“None of my affair?” he shouted. “When you are my artisan? When your services are promised to Lady Ancilla Grie? When I am bluntly told by an advisor to the Council of Mages—the Council—that as your Artisan Master it is my duty to keep your mind on your work so it might not lead you into giving grave offence? None of my affair? Mage Lindin, what were you thinking?”

Her knees were trembling. If she didn’t sit again they’d give way, and she’d be humiliated. So she folded back to the chair and tried to gather her disordered wits. When she could trust herself, she looked up and met Arndel’s glare.

“I was thinking, Artisan Master, that no mage in Dorana should be denied an education.”

“No mage is!”

“That’s not true, Artisan Master. Every day the College of Mages—”

“Enough about the College! There are scores of mage schools in Dorana, Mage Lindin.”

With difficulty, she kept a precarious hold of her temper. “Yes, Artisan Master. But only one College.”

Arndel’s nostrils pinched, then flared. “Which is free to admit or deny whatever students it likes! And it should come as no surprise, Mage Lindin, that it does not like you!”

She blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“Then you must be far more stupid than even this nonsense suggests.”

“Master Arndel, are you saying I’m turned down?”

“Of course you’re turned down! Don’t tell me you thought the College would accept you?”

Nausea churned through her, burning her throat with bile. “And the proctor wrote to you of the decision? Not me?”

“No, Mage Lindin.” Arndel’s eyes gleamed with a nasty satisfaction, seeing her distress. “Are you even listening? The letter writer was one Lord Hahren, who advises both the proctor and the Council on College matters. He felt I had the right to know what one of my artisans has been up to behind my back.”

Pushing nausea aside, Barl took a deep breath to steady her voice. “I came here a Guild-lettered mage, Artisan Master Arndel. I am not ’prenticed to this artisanry. You don’t own me.”

She had him there, and he knew it. His lips thinned. “By the strict letter of Guild law, Mage Lindin, that is true. But do not pretend to be more than you are, or brush aside inconvenient facts. Despite your unsteady past I made a place for you here. I gave you the benefit of my knowledge, my experience. I taught you the art of clock-maging, I—”

“And I have more than earned my keep, Artisan Master!” she said, abandoning prudence. That he’d dare to censure her. That he would dare. “I have repaid you thrice over for your investment. I call it churlish that you would complain of a little time spent in schooling me when the rewards I’ve earned you come in thick and fast.”