Chapter 49
Reagan
The vengeful part of him snarled that it was nowhere near enough, nowhere near the suffering Varian deserved. Yet some colder, more calculating instinct reminded him that a strike like this would cut his cousin deeper than any physical wound ever could.
There would be no restoring the polished facade he had worn for years. Not unless he stood on the rooftops of Mountheim shouting his apologies and proclaiming a newfound love for the principles that held the mageborn.
Reagan approached his cousin as he stood motionless at the back wall of the dais, his face paler than usual as the crowd exited. Jane, who had already left with the staff to practice flinging with her sister, appeared as if she would rather see him burn.
“I was so happy to have you on my staff, cousin,” Reagan lied, keeping his tone lordly. “But the claims made against you today stand in direct opposition to everything Mountheim represents. I can’t have you among us anymore.”
Varian stared back from beneath lowered brows, the polished mask stripped away. All that remained was a blatant, murderous hatred.
“I heard,” Reagan mused, “that no one receives a redeemable sentence twice. You simply rot in a cell in Pavilion. No magister, whether in Ashenagth or here, will be able to scrub your history clean.”
He stepped closer, masking his face for the benefit of onlookers. Reagan leaned in just enough to savour the swallow in Varian’s throat, the way the man had to lift his chin to meet his eyes.
Reagan could have stomached contempt and ambition; ambition was expected.
It was the other thing he couldn’t swallow, the thing he kept noticing in every meeting and every moment his foul cousin let his gaze linger on Jane.
As if Varian wanted her. Whether it was because she was Reagan’s, or a diviner, or simply because she was admirable, he didn’t fucking care.
Reagan would have bled him from the eyeballs if he thought he could do it without consequence. But while his wishes would never be weighed in a court room, his actions inevitably would be.
“And if you try to lay a finger on her again,” Reagan said, the coolness in his tone vanishing until only the threat remained, “I will flay you alive. No matter where you are. Don’t think I won’t, Varian.
I’ve become exceptionally skilled in justifying my defences.
” He tilted his head. “And tell me, cousin…who do you think the court will trust more?”
Varian didn’t even blink, but surprisingly, he found his voice. “I guess we’re both doomed to be failures in our sire’s eyes.”
Reagan frowned. “You know the most interesting part of all this? When someone is caught blatantly threatening a steward, a noble mageborn, do you think they stay eligible to inherit Lordship or land?”
Varian stiffened.
“Exactly, cousin. You are no longer the heir. But don’t worry. Should anything happen to me, Mountheim won’t be left without a ruler. We already have a Lady prepared to assume full control.”