Like his temperamental sister, he preferred to walk home. Of course for him the journey was short, since their rented cottage and his classroom were both in Batava hamlet. There was no denying Barl’s eccentricity, that she took pleasure in walking nearly an hour to the artisanry and home again. And not just in summer, either. She walked everywhere in winter too, bundled warm in a coat. She even walked in pouring rain, protected by a repelling incant. Small wonder so many mages looked at her askance.

But she wouldn’t be Barl if she wasn’t raising eyebrows.

Barton and his students were out in the school’s little flower-strewn field, practising inanimate translocations. Batava’s older pupils stayed in class a full hour later, which meant Barton had the longer working day. Waving his friend a cheerful farewell, Remmie headed for the laneway and home, by way of the poulterer. Herbed chicken for dinner. His belly rumbled, anticipating. And there was another eccentricity, that Barl left him to cook. What woman didn’t like cooking? Did his sister hope to marry some day? He’d never asked her, but he thought she must. All women did, didn’t they?

So she’ll have to find a way to love cooking, or else a husband who’ll cook for her. Justice knows I’ll not be her cook forever.

And he was sure she would marry, sooner or later. Beautiful and talented as she was, how could she not? Though she’d never admit it aloud, she knew her quest for a place in the College of Mages was nonsense. It was only visiting Elvado that had stirred her up. Let that memory fade, let her come to fully appreciate her good fortune at the artisanry, accept it as both home and future, begin to trust and enjoy Lady Grie’s patronage, and she’d not give two hoots about the College. Instead she’d let herself relax and join the local community, make friends, learn to play. Then she’d lose her heart to some man and wed him and that would tame her restless spirit once and for all.

And then, at last, I’ll be free to think of myself.

A prickle of guilt followed hard on the heels of pleasure. But he had no cause for self-reproach. Never once had he abandoned his sister, no matter what it cost him. It was the last thing he’d promised his dying mother. “Take care of Barl, Remmie. You know how she is.” And of course he’d promised. How could he refuse?

But he did wonder, sometimes, if his mother would have asked for his word if she’d known the price he’d pay for keeping it.

Irielle.