Lord Danfey wants a grandson? Very well. I shall give him one. Then he’ll have no reason to die.

On the morrow, leaving Rumm with strict instructions to keep a close eye on his lordship, who was yet to wake, he rode to Elvado. Of course he could have used a travel incant. Doubtless someone on the Council would say he should have, but the simple fact was that he enjoyed riding in the open air. His stallion was blood-bred and spirited, the sky brightly blue, the rain-washed fields beyond the estate’s woodland fragrant with hedge flowers. The country road he travelled was empty, save for himself, its sun-warmed solitude welcome. It was a glorious morning, and in its glory he could forget, for a short time, the shadow-filled mansion behind him, forget yesterday’s arcane disappointments, and think instead of the solemn vow that he’d taken. That he meant to keep, on his honour.

Only to give his father a grandson he must first take a wife, and quickly. But Luzena was the only wife he’d ever wanted. Could some other girl’s pretty face and pleasing body obliterate enough of her memory that he would stiffen, as his father crudely put it, to the purpose of making a son?

It will have to. Or else I will have to alchemy Luzena out of memory and into my bed even as my yet-unchosen wife lies beneath me.

A repugnant thought. Sullied by the prospect, he felt his spirits sink. His blood-bred stallion shied at shadows, feeling the shift in his temper. With an effort he banished misgivings. His father was right: the Danfey name must live on.

“Forgive me,” he said to the warm, fresh air, and touched fingertips to the gold locket he wore always, next to his skin. It contained his love’s portrait, her likeness to the life. “But I have a duty and an oath to uphold.”

He thought he heard her voice in the up-springing breeze. Thought he felt her lips in the sunlight kissing his face.

Luzena.

Elvado was an hour’s brisk ride from the Danfey mansion’s front door. Clattering along the bustling city’s wide, central thoroughfare, his stallion’s shod hooves cheerful on the cobbles, Morgan felt his mood lift again. Home to every brilliant mage ever born, Elvado was the gentle, genteel beating heart of magic. The safekeeping and pursuit of arcane knowledge was its purpose. Magic was soaked into the beautiful city’s bones. He loved it as passionately as ever he loved Luzena.

There was no stabling at the Hall of Knowledge, so he left his stallion in a private livery yard and completed his journey on foot. Every passerby who noticed the Council insignia pinned to his blue silk brocade lapel acknowledged his authority with a bow or a smile. He recognised them with a raised eyebrow, nothing more. Dignity and distance were the hallmarks of the Council. The insignia ensured no conversation occurred without he was the instigator, an arrangement that could be trusted to prevent any public unpleasantness.