The loss of her husband had marked the elegant, self-possessed councillor. Her hair was clean enough, but lank. Her slender frame had thinned to scrawny. And her eyes, once so swift to fill with scornful disdain, now filled with tears at unexpected moments. She wore dead Orwin’s ring on a chain around her neck, and could not know how often her fingers strayed to it when her mind was occupied with other things. Between her and Remmie there had grown a comfortable rapport. He called her Venette, and never hesitated to disagree with her if he felt disagreement was warranted.

“Lady Martain,” Barl said, nodding. I’m not jealous. I’m not. “Yes, the incant’s completed. But whether it’s a success or not remains to be seen.”

Venette Martain glanced up from the map on the workbench, which after days of deliberation they’d marked with the intended locations of the border incant’s wardstones. “I received word from Dreen Brislyn last night. The General Council is on its way to Elvado, along with as many families as they could convince to leave their homes.”

“Things are so bad in the Second district?” said Remmie, leaning against the wall, arms folded, his expression brooding.

Venette Martain sighed. “They are. Of course, they’re not much better here, and we’re already woefully overcrowded. But I could hardly tell the General Council it’s not welcome, could I?”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” said Remmie. “Lady Drislyn can take my place in leading the workings.”

“Why? Where will you be?”

“With Barl. She can’t ward Dorana on her own, Venette.”

“Of course she can. She has to. There’s no other mage to ignite the incant.”

Relegated to the role of lamp post, Barl watched them stare at each other.

“That’s true,” Remmie said, straightening. “As far as it goes. But Dorana is dangerous. She’ll need another pair of eyes while she’s mageworking.”

“Even if she does, they don’t have to be yours!”

“No, but I want them to be. Venette, she’s my sister. I don’t care to trust her life to anyone else.”

“And I don’t care if you do or don’t,” Venette Martain retorted. “You are needed here, Remmie. The mages of Elvado see you and they feel heartened. I can’t afford to have them lose heart in your absence.”

Barl smiled to hear the woman’s praise, even as Remmie dismissed it with a scowl. She might be the better mage, but Remmie was the one who’d been gifted with a knack for wrangling people. It warmed her to find he hadn’t lost it, to know that he was important, and needed, held in such great esteem.