"So, you are content to be second-rate; is that it, Thorn?"

Thorn shut his eyes and grimaced. Lizaveta must have further plans in mind for him and he felt, in truth, satisfied with his current position. The political games of High Lodge did not appeal to him in the least. His mother's actions might have obtained him his current lofty rank, but he had been more than happy as a Mage Questor, alongside his steadfast friend and ally, Loras Afelnor: the blood brother he had betrayed.

"May I not rest, Mother?" His telepathic voice emerged plaintive and pitiful, and Thorn reviled himself for grovelling when he had intended to be strong.

"Rest? You may rest when you are dead, Thorn, or when you are High Dominie. Not before."

Thorn knew Lizaveta would never be content, even if he achieved the Guild's ultimate rank. She would always be chiding him, goading him, driving him to some new goal. Lizaveta might leave him alone for a little while after he obtained the position of Dominie, doubtless after some additional, covert act of treachery. Then it would start again: the Guild needed more Houses and more dominions under its thrall: the Houses needed tighter control: the Guild needed more money. It would never end. The Prelate resolved to try once more to beat down his mother's incessant, insensate demands. He knew browbeating and pleading would never work, so he attempted diplomacy instead.

"Mother, I beg you to reconsider. My position here is strong and influential. The House intake of paying Students is up for the second year in a row, and I am a prominent member of the Guild Presidium. However, five others in the ruling council are senior to me. It would be regarded as suspicious in the extreme, to say the least, if they were all to die or renounce their seniorities within a short space of time. You must understand this, Mother. I am working hard to raise my status in the Guild hierarchy, and this is my only sensible method of obtaining the post of Lord Dominie."