Chapter 5
Reagan
Gwinifer stormed into the room and slammed a page of the newspaper onto the breakfast table. “Are you out of your mind?”
She shoved it toward Reagan, the edge of the paper sliding beside his half-eaten plate. He glanced at it deliberately calm, still chewing.
“What am I looking at?” he asked, knowing very well how much that irritated her.
Her grin was vicious. “Please tell me you hit your head this past week so we can say this was a moment of temporary insanity.”
Jane peered at the newspaper, face blanching as she scanned the tiny print in the corner.
Varian Ilya is admitted into the Staff of Mountheim Hall.
Cerridwen reached for the paper, brows pinching. “When was this decided? And by whom?”
Reagan had anticipated questions. Not just about allowing Varian into Mountheim, but also into the Hall, into the midst of those he held dearest. He’d thought long and hard about it, weighing every angle, and concluded this would provide the longest win—if only he could be patient.
It wasn’t his strength, he admitted begrudgingly.
Decisive action, and sometimes violence, came far more naturally to him, but the cost of his recklessness had grown too high.
He’d promised Jane he’d never again risk slipping into a cursed state, not after waking in his own skin in that cabin.
But he knew something had to be done about Varian.
Jane’s calm voice followed his Second’s. “Why allow him on the staff?”
Reagan measured his words, unwilling to reveal too much.
“For a long time, I kept Varian far from the estate, but he is more dangerous that way. It’s better to keep him close, to watch his movements.
He’ll present his ideas to improve Mountheim, or so he’s been told. I want him to share them here. For us.”
It wasn’t the full truth, but it sufficed.
“But Varian is still answering for impersonating you,” Cerridwen said, her brows furrowed. “What does that say about the sort of man you trust with the affairs of this estate?”
“For impersonating?” Jane’s eyes narrowed, incredulous. “And the rest?”
“For now, this is the only transgression he is answering,” Finnegan said. “The court dismissed the accusation that he had abducted you. Impersonating a Mage Lord was considered… the real crime.”
Gwinifer sank into her chair with a derisive huff. “A lack of judgement that didn’t come from Malory this time. Varian was tried in a court in Ashenagth.”
When he first heard, Reagan wasn't surprised that Ashenagth's magisters had responded this way, especially since the son of the noble Ilya family was involved.
In his experience, this was precisely the sort of shadiness Ashenagth's courts were known for.
He suspected some magisters there adhered to a selective code of ethics, twisting the law to suit a person's bloodline.
“Ashenagth has a history of leniency toward magekin, often at the expense of hybrids,” Finn explained for Jane.
“The whole country should follow the same order, but the court’s judgement is their own interpretation of the law.
They said there was insufficient proof that Varian committed any other transgressions that day.
The hexes were cast by the Scion, not Varian directly, and there was no proof he connected with a Wraith.
The connecting relic was never recovered.
They were able to justify that Gwin and I already hated the prick, and you and Reagan were victims. In the end, it was our word against his. ”
“We should’ve taken that relic,” Gwinifer muttered. “Stupid to let him walk off with it.”
“What happened to the Scions?” Jane asked.
Reagan’s eyes snagged on her hands, on the fingers twisting nervously.
He had hoped for better news. The patrols he’d dispatched after the Scions had yet to locate the Order’s members.
“Still missing,” Reagan said. “But we have battle mages searching for them.”
“You want to keep Varian here, Reagan?” Finn asked. “Isn’t it too risky?”
“He will only be allowed in the estate during meetings,” Reagan said, the weight of the decision in his tone. “And no longer. His residence is still in Ashenagth.”
Barracus was already arranging measures to ensure that his degenerate of a cousin would only enter the Hall at set times. Reagan planned to reiterate the rules and the consequences if Varian dared to step out of line.
Part of him wished Varian would defy them, giving him the excuse for a thorough punishment. He could almost taste the cinders of Varian’s blood boiling beneath his skin. Almost see the blisters forming.
It was a dangerous game he decided to play.
“Were you waiting to tell us when he first appeared here?” Cerridwen’s gaze shot daggers. “He’ll seize any opportunity to undermine you.”
“Let him,” Reagan said sharply, swirling the tea in his mug, wishing he could pour a measure of the liquor beside his bed into it. "If I were afraid of what Varian might say, I wouldn’t want me ruling either. He will not be present for sensitive matters, and that is final."
“I am not attending these meetings,” Gwinifer muttered, crossing her arms. “Unless you want me to kill him, I can’t.”
“You will,” he said firmly. “Unless you want Heil to replace you in staff meetings from now on.”
Her eyes snapped to his, narrow with anger. He treated Gwin like his equal, yes, but she understood hierarchy. He wasn’t asking as her brother, and her seat on the staff could be given to the captain of battle mages without a second thought.
“Is this the man who took Jane against her will?” Joy asked coolly, not really looking at Reagan.
He knew Joy despised him, but that wasn’t why she averted her eyes or why Jan was so fiercely protective of her.
Cerridwen shook her head in disapproval.
“Varian will be watched at all times while he is here,” Reagan said. “And your sister doesn’t have a thing to worry about.”
Jane’s eyes narrowed sceptically.
When he met her gaze, the well of his power surged.
Since the curse broke, he wasn't used to the strength coursing through him. It was one thing to struggle with it sometimes. It was another for it to surge so often, so violently. The effort of reining it in left Reagan undone in ways he knew were pathetic.
It wasn't only that he was accessing the full breadth of his access. It was her.
“He deceived me,” she admitted, stirring her fork absently. “And I fell for it, even though I should have sensed the glamour.”
“A glamour is not easy to identify,” Reagan cut in, a flicker of annoyance bleeding through his words. “It’s rooted in a relic, different from compulsion. If he’d used compulsion on you, you would have recognised it immediately. But Varian already knew I’d warded you.”
Reagan had tried. She was likely the only person in the Hall that night protected by something as paranoid as a ward. He’d taken precautions, but how could he have prepared for everything?
He studied the distress in every gaze around the table, lingering on a pair of hazel eyes.
“We will keep him close,” he said. “But you don’t need to stay in those meetings. He is cunning, yes, but also weak. And if I do this right, Varian will no longer pose a threat to Mountheim."
Jane stared at him, a furrow drawn between her brows.
He was sure she would be safe, and not only because he would be there. He'd seen her learn from her mistakes. That unbending defiance of hers and her sharp mind were her best weapons, and she wielded them well. So well that they struck straight through his heart until she burrowed there completely.
He'd seen the way she had outsmarted whoever had interfered with the curse, the way she had survived the cabin, survived the Northern Forest. Each survival only accelerating the process.
Reluctantly, the table nodded, and Reagan hoped he was doing the right thing.