Chapter 10
Jane
Dust puffed beneath my boots as I stepped onto the rug. Outside, clouds had smothered the sun, leaching the Hall’s foyer of colour and leaving the light flat and grey.
I could barely stand the heat lingering on my skin. My heartbeat hadn’t slowed since we left Malory’s office, still pounding as if it were trying to outrun what had just been said.
“When were you going to tell me?” Joy asked. She stood frozen in place, not queasy despite Finn having flung them back to the Hall.
“Tell you?” I let out a huffed laugh. How about tell me?
Finn pivoted into view. “It was a solid argument,” he said, already defending it. “Without that, Malory would have had no reason to accept our arrangement.”
I didn’t know why my focus snagged on his hair, but it had grown longer, blonde waves falling around his ears. His round ears.
He studied me as if my face might betray what I was thinking.
Right.
I turned, finding Reagan still where I had left him, hands resting at his waist, his expression stern, conflicted enough to confirm that I hadn’t imagined that conversation.
“We should talk now,” I said.
His eyes searched mine, his mouth already parting despite the other ears in the foyer.
“Not here,” I said.
I veered down the left corridor, passing Cerridwen where she had appeared. She didn’t stop me. Finn would explain what had transpired in court soon enough.
Reagan’s steps followed close behind, the muted sound of our boots against the rugs the only thing breaking the silence until we reached the dining room.
I stopped at the long table, my fingers curling around the carved back of a chair.
The door clicked shut behind me. From the shift of shadow at the edge of my vision, I knew he stood only a few steps away.
“That’s why you were so sure,” I said. “And you didn’t think to tell me.”
I heard his hesitation before his answer. “I didn’t think it would be necessary to use that argument.”
“No. You didn’t want to have to ask.” I let out a shaky breath. “And I can’t even be angry, because you did exactly what I asked you to do.”
He made sure that nothing happened to Joy.
I couldn’t bring myself to face him. Looking into the storm that lived behind his eyes would only make it worse.
“Of course I didn’t want to ask yet,” Reagan said, matter-of-fact. “I saw your face when Cerridwen mentioned it. I can see it now. And you asked for time. I just don’t understand why the idea feels so unbearable to you.”
I turned then, incredulity filling my head. “You are not that dense,” I said, my temper flaring despite myself. His expression hardened. “Do you want me to ask Hildegard for the results again?”
“It’s inconclusive, Jane,” he said calmly, stepping closer. “You had three days without the ring.”
He drew a breath, pulling the cloak from his shoulders. We were still wearing them. He draped his over a chair and rested his hands on his waist as I removed mine.
“It was the safest argument I had,” he continued. “If Malory had decided Joy was to be sent to an institute, there would have been no undoing it. She doesn’t second-guess herself, and she is not questioned. So when she mentioned the Healer’s Hall, I told her you would be Lady of Mountheim.”
The words settled heavily, and I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat. It felt as if I had stepped into a part for a number I’d never practiced for.
The boil inside me eased just enough for another thought to surface. “What did she mean about a letter?”
Reagan pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and drew in a long, measured breath.
He prowled the room, a crackle of energy sparkling from his fingers.
“I have been receiving demands for a week,” he said reluctantly.
“Expectations for how Mountheim should recover. One of them arrived with a list of potential matches.”
My chest tightened at the words, at the meaning of matches.
He let out a humourless huff, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling. “The man she mentioned is Alaister Quarrel. He’s a magister handling the estate’s recovery and, apparently, he decided I am too old to not be bonded. And this is the most pressing issue now that I’ve secured my position.”
The room seemed to spin as the implication sank in. Reagan’s face was etched with something grave, contemptuous.
“So this is it?” I asked.
His eyes dropped back to me, some of that frustration seeming to eddy from his expression. “No. This is me telling you we don’t have the luxury of time.”
“And if I cannot wield,” I forced myself to say, “you will have to choose someone else.”
He exhaled softly. “You are not the only one who began late,” Reagan said, stepping closer. “You are just untrained. But if you don’t want this, then tell me now.”
My hesitation had nothing to do with not wanting it. There was a craving in me to learn, to study their customs, their crafts. But could I meet Ladyship expectations? Besides, accepting this role would paint a target on my back, and on Joy’s. I had been targeted for far less.
“If I can prove it,” I asked, “that would make me hybrid-born, wouldn’t it? That may not matter to you, but it matters to some people.”
Dangerous people.
“Jane, can you not see what this could mean?” he said, his hands lifting to cradle my neck. “This could be a step forward for Mountheim. For the country. Think of the message a hybrid-born Lady would send. Of peace. Of equality.”
Warmth drained from my face. My hands lifted to grip his forearms. “What?”
“I have been thinking about this since I learned you are partly mageborn. You would be the first hybrid Lady in…centuries, probably. You could leave a mark on our history. After the war, the order of things kept our people apart to prevent violence, but it solved nothing. The hatred and prejudice are still here. A hybrid-born Lady could help change that. You could be exactly what we need.”
He waited, but my mind had gone utterly blank.
“What I mean is, what you see as a flaw could change us for the better.”
I blinked, stunned by the sheer audacity of the idea, by how fast he had elevated the stakes from unlikely to ludicrous in the span of a breath.
“My Gods, you are insane.” A laugh tore out of me, my disbelief dissolving into exhaustion.
Reagan fixed me with a quizzical look.
“I don’t want to be a symbol. I might as well paint a target on my back. On Joy’s back.” I drew a steadying breath. “I want to think about this. I cannot decide it lightly. And you cannot hand me this role without proof that I can wield as the rest of you do.”
“You aren’t wielding yet,” he said. “That will take time and practice. But you will. I’m not asking that you become a symbol. That was too soon. I’m asking you to be Lady. My Lady.”
His shirt bunched beneath my fingers as I inhaled some of that unshakable certainty.
Reagan’s eyes dropped to my mouth.
Perhaps this was his strongest argument.
Because despite all logic and doubt, I wanted him.
Wanted him enough to heed the warnings in my head and still just focus on how I felt with him.
How I wanted to feel that same way again and for as long as I could.
Not a single part of me wanted to take the easier path.
“Alright,” I murmured.
He smiled, crooked and infuriatingly attractive, his shoulders loosening in visible relief. “Thank the Grimoire.”
“I will need to practise,” I corrected. “And if we have proof, then yes.”
His eyes were half lidded now, his mouth set with intent. “Deal.”