[Michael turns away from the dancing crowd that attracted his attention, blinking at Wanda. For a moment, he can't place the apology. She's been resolute in the belief that her pact with Soris is the right decision.

Then it comes to him—an old man's ear, a child's finger, a seamstress's eye. Of course.]

Apology accepted, but I did offer.

[And he would not have taken "no" for an answer.]

You'll have to show me your sigils. All those I know are unlikely to be of much use, here.

[He could ward Solvunn's borders against his brother and demons from his world, but what would be the point of that? His family's black sheep have caused surprisingly little harm, at least so far as he's heard. The danger at present is from the locals.]

Do the Elder mages and the Council not trust us? [He hadn't noticed, but he's had minimal interaction with either group.] I assumed it was their tradition to teach their customs slowly, only as needed. I suppose they wouldn't agree to take one of the Summoned on as an apprentice, then?