Arndel lurched to his feet. “And I call it churlish that you would abandon this artisanry, abandon me, to pursue such folly, to pound your fists against a door locked for good reason! And why? Because your talent is o’ermatched only by your profligate pride!”

Heart thudding, the cramped chamber’s air raw in her throat, Barl stood to face him. “Was there no letter from this Lord Hahren included for me?”

“No,” he said, curt. “I was requested to inform you of the College’s decision, and I have done so. But just in case you remain in any doubt, Mage Lindin, let me spell it out for you most plainly. You are not the kind of student candidate the College desires. Furthermore, I will give you a timely warning. With this display of arrogance, you have brought yourself to the Council of Mages’ attention. That was not wise. The Council has a long memory and tends to hold a grudge.”

So he was pretending to care for her now? “And you, Artisan Master? Do you hold a grudge?”

He sniffed. “I suppose that is your disrespectful way of asking if I intend to dismiss you? The answer is no, you are not dismissed. At least not permanently. But neither are you required here today. Go home, Mage Lindin. Reflect upon your poor choices… and the very dim prospects you may expect to enjoy should you so trespass upon the Council’s goodwill ever again. Or mine.”

She tried, but she couldn’t mask her surprise. “You still want me?”

“Mage Lindin, you are young,” Arndel said, condescending now. “And in this matter you have shown a deplorable lack of judgement. Let its outcome be a lesson to you. Learn from your mistake.” His lips pinched. “Yes, I still want you. But understand that even my patience has limits.”

The expectant gleam in his eye told her he now waited for a humbled gushing of gratitude. She felt her spine stiffen. I’d rather drop dead. The wrapped crystal in her arms weighed heavy as lead. He’d not even glanced at it, let alone asked what it was or why she’d brought it to him. And there’d be no point trying to tell him. Her small triumph would have to wait.

She bowed her head, just far enough that he couldn’t again accuse her of insufficient courtesy. “Artisan Master.”

“But you’ll return to the workroom tomorrow,” he said sharply. “Lady Grie expects her clock completed upon the agreed date.”

Another careful nod. “Of course, Artisan Master. I’ll not disappoint her.”