Chapter 19
Reagan
“The Highlands are now charging tolls on all goods passing through,” Finn said, his tone clipped and hard as he filled in the present staff members.
The chamber Reagan had chosen lay among the Hall’s lesser-used rooms, furnished with twelve stiff-backed chairs. He used it for visitors he intended to dismiss quickly.
Varian shifted in his seat, his mouth pulling into a grimace. “Why does this matter? Highlanders don’t even supply for themselves, as far as I know.”
Reagan’s patience, which was nothing impressive to begin with, was already thinning. He pushed the irritation aside with a long gulp of water. “It isn’t about their goods. It’s about their location. The farmlands produce the most, but how do you think we distribute them?”
When his cousin didn’t answer, Reagan rolled his neck, letting the soft crack ease some of his tension. Just like his power, it had been gathering at his shoulders and the tips of his fingers every minute he had to stay close to Varian. But right now, Reagan had bigger problems to solve.
If his cousin was as clever as he thought he was, he would have asked why the Highlanders were charging tolls for goods that they themselves needed.
Castor, the steward of the Highlands, knew the territory under his command was indispensable to Mountheim. It encompassed the only railway routes linking the estate to the three other towns that made up the farmlands, effectively bypassing the delivery portals.
If they had to pass through portals, it would be a logistical nightmare, with extra hands required at every gate. Shipments would pile up in transfer queues, needing storage room that didn’t exist, and towns would be left undersupplied, as inevitably happened.
“And he’s just charging for the goods leaving the Highlands, not what they are retaining,” Reagan guessed, and Finn confirmed it. “How steep?”
“Seven percent of the cargo,” Finn said.
Cerridwen sat impassive. The silent quality in the way she waited made it clear she had no intention of speaking in present company.
Reagan set down the glass of water that had long since warmed in his hand. “And their reasoning?”
“Inspection fees,” Finn explained. “He says there is need to control the traffic of hemlock.”
Hemlock. A paralytic plant traded quietly and never for anything decent. Still, it was never found in large amounts across Mountheim, nor did it grow in the farmlands.
Reagan knew the toll was a convenient excuse, one that allowed Castor’s goods to move first while everything else stalled behind inspections.
A profitable manoeuvre, especially for a steward desperate to refill his coffers.
But his yields didn’t sustain all towns, especially with the blight still chewing through Highland soil.
Once more, Reagan found himself praying to Zara and Godric that the wretched ground would recover sooner. He would bloody tend it himself if it would help.
“So,” he said, “Castor found himself a bad excuse to give his shipments a head start.”
Varian snorted as Finn nodded. Reagan held the urge to silence his cousin, reminding himself that he needed the man speaking freely.
Varian leaned back, one leg crossing over the other. “Highlanders, always pushing their luck. Might be time someone reminded them which side of the estate they’re on.”
Reagan’s thoughts flicked eagerly from Castor to Varian, sensing an opportunity. “What would you suggest I do?” he asked, ignoring Cerridwen’s pointed look.
Varian met his eyes, expression unchanged, though there was the hint of surprise there. “Remind them of their oath and what happens when stewards fail to keep their commitments.”
Every steward had sworn that oath, and the penalties for defiance were high. It was invoked mainly in matters of security, where the Lord’s word was final.
“So you think I should threaten them?” Reagan asked, tone mild.
Varian narrowed his eyes, arms folding across his chest. “Send the emissary to be diplomatic about it and share the consequences. And if that fails, make it clear you’re not asking.”
Reagan nodded as though weighing the idea. Cerridwen, evidently, found it intolerable enough to speak.
“Is this all the diplomacy you learned from Sable?” she asked coldly.
The mention of Varian’s father soured the room.
“If we approach it that way, we risk them closing that territory entirely over some fabricated maintenance excuse or whatever tale Castor can spin. We would jeopardise vital trade to the rest of Mountheim. We don’t need a conflict. We need to compromise.”
“Then you allow them to dictate what a Mage Lord should do,” Varian answered. “Soon they’ll be running their own regions like a pack of mindless wolves.” He shot Reagan a look of mock apology. “No offence meant.”
Reagan ignored him, raking a hand through his hair. “I can’t threaten them publicly,” he said. Publicly or privately, he wouldn’t. “But perhaps if someone were to speak with them…” He turned to Varian. “Perhaps you could…persuade them to reconsider.”
Finn’s brow twitched upward, the only sign of surprise he showed the moment Reagan glanced his way. “Are you sure?”
Reagan smirked faintly. He wasn’t that confident about the idea, but, if he was right about how events would unfold, it might give him the perfect outcome. He weighed the risks.
“You’ll go too,” he told Finn. “Keep Varian on a leash, will you?” He couldn’t be too obvious, or his cousin would sense a trap.
He reclined sideways on the dreadful chair, the smirk still in place.
“If Varian can persuade them to withdraw the toll, perhaps he’ll prove he is actually useful to us.
Then my people might forget what they saw at the last Rite.
The jealous cousin who wished he had my larger cock. ”
Cerridwen stifled a noise while Finn joined with his own smirk. Varian studied him closely, searching his face for tells.
“If you think that would help,” Varian said, calm and wary, accepting his first task.
Reagan couldn’t help but wonder whether this would be a successful first move to bury his cousin, or whether he’d just invited a viper deeper into his land.