He laughed. “Venette, the notion of impressing them could not be further from my mind.”

“Well, good,” she said, uncertain. “But do think twice before you dance with dangerous catalysts. I enjoy your company and would not be deprived of it betimes.”

And on that gently scolding note, she slipped from the room.

As a member of the Council he was entitled to remain in its privy chamber for as long as he liked, in or out of company. So he moved to the nearest intricate stained-glass window and stared down into the plaza, then out across the city. Feeling an odd sense of ownership, as though Elvado had been built for him… and him alone. A shiver whispered over his skin, hinting at shadows and peril, at dark days yet to come. He felt his heart thud, felt his body brace as though expecting a blow.

Never fear, my beloved city. So long as I am breathing, no harm shall come to you.

Chapter Six

She’s rather pretty, isn’t she?”

Caught staring at the young mage on the far side of the dance floor, Morgan shrugged to hide his irritation. Took a restrained sip of icewine. “She’s acceptable.”

Venette plucked a glass of icewine for herself from a passing servant’s tray. Though she claimed the evening was informal, she’d taken great pains with her appearance. But then she always did, being gloriously vain and unashamed of her wealth. The rubies bound to her brow were the finest Trindek would part with, their hue the rich red of heart’s blood. Her flowing tunic was fashioned from Feenish gossamer silk, its myriad shades of green vibrant as new spring.

“Acceptable?” she said. “That’s a trifle ungenerous, Morgan.”

What game was Venette playing now? “You asked my opinion, and I gave it.”

Standing by his side, fingers lightly touching his elbow, Venette leaned closer. “My dear…” Her voice was lowered, even though the ballroom musicians in their gallery were playing loudly enough to mask her words. “You are too particular. Maris Garrick is entirely presentable.”

He spared Venette a tight smile. “I must bow to your superior judgement, since ogling women is not a regular pastime with me.”

“Now you’re being deliberately unpleasant,” she said, pouting, and pinched him. “Stop it.”

Dinner concluded, Venette and her stolid husband Orwin had invited their guests to the ballroom, where they might continue the evening’s entertainment and make amends for the sumptuous five-course meal they’d so eagerly consumed.

Having eaten sparingly, in no mood to dance, Morgan had flirted with the notion of excusing himself for home. There was just enough azafris left for him to make one last attempt at creating his new sigil, this time using susquinel as the primary catalyst. With such a momentous achievement in the balance, the thought of wasting the rest of the night in empty frivolity grated.

But then Venette had looked at him, eyebrows raised. Leaving, Morgan? I don’t think so. Which, of course, meant he’d stayed. It would have been impolitic to do anything else.