you could offer will compensate for—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Morgan snapped. “I have what I need.”

“My lord…” Rumm cleared his throat. “Mage Lindin and I were wondering—”