At his gesture, she fetched pen and paper from the chamber’s cupboard and wrote out the sequence of sigil and syllable that would free Morgan from the library. Taking it without thanks, Lord Varen looked at Remmie.

“Escort your sister to the antechamber and wait there until you are summoned.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Remmie, and led her from the room.

It was Remmie who spoke first, breaking the long and miserable silence.

“It’s been nigh on two hours. Do you think he’ll come?” he murmured, mindful of the duty mages standing close by. “Or will he—resist?”

Barl stared at the floor. “He is devastated about… what happened. He won’t hurt those mages the Council sent to fetch him.”

“I hope you’re right.”

His disappointment in her was unbearable. “I am. You’ll see.”

Remmie’s deep sigh was shatteringly sad. “I don’t know. Barl, I don’t know what to think any more.”

His sorrowful declaration broke her. Folding over herself, she surrendered to the grief that was tearing her apart. Dimly, she felt his arm slide round her shoulders. Collapsed against him and sobbed without restraint. Wept as she’d never wept, not even when their parents died. When she sat up at last, emptied of tears, she saw that Venette Martain and Lady Brislyn were seated on a low padded bench opposite. Raised voices from within the Council chamber turned her toward its closed doors.

“They’re arguing the finer points of Mage Ranowen’s deconstruction of your magework, Mage Lindin,” Venette Martain said, sounding exhausted. “I did suggest they ask you to adjudicate but alas, I was ignored. Oh. And Sallis has just been sent word from his mysterious informer. It seems Morgan’s the one who’s been bringing in all those dubious catalysts. Which of course you already knew.”

Barl shrugged. “I know a lot of things, Lady Martain. Of course, it’s not always easy to decide what’s important, and what isn’t. What should be spoken of… and what’s best forgotten.”

They looked at each other in silence. Then Venette Martain smiled. “Well, my dear, I’m sure that whatever you speak of, you’ll keep everyone’s best interests in mind.”

Lady Brislyn spared her an impatient, puzzled glance then turned. “Mage Lindin. It’s clear that even though Dorana is blighted with strife, your mageworking talent thrives while the rest of us wither. Can you explain that? It seems the Council of Mages is at a loss.”

Feeling ill from weeping, Barl shook her head. “No. Not for certain. It might be the way Morgan and I magework together. We enhance each other’s strengths to an amazing degree. It might be the shielding incant we placed over the estate. It might be serendipity. I’m sorry. I can’t say.”