CHAPTER 16 #2
He ran the towel over his chest. “Not more than being a bother to feel and see all the time, right under my nose. But I got used to it. It’s their intention.
To have my inner self on my face, so to speak.
To remind me.” His tone turned softer, thoughtful.
“It shifts colour depending on my state. It should, but sometimes I think I’ve tainted this one.
It’s either red like this or dark as coal, especially when I’m feeling particularly vengeful. ”
His lips twisted into a humourless grin. “And if I were to become someone virtuous, more worthy, it’s said to turn ivory and bright. But it hasn’t. Not once. I guess you can imagine what that says about me.”
He gave a hollow laugh. I didn’t, regarding him—this version of him that was almost vulnerable—and wondered about the pressure he must feel. The pressure of an entire land.
“It ends on your birthday, right?” I asked. “What happens then? Will the estate’s problems just disappear?”
I wanted to ask something else: Why aren’t you happier with the prospect of freedom?
He draped his towel around his neck, sighing. “In a way, yes. Are you finished drying off?”
I gave a slight nod, draping the towel over my arm, his brief response still playing in my mind as we left the cave and entered the corridors of the castle. I felt his glances on the side of my face while we walked, our footsteps leaving a wet trail all the way to our rooms.
“Jan,” he said, stopping once we reached my door.
The nickname made me pause, drawing me from the new information I was still mulling over.
“Yeah?”
“I want you to know that this wasn’t planned. That wasn’t planned. I didn’t ask you to be my emissary because of this. I didn’t expect you. If I had—” He broke off, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Godric knows I’d have handled things differently. Or at least, I’d have tried.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering if that was regret, but choosing not to dwell on it. “I didn’t think it was part of your plan.”
“Good,” he said, studying my face as though searching for a hint of what I was thinking.
I kept my expression blank.
“There’s something you should know about the mageborn,” he said. “We can be very patient creatures. When we choose something, we know how to wait for it, care for it like no one else would, until we know it inside and out. But we never lose interest.”
Reagan inched forward, holding my gaze, so near that I had to tip my head back. Yet he didn’t touch me.
“I’m choosing you.”
◆◆◆
Snow blanketed the ground beneath me, muffling each step as I trudged forward. My boots were stained with dirt, crushed leaves, and other remnants of the forest. Around me, the woods loomed dark, foreboding, icy mist seeping into my bones. I knew these woods—the Northern Forest.
Why was I here again? I didn’t want to come back.
A rustling sound came from the left. I whirled around, flashlight darting to where the noise had come from. Someone was beside me, whispering something that I couldn’t make out. My heart thundered, the beat pounding in my ears.
I peered upward. The Capital’s weather lived up to its reputation. Branches entangled above, obscuring the dimly lit path ahead. The flashlight in my hand felt useless against the dense darkness, but I kept searching, scanning for . . . something.
“There. There’s something there,” said the voice beside me.
I didn’t turn to see who it was, just followed their line of sight. A faint glow flickered in the distance, a pinprick of light hanging in the blackness. It moved slowly, a swirling orb, and . . . was that a melody? A faint hum drifted toward us, hauntingly sweet. Could it be a sign?
No. Not a sign. Run.
A strange calm settled over me as I whispered, “We should follow it.”
The light pulsed and dimmed, drawing us forward as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Run. Why wasn’t I running? I could feel the familiar tug, the compulsion to follow. The Strzyga had me in its thrall again, the same hypnotic pull as before. Again, my body moved as though it had no choice, drifting after the light.
“I still can’t see you.” I laughed, glancing at the figure beside me, but there was only silence.
A dark limb extended, its skeletal fingers reaching for me. My breath caught. I didn’t want to relive this again. Her blood-smeared mouth twisted into a snarl, and in an instant, the creature yanked me to the ground.
Pain flared up my spine as I felt my body hit the frozen earth, blonde curls scattered over the icy dirt. My chest tightened. I gasped for air as pain stabbed through me. She was over my body, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my head back as her fangs pierced my neck. I screamed.
Blonde? No. That wasn’t . . . That couldn’t be right. My heartbeat thundered in my chest, wild and relentless.
“Joy, you have to run. Run.”
But I couldn’t move. I could only watch, horror-stricken, as my sister lay pinned under the creature’s weight, its pale form hunched over her as it drank from her neck. Her suffering was my suffering. Her pain was my pain.
“Jane!” she cried out, her voice twisting with terror. “Jane, wake up!”
I gasped, shooting upright with a sharp intake of breath, arms flailing to shove the creature away.
“Jane. You’re safe,” a voice said.
The space around me took form, my eyes adjusting to the familiar outlines of my chambers in Erisea Hall.
The night was still thick outside. A warm, solid shadow sat beside me, holding my arms.
Reagan. He was on the edge of my bed, watching me as I heaved.
Relief flooded me. I wasn’t in the forest.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his brows drawn together.
“Yes. It was just a nightmare,” I murmured, wiping cold sweat from my forehead. I paused, glancing at him. “Was I screaming?”
“Yes,” he said, dropping his arms near my blanket-covered legs. “I came in because I thought someone else was here. Does this happen often?”
I could only see one side of his face, illuminated by the moonlight.
“Unfortunately, yes. I have vivid dreams.” I rubbed my eyes. “Sorry if I woke you.”
As I glanced at the bottle beside my ring on the bedside table, Reagan followed my gaze.
“I’ll get it,” he said, pouring the water into a glass and handing it to me.
I finished it. My eyes caught on the lines of his bare chest. The awareness of him here, close, settled over me like a weight.
“What was your nightmare about?” he asked, taking the empty glass from my hand.
My gaze dropped to the faint scar on my wrist, the two fang marks that felt both distant and painfully close.
“I dreamt my sister was in the Northern Forest instead of me. And the Strzyga attacked her.” I took a breath, trying to shake the image. “It felt worse than when it happened to me.”
“Do you dream about that often?” he asked.
“No. Not since it happened.”
The words faded, leaving a fresh pang of guilt in their place.
Reagan reached for my hand. I met his gaze, and in it was . . . comfort. His finger traced each knuckle slowly. Gentle.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” I repeated. “It won’t happen again.”
His lips curved. “Are you trying to kick me out?”
“Yes,” I answered, pulling my hand from his. “It’s late.”
But he didn’t move. Instead, he placed a hand on my knee, over the blanket, his fingers brushing the fabric—and the leg beneath it.
“Will you be able to fall back asleep?”
My body prickled with goosebumps. “Yes,” I lied.
He withdrew his hand, but his gaze pierced me. “I can help you relax,” he said, and a shiver coursed through me. “Remember the training room?”
I hesitated, then dipped my chin. “What exactly did you do in the training room?”
His grin returned. “It’s just a simple healing charm. I was merely easing the muscle spasms, but it seemed to soothe you.”
It had been a pleasant feeling. But the thought of Joy still lingered in my mind, and guilt had settled over me. I hadn’t thought about her for a long time.
“I just want to be alone.”
I tucked myself under the blanket again, turning toward the window without seeing Reagan leave.
The next morning, the guilt remained. I couldn’t tell whether it came from the fact that, for a while, I hadn’t thought of them, or from the unsettling realisation that Reagan might have been right. I was no longer in a rush to return.
◆◆◆
Alameda and Coriander had plans that kept us busy the next morning.
She invited me to walk in the garden with her, while Coriander took Reagan on what they described as a not-life-threatening hunt of sea spiders, a creature that dwelt along a quieter stretch of the coast and occasionally around ships’ hulls.
After they left, we made our way to the spring garden, where she showed me how to tend a newly planted section.
Bright beams had long warmed our skin by the time we sat at a glass table with comfortable cushioned chairs near a water fountain.
Alameda removed her shoes, letting her feet splay on the grass beneath her seat.
“What did you think of the Pool of Quintessence?” she asked after I told her what Reagan and I had done the night before.
She leaned back in her chair, her eggplant-coloured chiffon dress light and dramatic, its flowing sleeves and shimmering sequin florals catching the sunlight.
“It was challenging,” I said, clearing my throat. “I wasn’t used to swimming.”
“You can just sit and enjoy it,” she said, rolling her shoulders. “It’s great after a stressful day, which I hope wasn’t your case.”
“How do you sit in it?” I asked, crossing my legs. I’d chosen a pale blue dress with a sweetheart neckline that looked far too casual for an emissary, but appropriate for the gardens.
“Well, we usually sit on the stone bench on the back side of the pool. Didn’t you?”
Stone bench. I could kill him. I should kill him.
Alameda regarded me, idly tracing circles with her fingertips as if by habit, seeming to catch the subtle shift in my expression.
“Why don’t I get drinks for us, and you can tell me what that face is about?”
I stifled a smile. “What do you mean?”
Her mouth curled as she placed her hands on the table and whispered, “Adveho.”