“We can still attempt a great working,” the girl said, so stubborn. “Remmie can lead in that. It might not succeed, but we won’t know for sure until it fails. And until Morgan’s well again you can help me, Lady Martain. Your mage powers are uncertain but your experience and knowledge, those aren’t diminished. You can help me with the theory of what I’ll attempt. And when we’re satisfied we’ve found the answers, I can put them into practice. Without Morgan, if I have to.”

“Ward the whole country,” Remmie Lindin muttered. “Barl, you can’t.”

“We won’t know that, either, until I try.”

“And likely kill yourself trying!” he protested. “I won’t let you do it.”

Barl shook her head. “It’s not your decision, Remmie.”

He turned his back on her, his tired, handsome face twisting with grief. Sparing him a sympathetic glance, Dreen straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

“As leader of the General Council, I will have a say in this. And I say it is a plan worth pursuing. If you’re ready, Mage Lindin, I’d have you return me to Basingdown. It would seem my colleagues and I have a raft of diplomatic missives to compose.”

After they left, Venette waited some time for Remmie Lindin to speak. When he didn’t, just kept staring blindly out of the small window, his fingers clenched bloodless holding its curtain aside, she breathed out a deep sigh and sat on the bed.

“You blame yourself.”

“It’s my fault.”

“No, Remmie. It isn’t. No more than it’s mine because I am Morgan’s friend. She is a woman grown. She made her own choices. He made his. The fault is theirs.”

Releasing the curtain, Remmie dropped to the other end of the bed. Morgan’s books bounced and overbalanced and slid to the floor.

“She’s a talented artisan. She made beautiful clocks. But they were never enough for her. She always wanted more.”

Like the College of Mages. Remembering that confrontation, as though it had been a dream, Venette felt her mouth dry.

And if we’d not denied her that, would we be in such dire straits now?

A terrible question to ponder. She didn’t think she could bear to.

“It does no good to dwell on the past, Remmie. Let go of your anger. She’s going to need you in the days ahead.”

“And I’ll be here,” he said bitterly. “I always am, Lady Martain.”

“Venette.”

Startled, he stared at her. And then, slowly, he smiled. “Very well. Venette.” Just as slowly, the smile faded. “But so we understand each other? I still think Morgan Danfey should die. Until he is dead, the world will not be safe.”

She wanted to hate him for saying it. She wanted to rant at him, and curse. But how could she when every instinct was screaming he was right?