On a grumbling sigh she held the tent flap aside for him, then tossed several balls of glimfire into the air as she followed. Sat on her cot while he sat on the felt mat flooring and read her notes, read her incants and their sigils, and broke his heart anew over what she’d achieved.

“It’s too late to stop me, Remmie,” she said. “The Olken will agree to my proposal.”

As if he didn’t know that. As if he hadn’t watched her enchant them with her gilded promises and smiles.

He looked up. “I know you have to do this—but you needn’t do it alone. If we work the incants together, and the blending, and the bindings, if we—if we share the final transmutation we’ll share the danger and then maybe the spill of energies can be contained, maybe—”

“Oh, Remmie.” She shook her head. “You know better.”

His eyes were stinging. “We sprang from the same womb, Barl. We’re not so different.”

“We’re different enough. It won’t work.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I can’t risk it! We have one chance, Remmie. Just one. And it’s going to be hard enough to juggle all the syllables and sigils by myself. I could never do it with another mage.”

He met her eyes, breathing harshly. “Not even with Morgan Danfey?”

Her gaze softened. “Not even with you.”

“Oh, Barl.” The sorrow was overwhelming. “How I wish you’d never met him.”

She made a small sound that was half laugh, half sob. “But I did.”

He had no more strength left for fighting. She’d made her choice. Now he had to make his. On his feet again, he bent down and kissed her hair.

“I love you, Barl.”

She smiled up at him. “I love you too. Now go and get some sleep. We’ll talk again in the morning.”

“I’ll sleep if you will,” he retorted. “You go first.”

“Bully,” she said, yawning… but didn’t complain when he plumped her thin pillow, and tucked the coarse blanket round her once she lay down.

And waited, patient and heartsick, until she fell asleep.

Venette waylaid him as he headed into the woods.

“And where d’you think you’re going, young man?”

She wasn’t his mother. Could never replace his mother. But in the strangest way, he’d come to love her like an older sister. Wise and sarcastic, purposeful and brave, during the last long months Venette Martain had become important.

And so he wouldn’t lie.

“I was mistaken,” he said quietly. “Morgan Danfey isn’t a wild fancy. Just before the meeting, I saw him strike Barl across the face.”

Glimfire showed him Venette’s eyes widening in shock. “That’s not possible.”