Chapter 27
Reagan
Like most things Reagan chose for himself, he obsessed over it. Investigating conspiracies was no exception, least of all the hunt for the people who had killed the Foley girl. It consumed him. The image of the young seamstress, broken and displayed, had fed his drive for the past week.
The Scions weren’t all reckless. The deeper he dug for proof of their transgressions, or for any trace of Giddeon Madden’s whereabouts, the more elusive the information became.
It wasn’t only the girl that left him drawn out, but his own muddled thoughts too. An endless internal burn that even his liquor couldn’t douse, only dull long enough while he slept.
Today, a woman would come to meet with him.
He briefly wondered if breaking an arm might excuse him from it, though Quarrel would likely deliver her to his bedside regardless.
For a moment, he wished his authority were absolute. That he didn’t require the assent of a quorum of magisters to dictate his future, that he could bond when he wished, with whom he wished, and avenge his people however he saw fit.
He wanted to be a tyrant, apparently. But tyrants, at least, would have a choice.
“They are in that awful visitors’ chamber,” Finn warned as they made their way through the corridor. “Cerridwen said it’s urgent.”
They’d only just returned from an outpost, where the squads had found nothing. Not a trace of the killer. He didn’t even have time to pour a drink before being summoned. Probably for the best; he’d already had one at the post.
Finn watched him with the same grim patience he’d worn for weeks now, pointedly refraining from commenting on Reagan’s drinking, though it was only a matter of time before he did.
“Did she say what it was about?” Reagan asked.
There was only one reason to use that room.
“No,” Finn replied. “But she sounded concerned. And yes, he’s here too.”
If Cerridwen was worried, she should have known better than to voice it in front of his insufferable cousin.
It reminded Reagan of his plans regarding Varian.
“Have you already talked with Castor again?” Reagan asked. It’d been a while since he’d heard from the steward of the Highlands. “After Varian talked to him about the tolls?”
Finn nodded. “Castor will come to the next Audience with the Highlanders.” He glanced at Reagan. “He’s not happy.”
Reagan’s mouth twitched. Of course.
When they entered the chamber, there were more unfamiliar faces than he’d expected.
Among them was the divination tutor whom he barely knew. Laerune Xanthos had been referred to him by Kellan Barasa. What Reagan knew was that she was the only diviner in Mountheim known to possess a Tarkin, which was a rare thing for her craft.
His Second and Third were already present, both looking uneasy. Varian lounged in his chair, his gaze fixed on the tutor with far too much interest. Gwinifer stood by the window behind him.
And she was there too, wedged between Cerridwen and Xanthos. He thought he saw something shadowing the corners of her eyes, but Reagan only allowed himself a passing glance.
“Finnegan and I appear to be late,” he said as he crossed the room. “What are we late for?”
He took the seat at the end of the table. Finn moved to stand beside Gwin at the window, late afternoon light slanting in behind them.
“Something has come up that you should hear before we begin,” Cerridwen said. “Have you been introduced to Laerune?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure,” he said, unable to soften the rough edge of his tone.
“My Lord, thank you for receiving me,” Xanthos said, bowing her head as any subject would. He guessed she worked out of the western quarter of the city, near the universities where Mountheim’s sharpest minds trained their young.
He nodded and asked, “Well, what is so urgent?”
All eyes around the table converged to her.
“We found something during my lesson that might be relevant,” Jane said. “I’ve been having the same dream for days, but now, you’re in it.”
He met her gaze. Jane’s gaze. And it was like walking toward the horizon where sea met dusk, beautiful and drowning.
Their last conversation surged back in his mind, when she’d said she didn’t want him. He’d known what she was doing then and yet, it hurt the same.
To think, once, he had found shapeshifting painful.
The word dream irritated him, though he concealed it. Maybe she was trying to be subtle. Yet, across the table, Varian leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with predatory interest.
Reagan’s patience thinned. This meeting was already skirting the edge of a serious misjudgement.
“It’s a security matter,” Jane added carefully.
It was enough to halt him, sounding like a code for something Varian couldn’t be trusted with.
“In that case, come with me,” Reagan said. “Just you.”
He stood and turned for the door, power beginning to prowl just beneath his skin. When she joined him, they were left alone in the corridor, and his ward fell into place. The sound beyond the walls faded to nothing.
“Whose idea was it to convene a meeting with Varian present?” Reagan bit out.
“I thought you called him,” Jane replied, frowning. “This is a staff meeting, and you wanted him here.”
“You think I invited him?” Reagan exhaled sharply, tipping his head back. That served him right for deciding to keep his staff in the dark. “I just arrived. I didn’t even know there was a meeting.”
When he looked at her, she was closer than he’d realised. A faint red sheen clung to the inner corners of her eyes, the scent of iron wafting faintly to him. His restraint slipped as he got a hold of her chin and tilted it, angling her face to the light. Her skin was paler than usual.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
Jane’s hand closed around his wrist, not to push him away. “Nothing. The lesson was tiring.”
Yet that trace of blood—like it had come from her eyes—kept his thoughts snared.
He knew little of divination, one of the few disciplines he’d never had to master, but crying blood hardly seemed normal.
Jane’s voice threaded through his distraction. “—didn’t know where it was. You and Gwin were just standing there. But since my dreams warned me about Joy and the Strzygas, she thought this might be a warning too.”
“A warning about what?” His tone was dry as he dropped his hand.
“I don’t know yet, but I think I can see more now. Maybe I can even look directly at your threads.”
“And that made your eyes bleed?” Reagan asked, his frustration mounting. “You tried to look, saw Gwinifer beside me, and we were looking at something.”
Her mouth thinned. “It’s not much. It’s not anything. But now I can follow the dream for longer, so I’m going to try to see more. I thought it might be worth mentioning.”
He scratched his jaw, taking the time to draw a breath. “It may be something, or it may be nothing. But do you realise you just revealed that in front of Varian, of all people? He knows about your gift now, even if you keep calling it a dream.”
Her brows furrowed, her gaze flicking to his mouth. “Should we keep it secret?”
“Yes. Partially.” He pressed the bridge of his nose, reining in his thoughts, his impulses. “Laerune must have told you how rare your gift is. How coveted it is. People like Varian might want to use you for their agenda.”
“Have you been drinking?” she asked abruptly.
He blinked, his throat suddenly dry. “We had drinks in the outpost,” he said. It was not lost on him the quick surge of shame. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes,” Jane said blandly, her gaze scanning his face. “Don’t tell anyone. What should I do about Varian?”
“Leave Varian to me,” he said, and with a flick of will, the ward dissolved. He turned sharply toward the chamber again.
“Caed,” she urged after him.
He didn’t mean to ignore her, didn’t want to leave her side, but he noticed he was on edge. Irritated.
When he was young, he had been heedless of that trait.
The acidic behaviours came naturally to him.
His father had pointed out that it didn’t make him sound like a leader.
It merely revealed his unease and served as a poor trait for a future Lord.
He learned to act differently in front of others.
Most of the time. Less so among his family.
“We’ll keep this between us,” he said, back in the room, sweeping his gaze across Cerridwen, Gwin, and finally Laerune. “If you and Jane discover more specifics about this, bring it to me directly. And alone.”
“Secrets of the estate?” Varian asked. “I suppose even your staff isn’t privy to everything.”
“Look at you, cousin. Understanding for once,” Reagan said mildly as he sank into his chair. “I trust I don’t need to remind you that what’s said or seen here stays within this room.”
“As I’m reminded rather often,” Varian replied, reaching for a glass of water. “Still, it’s remarkable. A diviner among your staff. Jane, are you actually mageborn?”
The familiarity in the way his cousin uttered her name burned like acid down Reagan’s throat, stoking his irritation.
She returned to her seat, seemingly unbothered by the question, not sparing Varian a glance. “You wouldn’t care,” Jane said. “I’m probably what you call a half-breed.”
“That,” Reagan said, his tone razor calm, “is also not to be shared outside this room.”
Varian glanced sidelong between him and Jane.
Reagan couldn’t wait to deal with his cousin. That hint of interest in his face was another reminder of the danger of keeping him so close. But he could already see Varian becoming comfortable, enough to slip soon and give Reagan what he wanted.
“What have you decided?” Cerridwen asked.
“Laerune said that I’m ready to start trying,” Jane said quickly, directing her words at him.
Reagan deliberated for a moment.
She meant ready to look for the meddling with his threads, to prove the interference with his curse.
Exactly what he wanted. If she could prove it, Malory would have her answer and free Jane from her sentence.
But he didn’t know if that was a good idea anymore, not while Jane hadn’t tapped into her access by herself, without anyone siphoning to her.
Until then, the sentence was still the only thing keeping her in mage territory.
Granted, it was a selfish thought, but she would want to stay with her sister anyway. And he couldn’t risk having no reason to keep her.
He had to stall this, and actually, he could use her help with something else.
Yesterday they had finally received the invitation to Banfgaard, and they would be leaving soon.
If he said he needed both his emissaries for the trip, she would come.
He knew she would. Jane had looked eager when he invited her before, just as she had been for the trip to Erisea all those months ago.
In their first liaison, he hadn’t the faintest idea why she seemed interested in travelling or helping him, but now he understood. She liked being needed. It was how she grew up. She had practically glowed when he thanked her for the deal proposal.
But it would stall her progress with the lessons too, which might matter more.
“Let me think about it,” Reagan said simply.
“I did say I think Jane is ready,” Xanthos chimed in, “but I would recommend postponing for at least five days. Miss Darling’s near-burnout today means she must rest and sleep properly.”
Burnout.
Reagan ground his teeth. Maybe that explained the bloody eyes.
But it was just the excuse he needed.
“We’ll postpone it on your advice,” Reagan said, noting the way Jane parted her lips as if to protest. “In the meantime, she’ll be travelling with me.”