Cross-legged on his makeshift mattress, spine pressed to the attic wall, Morgan opened his eyes. Supper? He glanced at the window, and the night sky beyond it. Well, then. Yes. Supper.

He watched Rumm set the tray on an empty corner of the workbench. Chicken soup and hot buttered bread. Not very exciting.

“Your meals have been so irregular, my lord, and your work habits so excessive, I thought it best not to assault your belly with anything rich,” Rumm said, turning. “And I shall stand here until you finish this. After that you may dismiss me from your service, if you like.”

A sick, sad roiling through him. Some sacrifices were so hard. “No, Rumm. I’ll not do that.”

Vaguely aware of hunger, he ate the soup and the bread. Dabbed his lips clean on the napkin Rumm had so thoughtfully provided. He was a thoughtful man. A good servant. He would be missed.

“Wait,” he said, as Rumm moved to collect the tray. “There is something I’d ask you, Rumm.”

“My lord?”

Say it. Just say it. “You said once that you served the Danfey family in all things. You remember?”

Rumm nodded. “I do, my lord.”

“You spoke the truth?”

“Always, my lord.”

“In all things?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And do you love me?”

“As a man loves his brother? Yes, my lord. I do.” Rumm swallowed. “An impertinence, perhaps. But there you have it.”

An impertinence, yes. But also a relief. For when a man loved his brother, there was nothing he wouldn’t do.

“Reb’nes tev, Rumm,” he whispered, and froze the servant where he stood.

And then he closed his eyes… and began the transmutation.

Taking a turn about the mansion’s transformed gardens, needing cool, fresh air and a respite from thought, Barl felt the staggering punch of twisted power like a thunderclap in her blood. Shocked breathless, she spun round to stare up at the attic. Saw through its uncovered window a terrible scarlet glow. Even as she watched, the glow faded, leaving behind it a dreadful, plunging darkness. Every hint of glimfire in the mansion had burned out.

“Morgan!” she screamed. “Morgan!” Summoned more glimfire, and ran.

The attic door was warded. Stupid, stupid man. She smashed through his magic, not even needing to think. Summoned more glimfire and flung the door wide.

“Morgan!”

Chalk white and silent, adrift on his feet in the middle of the floor, he didn’t look up. Just kept staring at—at—

“Justice save me, Morgan,” she said, doused ice-cold with horror. “What have you—what is that?”

“I don’t understand,” he murmured, sounding plaintive. Like a small and disappointed boy. “It was right. The incant was right. The sigils held. The syllables balanced. So why did it fail?”

Her heart was beating so hard and fast she thought she’d be sick. “Why did what fail, Morgan? What were you trying to do?”

He didn’t answer.