Discomfort was the first thing Sebastian became aware of, his mouth parched and his head pounding. He ignored both, struggling to recall what had happened. Mercier—the ring of fire— Lord Fine. Sebastian’s eyes flew open and he sat up. Or tried to. He swore as metal bit into his wrists. His arms were stretched up and out to either side, cuffed to—he craned his neck with difficulty, following the line of his right arm—cuffed to— Bedposts? Tall mahogany bedposts, exquisitely carved, and above them stretched a deep green canopy, embroidered with gold. His head rested on something soft, and the fabric against his cheek was like silk. A twitch of his legs confirmed they were free, and there was no bite of lead against his skin. So someone with significant money had cuffed him to a bed, but they hadn’t taken his magic into account— “Finally awake, are you?” Sebastian turned his head to the left, toward the sound of Lord Fine’s voice. The viscount was only a few feet away, sitting in a chair of dark wood and green velvet. He had removed his jacket, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows above bandaged forearms, and on his lap…