He laughed suddenly, sinking bonelessly against the oak tree. “I’ll make a deal with you. You find Ward and I’ll listen to what this friend of yours has to say. I’ll be a sincere, innocent half-mad wizard for you. If”—he held up one finger, “if you don’t subject me to any more speeches.”

She considered him warily. Probably, she thought, there had never been any danger at all. “What if I promise to try not to subject you to speeches? I have a weakness for them, which I’ll try to curb in your presence.”

He grinned at her, showing his teeth. “Let us in to the dragon’s lair, then, and let Lord Duraugh know what we know, hmm? He’ll be expecting us.”

She half thought he would work some wizardry that would transport them into the house, but he merely extended his elbow in invitation. When she tucked her arm in his, he patted her hand and let out another snort of laughter.

“If you think I am so dangerous, why are you so easy with me?”

She smiled. “Because I am no threat to Ward and you know it.”

They walked into the alleyway that ran behind the house and through the garden gate. The back door was unlocked, which Oreg corrected as soon as they were through.

The house was sparsely furnished with good pieces. Tisala let her hand trail over a small table. The house had an impersonal look, as if it hadn’t been a home in a very long time.

Oreg led her silently up the back stairway and down a dimly lit hall. There were several doors, but only one with light shining under it. Oreg stopped there and knocked.

“Come in,” said Ward’s uncle, and they did.

The room had been meant for a library, but books were expensive and the shelves that lined one wall were empty. A few modest but tasteful vases and a smallish carving or two tried to make the room less empty.

Lord Duraugh and his son, Beckram, were seated before a long table. Beckram looked distinctly relieved to see Oreg and Tisala.

The warrior who’d traveled from Hurog was gone: Duraugh wore the elegant court clothes like a second skin, and it made him look almost effeminate. Beckram, though even more elaborately arrayed in court fashion, wore a leashed purposefulness like a cloak around his shoulders. No one would mistake him for a simple court dandy.

“Did you find Ward?” asked Duraugh.

Tisala shook her head. “No. But I found out for certain that he’s not in the regular part of the Asylum. Tomorrow my friend will get me into the section built to hold mages. If he’s there, I can find him. It’s not very big, just a few cells and a laboratory.”

“They wouldn’t need it to be very big,” said Beckram. “How many mad sorcerers could there be?”