Morden straightened. His right hand came up to touch the chain, holding one of the links between thumb and forefinger for a second, then he nodded to the master of ceremonies and walked to one of the empty chairs. He sat, and the other ten sat as well. Now there were eleven.

A faint murmur went through the room, then died away into silence. I don’t know what I’d been expecting—an outcry, maybe. Instead everyone just watched. You read a lot about history being made; you don’t often see it happen. Sitting on his Council seat, Morden surveyed the crowd. I was hidden away at the back, yet his eyes found me. Maybe it was my imagination, but he seemed to give me a tiny smile and a nod of the head.

I looked away sharply. The master of ceremonies was announcing something else, but I didn’t listen. Instead I found myself scanning the faces around me, looking from one mage to another. None were familiar, and it took a moment before I realised who I was looking for. Richard. I couldn’t see him, or sense his presence, yet somehow I knew he was there.

Caldera’s wrong, I thought. Things are changing. I turned and walked out of the Conclave, leaving the Council behind. The Keepers on the door watched me go.

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