“You mustn’t say such things,” he whispered self-consciously. “Someone might hear.”

“Who, Lucifer? Nonsense. I’m afraid, my dear Thorne, that our good Prince of Darkness is only a make-believe devil, a fairy-tale legend with which to frighten naughty children. The real devils are men, like Morgan and McLain. You would do well to remember that.”

Scowling, Thorne gave his mantle a last, fretting adjustment, then bound a narrow gold fillet across his forehead with fingers that trembled slightly.

“Very well: Morgan and McLain are devils. You have said it; therefore, it must be true. But I can hardly tell that to the Council. Even if Morgan and McLain are what you say they are—and I do not know this, for I have never met the gentlemen—they are also only half-Deryni, and therefore immune to arcane challenge by any of us. I shall need to present very good reasons for changing that status.”

“Then you shall have them,” Rhydon said, rubbing at the scar beside his nose in an unconscious gesture. “You need only remind the Council that both Morgan and McLain appear to be able to do things they oughtn’t. And if that doesn’t convince them, you might also add that if this continues, the pair could present a threat to the very existence of the Inner Circle.”

“But they don’t even know of the Council!”

“So one assumes,” Rhydon replied crisply. “But secrets have a bad habit of eventually getting out. And you might also remember, strictly for your own edification, that Wencit wants this action passed. Need I elaborate further?”

“That—ah—won’t be necessary.” Thorne cleared his throat nervously and turned away to peer at his reflection in the mirror, controlling the tendency of his hand to tremble as he made a final adjustment to his collar.

“Very well. I have said I would do as you ask,” he continued more steadily. “I trust that you, in turn, will remind Wencit of the risk I take by speaking in his behalf. I do not know what he has planned for Morgan and McLain, nor do I wish to know. But the Council is intended to be a neutral body; it looks harshly on any of its members taking sides in politics. Wencit could have been on the Council himself, you know, if only he had been a little more obedient.” He ended on a petulant note.

“Obedience is not one of Wencit’s stronger virtues,” Rhydon warned softly. “Nor is it one of mine. However, if you have some quarrel with either of us, I am certain that an opportunity can be arranged whereby someone will gain satisfaction. They say that the time is ripe for challenges.”

“You surely don’t think that I would challenge…?” A trace of the old night terror flickered momentarily in the pale blue eyes.

“Of course not.”

Thorne swallowed with difficulty and regained his composure, then moved briskly onto the carved vines and flowers that adorned the tiles defining his Transfer Portal.

“I shall send you word in the morning,” he said, gathering his golden mantle around him with such shreds of dignity as he could muster. “Will that be satisfactory?”