Chapter 41
Jane
Seraphyn looked as though she had finally given up.
After nearly seven weeks, she said that we had to prepare for the real possibility that my ring had permanently damaged me.
Not that I should stop trying, she clarified, but something in her irritability told me she considered our lessons a lost cause.
I suspected she would suggest to Reagan that he ought to find me another spellcraft tutor.
Not that he had told me anything. Not that he spoke to me more than the bare minimum. And now he wasn’t even appearing at the table for meals. In some ways, his absence was good, giving me the time I needed for research.
The study table had vanished beneath a chaos of books on magefolk laws. I had combed through every summary, hunting for the faintest mention of an argument that might prevent what I was certain Malory would order. The integrity of my father’s memories relied on this.
While he recovered, I still had time to search for a solution. Coffee kept me upright after lessons with Seraphyn and Laerune, both of them draining any semblance of energy I possessed.
It had been frightening to try divining again after what they told me.
My last memory of attempting it for Reagan was closing my eyes while he made a face that said he would rather be anywhere in the estate than in front of me.
After that, nothing. And at the next lesson, the Sight remained silent once more.
A brown book sat on the desk with a warped leather binding that made its spine unreadable, even when I squinted. There was a chance that my eyes were simply too tired to read it.
Even the study refused to answer when I asked it for a book that would give me what I wanted, a reason to keep the court from tampering with my father’s memories and separating us.
My body protested the hours I had remained hunched in the same position. My eyelids grew heavy as I skimmed yet another useless text.
Low voices and the rhythm of steps drifted along the corridor. A woman’s voice reached me, clear and unfamiliar, nearing outside the half-opened study door.
"What is this room?" she asked.
"A study,” Reagan said. “Nothing particularly exciting."
My chest leaped as I understood what this was. They sounded so close. I slipped behind one of the far aisles, stepping as silently as possible over the rug.
"I beg to differ,” the woman said as she stepped inside. Her voice held a soft, polished sweetness. “We can learn quite a lot about a man from what he reads."
I breathed quietly, praying he couldn’t hear the frantic beat of my pulse.
This was not dignified. This was painfully embarrassing. Yet I could not peel myself away from the cold wall at the end of the aisle.
I covered my mouth to smother any sound, my chest sinking at the thought of them wandering into the aisles as he once had with me. There was no other door to leave the study. If I could fling, I would have.
Peering above the row of tomes, I glimpsed the fall of her dusk-brown hair cascading in waves to her waist, her rose velvet dress skimming a slender frame. She lifted a hand over the books I had been reading, her head tilting as she seemed to read the titles on the table.
Reagan, who had lingered near the door, now approached her, his hands tucked into his pockets. I’d missed whatever he said, but she was already perusing my study, so I assumed he’d granted permission.
A sharp sting pierced my chest, a sensation uncomfortably close to betrayal.
It was unfair, entirely untrue. I wasn’t entitled to this space. It wasn’t mine; it was his to give to whoever mageborn woman he would choose to bond with, possibly this one.
"You have quite a collection on court protocol," she observed, running her gaze along the spines.
"No ruling body may infringe upon the fundamental protections..." She stopped her reading. "Since you don’t work in a court, I’d assume you’re an intellectual or…
an idealist perhaps." She paused to look at him, her cheek lifting in what I imagined was a smile. "Which are you, My Lord?"
Acid coated my tongue.
Reagan’s quiet chuckle sliced through me. "Neither, I’m afraid. I have no patience for this."
"Could have fooled me," she murmured, lower now, and my head turned involuntarily toward the narrow gap between the books. I caught her drifting past him, her fingers grazing his arm as she moved.
I studied the part of him I could see, from his neck down to the middle of his torso. He remained perfectly still, neither leaning in nor pulling away.
"Your role must require a lot of patience," she observed. "I sat through countless meetings with my father’s council, and do you know what I learned most?"
"Based on what I know of your father, I would guess you learned hundreds of ways to avoid giving a straight answer," he guessed from behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder with a soft chuckle.
"That too. It’s a required skill for magisters.
” He hummed, and I wondered if it was supposed to be a joke.
“But what I learned was how people challenge the ones making the decisions. So you”—her gaze swept over him with deliberate interest—“must be very patient.”
Compliments were a charming way to flirt. She sounded like someone confident and trained and fluent in charm. Naturally they would fall into talk of the work they both understood.
Everything he ought to want.
I needed to get out before humiliation gutted me completely. If they wandered into every aisle, they would find me huddled like some pathetic creature.
My gaze slid back to him. He smiled, and I breathed through the nausea, the hurt.
"I quite like this room." She drifted closer, into his space. Her head tipped up toward his chest.
They fell silent.
She wanted to kiss him, and Reagan wouldn’t move. No, he would reciprocate.
Pressing myself against the wall, I covered my mouth and nose, trying to quiet the rasp of my breathing.
"May I freshen up?" she asked, and I looked again.
They turned toward the door, and Reagan stepped ahead to guide her out.
Thank the Gods. I nearly collapsed, bowing my head. Nausea still roiled through me. The door closed, and I exhaled sharply.
"You could have said something."
I jumped, my heart lurching. Reagan stood at the end of the aisle, his face set in serious lines.
I opened my mouth, clearing my throat before I spoke. "I didn’t mean to be here."
"But you stayed," he said stoically. I noticed the tension shaping his shoulders and arms, the faint thinning of his lips as he watched me.
"Didn’t want to interrupt," I replied, stiffly. I wished he would leave before the tremor in my hand betrayed me, before I lost whatever composure I had left.
"You heard everything?" Reagan asked.
I forced myself to meet his eyes as he neared me, the twin storming skies. "Enough."
"Then you know,” he said, low and bitter, “what it looks like when I try to move on.”
Tiny bumps rose all over my skin. Was he angry with me after I had endured that entire scene? I doubted he wanted me here while he was courting someone.
"She clearly enjoys touching you," I said, unable to hide the resentment that spilled out of me.
Reagan stared at me for a long, aching moment. "I didn’t feel it."
It didn’t comfort me. Not in the slightest. Heat pressed behind my ribs, as if some wild part of me wanted to claw at him, rake my nails over his skin. Mark him, ruin him for anyone else.
The self-serving urge was painful to handle. But I wasn’t selfish like that. I wouldn’t become a worse version of myself with this need.
Breathing was hard as I said, “You should choose someone you like. Someone like Niamh.”
It wasn’t the same, but at least he enjoyed the company of Mountheim’s leading runesmith, and I knew she returned the sentiment.
His jaw set hard, storms gathering behind his eyes, and I could almost feel the lightning against my own skin.
“She must be coming back soon,” I murmured, stepping past him. “I should go.”
He didn’t look at me again before I closed the door behind myself.
My thoughts whirled like leaves in a rising wind, the sting behind my eyes a losing battle. I refused to stay in the same wing. I walked and walked and walked, putting as much distance between myself and the study as I could.
Of course, the last person I needed to see emerged at the far end of a corridor.
It sobered me instantly. I swallowed the tears, the hollow ache in my chest tightening like a vice.
Varian’s smirk was visible as he approached.
“This is not the way to the staff meeting,” I warned. “Shall I have the battle mages escort you to the correct room?”
“Jane Darling, so lovely to see you as well,” he drawled, ignoring my question as his gaze swept my face for far too long. “Perhaps we could walk together, as two highly important members of this staff.”
I didn’t have the strength for him, but I also couldn’t leave the snake unattended in the Hall, sneaking around where he shouldn’t.
“Come with me,” I muttered, circling past him.
He fell into step beside me, close as a shadow. “I hear my cousin is searching for a Lady,” Varian said lightly. “Would you know anything about that?”
“There is little to tell,” I replied dryly.
“Yet I thought he had already found you.”
Unbidden, the thoughts of what had transpired in the study returned to my mind. I didn’t answer.
Varian leaned closer, as if studying my expression for cracks. I stepped away from him, my patience fraying. Speaking felt too taxing, too revealing. I would hand him over to the nearest staff member and dash to my room.
“I suppose I was wrong then,” Varian concluded, chuckling softly. “Go figure. He chooses a human but dismisses a diviner. Perhaps my cousin wants what he cannot have.”
Only then did I realise my hand had curled into a tight fist. I forced it to loosen. Varian would pry until he found a weakness to exploit, and I wouldn’t hand him one.
“But perhaps someone else would value you more than he does,” Varian murmured.
I halted mid-stride, shocked into absolute stillness. Where I expected his usual mockery, I found only stark seriousness, his gaze fixed with unnerving intent upon my face. I couldn’t decipher the angle he was working.
He lifted his hand and brushed the back of his fingers along my cheek. I jerked away, my eyes narrowing at the audacity, at how intently he studied me, as if cataloguing every small detail he’d dismissed before.
Perhaps I’d slipped through a portal into some bizarre reality. Perhaps this was a nightmare.
“You don’t need to cry for him,” Varian murmured, his voice soft. “He isn’t the only one who can take care of you.”
I swallowed, feeling too raw, feeling like I didn’t have enough layers to ignore him. “Varian,” I breathed, “step back.”
He obeyed, though not nearly enough. “You are cleverer than I expected, and there is remarkable potential in you. My cousin is right about that.” He wetted his lips with a calculating sweep. “Imagine what you might become with the proper training.”
There was nothing about him, no visible relics or brush of power, that told me he was deceiving me. Perhaps being a hybrid had softened his contempt for me.
My mouth curled. “You must be joking.”
“I am not,” he said low. “I would be lying if I said I never thought about that kiss. Or that I hadn’t imagined you dancing with me or defending me the way you defend him. But if you prefer to grieve over a man who won’t be yours, that is your choice. A pity, truly.”
He still coveted everything Reagan possessed. It could have been a compulsion. A sickness. That would make sense.
“An interesting offer,” I said. “The truth is, Varian, you disgust me. I would rather sew my own mouth shut than let you kiss me again.”
As quickly as his nostrils flared, he lunged. Muscle memory snapped through me. I saw the angle of his hand reaching for my neck, evaded fast enough, and drove my knee into his groin.
Varian folded with a broken gasp, and I shoved him back until he collapsed against the wall.
Shaking. I was shaking.
It was one of the simplest moves I’d ever learned in training. Adrenaline and rage surged through me as if I had struck with far more force.
“Try to touch me again,” I seethed, “and I will kill you.”
My hands trembled as I strode away, looking for the first battle mage I could find. I told him to escort Varian to the chamber and not take his eyes off him until the second-in-command arrived.
I considered finding Gwin and asking which train would take me to Malory’s court. Anything to flee this spiralling mess, but a rising tide of emotion welled up.
The first small room I found, a dim space lined with couches, was empty, and I shut the door, leaning against it. Water gathered in my eyes.
Wrong. Everything was wrong.
Reagan would bond with someone else. I would lose him, would lose my father and probably my sister.
For the first time, I didn’t think I could handle this. I’d tried, and I’d failed.
I drew a long breath, letting the tears fall until I ran out. Until I was numb.
At dinner, the chair beside me was empty, and a realisation crashed into me. Perhaps it was time to move out.