“Ha-ha,” he muttered, but he set her on her feet—though he kept steadying hands on her.

She brushed them off. “I’m fine. See?” Determined to stay upright, she marched to the magically sealed arcanium door, then held out an expectant hand. “Let’s go kick that proctor in the teeth.”

Gabriel took her hand, interlacing their fingers while watching her intently, and she knew he was sampling her magic, testing her strength. At least he knew to do that now. Fortunately, whatever he sensed seemed to satisfy him because he nodded minutely. “Ready?”

“Yes.” She faced the door, a seemingly solid circle of silver. Gabriel sipped at her magic, just enough to mix with his, the tendrils winding out to make contact with the enchantment embedded there by his Phel wizard ancestors. She paid close attention to the transition of the dense metal back into the moonlight it had been woven from. Or, at least, as Gabriel had guessed that was how they’d done it. It was truly a miraculous enchantment—both in its original creation and that it had endured for so long without a living wizard to maintain it. Once again, she marveled at the ingenuity and power of the ancient House Phel wizards.

And she wondered at their precipitous decline. Gabriel possessed off-the-charts levels of magical potential and, from the evidence, so had his ancestors. How had such a powerful house gone from that to magic too minor to register above a three on the Convocation’s MP scorecards, and in just a couple of generations? Houses declined in power, sure, and were removed from the Convocation roster when they no longer had at least one wizard with sufficient scores. But usually they decayed gracefully, a High House drifting into second-tier status, and thence to the lower tiers where they scrabbled along, their production license greatly reduced but still viable to sustain a small household.

But House Phel—they’d gone from High House to nothing. Their people had become farmers largely ignorant of magic and the distant Convocation, not even aware of the minor magic still lingering in most of the population. Yes, rumors had it that madness had played a role in the fall of House Phel, but that didn’t explain the enormity of the precipitous fall.

“Nic?” Gabriel prompted, tugging her hand. “Do you need to rest?”

The long tunnel under the lake glowed ahead of her. “Just thinking.” She kicked her feet into gear. They had a number of pressing issues to handle, far more immediately important, and yet… “Is there a history of House Phel in the library?” she asked Gabriel as they walked, side by side, their fingers still interlaced.

He didn’t answer for a long moment. “That’s not what I expected you to be thinking about.”

“That’s promising.” She gave him a cheeky smile. “I’d hate to be predictable this early in our relationship.”

“Somehow I suspect you will never be predictable,” he muttered under his breath.

“What’s that, darling? I didn’t catch it.” She beamed innocently.