Chapter 42
Reagan
Life, in Reagan’s last decade, had been a relentless parade of loathsome events delivered by loathsome people, one after another, without few moments of mercy. Any fleeting reprieve he managed to grasp was usually denied by the burdens of his role.
Which made it almost surprisingly amusing when Malory seemed displeased that it was him that had come. He hadn’t even crossed the length of the chamber before he earned a lecture about Jane’s absence.
“Is Miss Darling too occupied now to fulfil her commitments with me?”
He kept his voice light. “She wanted to come,” he lied, “but we couldn’t at the same time, and I suspected you would miss me more.”
His attempt at humour was a miscalculation. If anything, her displeasure deepened. Perhaps that was why she preferred Jane over him.
“I expect you came to deliver the news about Robert Darling,” Malory remarked, her tone cool and unmoved. “When can I expect him to be brought here?”
The presence of a human in this land mattered far more to her than any other matter today. Yet Reagan wanted to give the Darlings a little more time with their father.
“His health is still recovering. I will bring him as soon as my healers release him.”
“If he is awake, you will bring him tomorrow, in the same manner you brought Jane Darling.”
Alone, he was the highest authority in the estate, but even he had to obey the quorum of magisters in Mountheim who, together, could pull Reagan’s strings. The magic of the First Grimoire rendered every bound ruler susceptible to the judgement of its body of magisters.
He regarded her, wondering what other wins he could offer instead.
“With respect, I’m bringing you a resolution regarding the tampering with my curse.
Might we address that before discussing Robert Darling?
He’s had no contact with the outside world and cannot leave the Hall. For now, there is no risk.”
“You have postponed many matters already. It seems you still consider yourself an exception to the rules.”
He resisted the urge to grind his teeth. He didn’t feel like any exceptions had been made.
Malory leaned back in her chair, her tone taking on an unusual irritable note. “I have been asked by magister Quarrel about your Ladyship proposal, despite it not being my duty to oversee or announce whether Mountheim has a Lady.”
Ah. There it was. The reason she was cross with him, and Reagan knew nothing good would come of it.
“I understand, Your Honour. I—”
“You will bring me Robert Darling tomorrow or provide the name of the new Lady of Mountheim. You may choose. It’s time your pending matters come due.”
He should have expected the ultimatum, even though he had come bearing something of value today.
Reagan didn’t argue. He made a choice.
“I will bring you the name by tomorrow,” he replied, firm and thoroughly unhopeful.
“Very well.” She wrote a note on the document before her. “You may now speak of your agenda. Has Miss Darling been helpful in investigating who plotted against you?”
He hadn’t spoken to Jane in four days, having been obliged to sit through dinners and Hall tours with different, perfectly fine women. Yes, he told himself, they were all perfectly fine, any of them he could choose at random tomorrow.
Yet Reagan had often wondered why Malory had been so keen to involve Jane in uncovering the problem with his curse. Wondered if she had a hunch that Jane would be key against a time weaver. But no. It was impossible for her to have known.
“Yes, very helpful. She and Finnegan shared all their findings. Jane identified Giddeon Madden at the cabin and managed to provide us with proof.”
Malory’s expression didn’t shift. “What nature of proof?”
Reagan began telling her about the dreadful divination that would haunt his nightmares.
Laerune Xanthos would confirm that his thread had been meddled with, through time weaving, as the entity had revealed.
She would swear it upon the First Grimoire if need be.
Combined with Jane’s confirmation that it had been Giddeon Madden in the cabin, it was as much proof as they were likely to get.
If Malory was concerned about the validity of Jane staying in their territory, he would remind the judge that Jane had been able to enter in the first place. Her access might not have manifested yet, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t.
She belonged here.
The magister didn’t argue.
Reagan ran his tongue over the outside of his teeth. “Imagine our surprise when we discovered Madden is a recognised time weaver.”
“Indeed, he is. But why would he conspire against you?”
“His agenda would benefit from having Varian ruling Mountheim instead of me,” Reagan explained. “I believe he will try other ways to remove me.”
“Then I wondered why Ms Xanthos and Miss Darling are not here to swear to the First Grimoire. I sense you are building toward a proposal.”
Despite his exhaustion, Reagan found a spark of humour buried in his bones. “I am. Instead of Xanthos and Jane swearing an oath and us letting justice give Madden a gentle scolding—”
“I suggest,” Malory cut in, her tone tense with warning, “you choose your words carefully.”
Reagan should heed her warning. Still, he found it difficult to restrain the barbed jokes that rose to his tongue. He carried a mound of resentment for how mage folk laws had nearly denied him justice.
“Of course,” he said. “I want to use this transgression for something bigger than detaining only him.”
Malory waited.
“I want to take the Scion Order apart,” Reagan said, his tone resolute.
“Their plans go against everything we believe in. All the tenets of peace and fairness. I want their transgressions against humans and the hybrid-born exposed. Getting proof of a single transgression was difficult enough for me. And I have resources. I have help. How impossible must it be for the Foley family? Bringing down the Order is the only justice I can try to offer them for their daughter’s death, since we never found the culprit.
So forgive me if I refuse to pretend that our own justice is flawless. ”
“Nothing is flawless. Not even magisters,” Malory murmured, a contemplative note entering her gaze.
“In my experience,” Malory went on, “rulers before you have fought or overlooked this cause depending on whether it offered something for their personal gain. Is it just justice for the girl’s family that you want, or are you seeking to avenge yourself?”
Reagan considered her question. Mountheim had always opposed the Order. His parents had openly advocated for the protection of the hybrid-born, even before taking Gwin in. But Malory wanted his motive.
He could say it was a righteous search for justice after they almost damned him to a life cursed. Or perhaps, and most likely, it was because of Jane and Gwin.
“To protect my people,” he said. “Because I refuse to find another Clodagh Foley hanging in my gate.”
He could still do something worthwhile. Perhaps he could achieve one decent thing, since even trained with all his power, he had still failed to protect the most important people in his life.
Malory observed him for far too long, the eyes behind the spectacles nearly piercing through him. She finally spoke.
“Sit and tell me how you plan to do it.”