Chapter 43
Jane
The sky outside the study’s window had long gone black, and still Reagan was dressed in his black velvet jacket, rifling through papers. He spun as I stepped in, closing the door behind me. Lines formed on his forehead when he found me there, stilling for the span of a second.
I kept to the door, blocking his exit. He set the papers down.
“What can I do for you?” Reagan asked carelessly, as though I were a stranger.
“Please don’t do this,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady even if I begged and my heart pounded. “Please.”
Reagan shook his head and exhaled. “I didn’t go to court to speak about your father tonight.”
“Promise me you won’t.”
His hair was mussed, as if his fingers had weaved through them too many times. His eyes, almost grey in the dim light, avoided mine. It took me a moment to notice how he looked. Terrible. Shadows beneath his eyes, his frame perhaps leaner than a month ago.
He made a point to vanish, made sure we didn’t see each other. I would have respected it, but any day now, Hildegard would release my father, and his mind would be jumbled with new thoughts, a new reality, and no daughters.
“Your father will have to go eventually,” he said. “There is no other option, even if I wish there was.”
I knew that, just as I knew that my situation wasn’t special or worthy of an exception.
Reagan had bought us time. Nearly two weeks.
“I don’t know what to do,” I murmured. “He doesn’t have anyone else.”
Reagan stared at the mantel, at the logs burning with interminable flames. Stared at it so he wouldn’t have to look at me.
Some rational, logical part of me already knew, and still, I stepped towards him.
Though he tried to hide it, Reagan tensed. Shoulders squaring as thought bracing for some boundary to be crossed. It forced me to stop, keeping at a measly arm’s length.
The warmth from the mantel and the low magelights cast long amber shadows across the study. Soft, calming light. I tried to hold on to it.
“Is there anything I can offer Malory so she agrees to preserve his memories? You know her. If I offer to work for her, do you think she would compromise?”
He grimaced, drawing in a sharp breath. “Do you really think that is an option? You are not thinking clearly because he is your father.”
Sweat damped my hands.
I didn’t notice when I’d moved, when I’d leaned into Reagan, resting my forehead against his chest, nails sinking into his shoulders.
An ache rose in my throat.
Reagan let me cling to him. His hands settled underneath my elbows, as if he thought my knees would buckle.
A laugh startled out of me, unbidden and hysteric.
Reagan’s hands slid to my wrists, slowly prising my fingers from his jacket. “I have to go.”
I shook my head, my heartbeat stumbling into a frantic rhythm. Heat crept across my cheeks, and I wiped my face.
He gathered his papers and moved toward the door. Sealing the future.
No. I had made my choice, and I had been so damn certain of my own righteousness that I never imagined I wouldn’t be able to live with it.
Oh Gods. I would lose everything.
Fear was gutting me, one slice at a time, scorching and suffocating. My ears began to ring.
Reagan walked toward the door, and I couldn’t breathe. My muscles wound tight, and my lungs refused to expand.
This was a panic attack. This was angst. I pulled at the neckline of my sweater to quell the heat. It was too warm, and it burned. I couldn’t breathe.
“Stop,” I said and lunged.
A crack of air split in front of me, the temperature dropping. Reagan went utterly still, shoulders rigid.
My chest rose and fell in uneven pulls as I stared wide-eyed at his feet planted on the ground. I had tried to reach for his shirt, but instead, I’d felt as though my hands raced towards his ankles.
Reagan twisted at the waist, his eyes wide as they found me.
I gasped and stepped back. The strange connection snapped.
The ringing in my ears continued, and heat still clung to me, burning my cheeks.
“Jane… love,” Reagan murmured, cautiously stepping toward me. “Have you done that before?”
My skin hummed. I shook my head.
Heat pulsed beneath my skin, as if something inside me was thrashing and sending searing currents through my blood, like—
Reagan took my hand, lifting them so I could see them. They trembled and shimmered.
My breath left me in a shuddering exhale.
Reagan’s azure eyes softened at the corners, his mouth curved into a crooked smile. “I do so love when I’m right.”
I had pinned him to the floor, had controlled his legs, his feet. I had accessed power unintentionally, without anyone siphoning it to me.
“Can you do it again?” he asked, expectation weaving through his voice. He stepped back, arms open, showing me the target.
“Hold you in place? I don’t know the charm for that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
But it made no sense. I was taught charms in every lesson.
“What you’re feeling is a living thing,” Reagan explained. “A natural power within you. The words for charms are the commands, but sometimes your will is strong enough that your access just understands. It’s not sentient but is alive. So will me to stay.”
My skin felt too warm, yet I nodded and focused on the faint beat of wings in the back of my mind. Not a ringing, but wings. An eagle took shape, and it already knew what I wanted.
Again, Reagan was pinned.
He asked me to do it again, and again, and a third time. The eagle vanished with the last attempt. Still, a choked sound escaped me. A laugh.
“It’s late tonight, but tomorrow you should ask Hildegard to measure you again,” Reagan said. “You might have finally unblocked yourself.”
“Why?” I asked under my breath. “Why now?”
He shrugged. “Who bloody knows?” A smirk curved across his mouth. “Perhaps your practice finally showed progress. Or perhaps you loosened that control you have and allowed yourself to feel what is natural to you.”
Allowed myself. As though I had been holding this access at bay until now, locking it down by trying too hard.
A quiet elation bloomed through me. I caught my lower lip between my teeth, and Reagan’s smile faltered, something more intent taking its place.
He stood before me with Mountheim’s mountains rising at his back. He reached for my wrists, lifting one to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the place where my pulse fluttered. Then the other. Tiny bumps rose all over my skin.
Something shifted.
No.
Everything did.