And if worst came to worst, it would be entirely possible to snatch the talisman from the prow and run for the Gate to escape. During the Regatta, there were no Keepers stationed at each Gate to control the flow of traffic. You might lose whatever you had in the barge with you, but that would be a small price to pay.

Well, that and you’d be swimming when you got to the other side.

Three days after young Ivar had been installed at the manor, Jonaton turned up at breakfast with Hakkon.

If strict protocol had held at Valdemar, Jonaton would have been seated somewhere down among the servants. Very few people were aware he was a mage; those who were aware thought he was a “Magus Minor,” someone far too limited in power to be of interest to the Emperor, and just a small, civilized step above a hedge wizard. He could have been seated at the Head Table if his relationship with Hakkon were known—and sanctioned by the Empire. But that would have created dangers for both of them. It was thought best by everyone not to give the Emperor anything he could use to leverage someone who could legitimately take Kordas’s place.

But strict protocol was scarcely ever applied here, and Jonaton was perfectly welcome at the High Table, where he performed little bits of entertaining sleight of hand on the occasions when there were visitors. Mostly, though, Jonaton talked about geometry, Imaging, herbs and cures, and his cats. Anyone’s cats, really. Often, he brought Imager pictures of various cats, and added funny captions to them. They always raised laughs as they were passed table to table.

This morning, however, he was not here because of a visitor. Through a lifted brow and a couple of coded words, he made it very clear that he was ready to begin the first steps of creating the Gate, and that he expected anyone interested to turn up at mid-afternoon ready to work.

Then, he ate all the honey-melon, took a double-handful of crisp bacon rashers, and left.

Typical, Kordas thought, suppressing a laugh.