CHAPTER 18
My mind ran amok all night with thoughts of black cloaks swirling, dark forests, rancid breaths, snow-laden trees, and shadowy caverns. No wonder I woke up feeling on edge, sweating through the sheets.
I was clinging to the events of the previous day that still made me sick to my stomach. Yet that feeling also brought to mind Reagan’s brutal response to those Scions. How he broke them as if they were nothing, barely a threat at all. How gratifying it would be to do the same.
Maybe there were other ways besides physical fights that I could use to defend myself, even as a human.
It was late morning when I forced myself to get up, knowing we would soon be leaving Erisea.
Reagan was still seething over the attack in the alley. He’d been in a foul mood at dinner.
There was an edge to his reaction, one that traced back to what he’d said after the cavern, that I still didn’t understand. I hadn’t asked that day, and he hadn’t brought it up, but it had me trying to read him.
I’d done my best to remain undaunted. Alameda explained how they had a one-way portal for the staff members who lived far from the castle and couldn’t fling to their homes.
She and Coriander had apologised repeatedly for the attack, visibly appalled by the presence of such violent folk in their city.
As I readied myself, dressed in a white button-up shirt and blue denim with boots, I counted down the minutes before I could feel the crisp air in Mountheim.
I vowed to never wear summer sandals for a long time.
Thankfully, they didn’t quite belong in the cold weather of the woods and snow-capped mountains I would call home for the following months.
I left the room, trying to haul my very heavy duffel bag with me, not realising I couldn’t carry it until I had to. Now it had fallen on the floor, feeling as if a load of bricks had been dropped on top of it.
“This isn’t going to work,” I muttered under my breath.
“Then why don’t you ask for help?” Reagan asked, strolling toward me with his own duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
He crouched, easily lifting my bag with his free hand.
“Do you have super strength, too?” I asked, irritation creeping into my voice.
“No,” he replied, flashing me a glance as we started down the stairs. “It’s a spell. Only I can carry our things. It’s impossibly heavy for anyone else.”
“Figures,” I mumbled.
He shot me a look. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, his black button-up shirt stretched across broad shoulders, drawing my gaze. “I thought I heard you talking.”
I pressed my lips together. That question was entirely new. “I slept fine,” I said. “And you?”
“I didn’t sleep,” he replied, stopping halfway down the staircase with an irritated expression. “The Barrows have company. We’ll say our goodbyes and leave.”
I nodded, wondering just how much he could hear with those ears.
We descended to the ground floor, making our way toward the entrance foyer where the whale fountain rested. Three figures stood beside it, two of whom I recognised as Erisea’s rulers.
The third was a tall man, roughly the same height as Coriander, with short black hair against pale skin. He wore a finely tailored black cloak with thin red hems. There were small symbols embroidered in crimson.
As we neared, the man shifted his gaze to Reagan, watching him with a small smirk and a slightly arched brow.
“I heard you’ve been visiting Erisea Hall,” the stranger said. “And yet you didn’t come to see me, cousin.”
Cousin? I glanced between Reagan and the stranger, a man I hadn’t seen in Mountheim in the time I’d been living there.
“Hello, Varian,” Reagan said, his voice colder than I’d heard in recent days. “I trust you’ve been enjoying Erisea lately.”
“Sadly, no, but I was at the border when I heard you were here, so close.” Varian’s gaze shifted to me, narrowing as if sizing up an opponent. “And who’s your companion?”
“My emissary,” Reagan said, his tone clipped and detached. “Jane, this is Varian Ilya, my mother’s nephew.”
“Emissary?” Varian echoed, a note of amusement threading through the word. “No offence, but you seem . . . fragile.”
I studied him, the challenge in his voice. Perhaps he was misjudging me as a person whose power he couldn’t sense.
“I suppose that makes it all the more impressive that I’m standing here,” I said, letting a thread of boldness slip into my voice.
Something in me knew better than to admit anything in front of him. Sometimes it was just a prickling at the nape of my neck or the friction along my back that marked those who wouldn’t be agreeable. I’d learned to recognise people’s tone from my father.
“Right,” he said, unimpressed. “Pleasure to meet anyone added to Reagan’s staff.” He extended his hand toward me.
I cast a quick glance at Reagan, noting the tension in his posture, before reluctantly shaking Varian’s hand. A faint, nutty scent reached me as he bent, his lips brushing the back of my hand, lingering just a breath too long as his nostrils flared.
“We were only just meeting Jane this week,” Alameda said, her smile just a tad too stiff. “Reagan does have an eye for capable staff.”
Varian straightened, his mouth curving into a smirk. “Ah, you forgot to mention your emissary is human.” His gaze flicked toward Reagan, feigned scandal glinting in his eyes. “How very unconventional of you, cousin.”
So, Reagan hadn’t told everyone.
“Can’t say it comes up in conversation much,” Reagan said, voice mild and unbothered.
Varian’s chuckle came alone. One brow lifted. “But in your staff?”
“Know your audience, Varian,” Coriander cut in, his voice cool but carrying a warning. “Your indignation doesn’t play well here.”
“I’m aware,” Varian replied. “Just as Reagan is aware of my opinion. Not that he ever asks for it. A shame we only meet like this, cousin.”
Reagan’s smile was all teeth, and it reminded me of the Strzyga’s grin before she lunged for my throat.
“I thought you preferred the company of your associates. How are they, by the way? Still wasting the magisters’ time?”
Varian’s grin didn’t reach his eyes. “Never. But I imagine they’d be quite interested to hear about your emissary.”
“Why? Are they working for Malory?” Reagan asked, his voice low and icy. “Or have they grown reckless enough to dig into my business?”
The foyer fell silent. To my right, Alameda smirked.
Varian cleared his throat. “Malory seems well aware, then,” he said, his gaze drifting to where my shoulder brushed Reagan’s arm. “And she is the magister.”
My eyes remained on him. I had a fair idea of why Reagan hadn’t mentioned me.
“We were just leaving,” Reagan said.
“Then I’ll see you at the Aurora Rite,” Varian said smoothly.
“You’re attending this year?” Alameda asked. “I thought you preferred not to mingle.”
“Just as I did last year,” he replied.
Reagan clicked his tongue, turning to the Barrows. “We have to go, but we’ll see you both soon.”
“Jane, before you go . . .” Alameda extended a hand and murmured a summoning charm. A small violet box shimmered into being in her palm. “This is for you.”
“Thank you. Both of you,” I managed, forcing a polite smile as I took it.
Reagan gathered both duffel bags in one hand. His other arm slid firmly around my waist before he flung us away.
◆◆◆
We returned to the foyer of Mountheim Hall. Snow drifted past the windows, settling on the mountains like a pale shroud, and the silhouette of the peaks felt both comforting and familiar.
He set our bags down, and the warmth of his hand on my waist slipped away.
“We couldn’t have left fast enough,” I said, letting the words fall between us.
He folded his cloak over his arm, jaw tight, and turned towards the main hallway. “Had to get us out before I put Varian through a wall.”
I followed, matching his pace. “And you don’t . . . care for your cousin, then?”
A shadow of a smirk touched his lips. “That’s one way to put it.”
I noted the faint crease at the corner of his eyes, the subtle line of his shoulders. Did Varian stir this reaction?
“Because of his charming personality?” I ventured. Reagan tilted his head, gaze lingering on me for a heartbeat before shifting ahead.
“We’ll talk later,” he said finally. “I need to find Finnegan.”
“Why?” My pace quickened almost without thought. Curiosity clawed at me. “Is it about your cousin?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“If it’s an emissary thing, you can tell me.”
But he only glanced over his shoulder, and it was like looking at a mask of cold indifference.
Travelling together, even after all that had transpired in Erisea, didn’t mean he trusted me. It was only a means to keep me under his watch.
Foolish of me to have forgotten that.
“Reagan?” Finnegan’s voice echoed from the far end of the hallway.
“Meet me in the study,” Reagan shot back. He frowned at me for a brief moment before turning away.
A thread of disappointment wound its way through my chest.
Still, I wondered what had stirred that abrupt tension in him. Varian’s presence meant something, or maybe something he’d said. There was no way for me to know, but maybe someone else did.
After navigating through the castle’s winding hallways, I found who I was looking for.
“Jane, I thought that was you.” Cerridwen looked up from behind a high table strewn with glass containers, measuring cups, and cauldrons the size of a man’s head. “How was your trip?”
I assumed this was her office. Cherrywood cabinets stood alongside sleek metal tables.
A closet with glass doors was filled with rows of bottles containing vibrant liquids, each one labelled with small, weathered parchment.
Drawers lined the space, some left slightly ajar, with an assortment of containers and objects crafted from metal and iron.
“We just arrived. It went well, I think.” I took a brief look around the room. “What are you doing?”
She glanced at the wooden table with flasks, stones, and roots that I couldn’t make out. “I’ve been checking the latest solutions our researchers mixed for soil.”