“I need to go home,” she said. “I need to see that my husband has survived the night. And then I must be seen on the streets of Elvado. Dreen Brislyn has her tasks… and as the Council of Mages’ last mage, I have my mine.”

He nodded. “I’ll leave a note for Barl and come with you. If I’m to lead those of us who are left in a working, I shouldn’t be a stranger. Besides, with so much fear and uncertainty to contend with, you might not be safe alone.”

Once more, he was right. Not safe alone… not safe with Morgan living. As they left the inn, she couldn’t help but wonder.

Will any of us be safe anywhere, ever again?

It took them nearly three hours to reach her once-peaceful, once-beautiful neighbourhood. Remmie’s first sight and smell of the night’s carnage bent him double, gagging. But after that he was stoic, his grief and horror contained. Soon he passed Morgan’s entranced creatures, the shattered dwellings, the bloodied corpses, with little more than a sharply indrawn breath and a repressed shudder.

When they weren’t evading mage-mist, they were struggling their way along rubble and glass-strewn streets or stopping to encourage the mages they found who’d lived through the night. Some were dreadfully wounded, by mage-mist or falling debris. Others seemed witless, their reason fled in the face of unrelenting horrors. After listening to their near-incoherent tales of survival, Venette told them to gather in the central plaza, where they might find friends and family and perhaps even a pother. Promised that help would come, soon, and urged them not to abandon hope. Dorana’s Councils were working to see order restored.

“If these poor wretches are the best of us now,” Remmie muttered, as they left yet another gaggle of weeping mages in their wake, “then I hold little hope of a working’s success.”

He was likely right, but she couldn’t afford to let him despair. “Do not count your fellow mages so lightly, Mage Lindin. The best steel is forged in the hottest fires, remember.”

Close to noon, they finally reached her town house. Its wrought iron gates hung bent and crooked on their hinges, and the wide front doors had been splintered to kindling.

“Wait here,” said Remmie, his hand gently restraining. “I’ll see if there’s anyone—” He bit his lip. “Wait here.”

She wasn’t brave enough to argue. Waited on the mosaiced front path, shivering, as Barl’s brother entered the house. When at last he emerged, she took one look at his pale face and felt her knees buckle.

“I’m sorry, Venette,” he said, crouching beside her on the path. His left hand was cold on her shoulder. The fingers of his right hand unfolded, revealing a red-smeared gold ring set with diamonds and sapphires. “Was this your husband’s?”