“Trusted you?” he repeated, looking as if he didn’t understand the words.

“Trusted me,” she affirmed, stroking his cheek. “Your magic is powerful, Gabriel, and you were sorely provoked. Cycling all that fury back through me was an excellent choice. However, pouring it into this storm that’s going to wash away all that topsoil and test our tender new levee is not a good idea. Plus,” she added, “it will keep the proctor from leaving, and all your fracturing of our carefully laid plans will be for naught.”

He gazed at her a moment longer, dumbfounded, then glanced at the roof overhead, seeming to just then register the pounding of the rain. “Is that me?”

“I’m pretty sure it is,” she told him cheerfully. “The storm escalated along with your sending silver spikes at the proctor.”

He winced, stepping back and scrubbing his hands over his face. “I’m so sorry, Nic. I really screwed up everything tonight.”

She slipped off the desk and went to pour him a finger of brandy—not great stuff, but better than what they were giving the minions—and pressed the smooth wooden cup into his hands. “You were actually spectacular,” she purred, gazing up at him through her lashes. “I was aroused long before you dragged me in here to be ravished, although that part got me going even more.”

He grimaced at her. “Nic, you can’t be serious.”

“I can and am. Drink the brandy. Stop the storm. We can deal with the rest.” She waited until he sipped the brandy, wizard-black eyes watching her over the rim. “Your, er, eruption may have not been what we planned, but you’ve suitably terrified everyone. It was a magnificent display of both power and control. You intimidated even Jadren El-Adrel! That was immensely satisfying to watch.”

“We’ll have to start over with minions if I frightened everyone away.”

“You won’t have. You’ll see. I’m laying odds you only cleared out the ones here for nefarious reasons. Everyone who sincerely applied to House Phel will stay, because you just demonstrated how well you can defend your house.”

“And now the proctor will tell the Convocation everything.” He sighed heavily, staring into the empty cup.

She shrugged nonchalantly, one ear on the rain, which lessened with each moment, the thunder receding, and slipped the cup from his hands. “They were going to know anyway. At least this way, if it comes to war, the Convocation will have an idea of what they’re up against with you, and—”

He snagged her hand before she could turn away. “With us,” he corrected.

“And,” she continued, “this buys us time to find Selly and make other plans.”

He laced their fingers together, gazing at her intently. “Thank you, my heart,” he said with soft intensity. “I’m aware that you managed me in there.”

She smiled saucily. “As a well-trained familiar should do.”

A line formed between his dark brows. “I highly doubt the Convocation Academy taught you how to handle situations like that.”