It had been a mistake to let the mask slip. “I scarcely think of them.”

“Good. Because you shouldn’t. Besides, Sallis and Shari are the past. Young mages like you and Maris are our future. Remember that. And remember what I said about azafris and susquinel. After what happened to Brahn Sorvold, I don’t like to think of you experimenting. The risk is hardly worth it. I know you’re ambitious, Morgan. It’s not a bad thing. But you mustn’t be greedy, or take unnecessary chances. Dorana needs you.”

She had irked and humiliated him this night, though she’d meant to do neither. But any lingering resentment he felt faded in the face of her genuine concern. Leaning close, he kissed her cheek.

“You have my word, Venette, that my eyes shall never grow larger than my appetite. Nor shall ambition leap me into danger. And on that note, I bid you farewell. Enjoy what remains of your party. And don’t trouble yourself. I can find my own way out.”

Although Venette’s husband was still present, and in theory his host, he felt no need to do more than nod and smile at Orwin as he departed. He could feel Maris Garrick’s following gaze on him, but he didn’t look back.

Reaching the street on which stood Venette and Orwin’s town house, he paused to breathe in the cool, sweet night air. The hour was late, with the moon risen high and distant amid a beguiling scatter of stars. Not even the lampposts with their small glimfire crowns could dim the diamond-bright vista. Much of Elvado’s most exclusive residential district was sleeping. He listened, but could hear no carrying voices or creak of carriage wheels with clattering hooves on the cobbles. Faint strains of dance music drifted from Venette’s ballroom. Fainter still, he caught a hint of other music playing. Perhaps it came from the concert hall. Was there a performance tonight? He had no idea. He’d long ago lost track of such transitory diversions, though once he’d enjoyed them very much.

And will I enjoy them again, with Maris Garrick beside me? Or am I doomed to play the gallant husband with some other acceptable girl?

Assuming, of course, that one could be found. He had no idea of that, either, and abruptly realised he didn’t care. He was tired of thinking about it. He’d do what he must, for his father, for their family, but for now he’d done more than enough fretting over women.

As easily as breathing, he ignited three sigils, spoke the required words of power, stepped through his conjured portal… and out again, at the mansion.

“Welcome home, sir,” said Rumm, punctilious in the glimlit foyer. “I trust you passed a pleasant evening?”

“Pleasant enough,” Morgan replied, heading for the mansion’s sweeping staircase.

Though he could easily have manifested directly in his attic workroom, his father did not care for such casual comings and goings. A man of breeding, he said, considered the master servant’s position. In any good establishment the master servant was at all times kept apprised of his gentlemen’s whereabouts.