Paddy had been in mid-sip. Mid-nervous-sip. Nervously imagining what a war between sorcerers might be like, now that he knew sorcerers existed and he could conceivably become involved somehow. He didn't want to be, but he couldn't very well just sit back and do nothing.

That sip he'd been halfway finished with went down the wrong way, causing Paddy to choke and drop his mug. It fell onto the table with a clatter, remained miraculously intact, and rolled off the edge of the knotted wooden surface, where it probably would have smashed into pieces on the tiled floor if Paddy hadn't had the presence of mind to reach out and snag it.

Hadn't he just been internally remarking on how powerful sorcerers were? How much right they had to be arrogant? How much their actions and their decisions affected the entire rest of the world without anyone even being aware of it?

"They're out to do what?" Paddy demanded, ignoring Solomon's last words. His voice, far from the fearful uncertainty of seconds before, was now sharp. "They're planning what? And the Sanctuaries don't know about this?"

That wasn't even a matter of religious faith. Paddy had seen similarly misguided people believe things that, if not worse, were at least as close to it as non-sorcerers could possibly get. But he'd assumed such secrecy only existed in keeping magic hidden from most of the world. He didn't think sorcerers kept secrets like that from each other. A naive viewpoint, perhaps, but all Paddy could do for a moment was stare at Solomon in abject disbelief.

Then it finally occurred to him why Solomon had withdrawn when he realised what he'd said. "You. You were prepared to go that far?"