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 Varianwantedher. 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.”
Chapter 50
Jane
Long after half the audience had filtered through the Hall’s gates, a rush of elation still coursed through me. Joy and I walked along the wide corridor just beyond the chamber where Varian had finally received what was owed to him.
A smile lingered at the corner of my mouth, my head spinning with a dizzying high as I thought of Caedmon.
Lord and Lady of Mountheim. My Lord.
Gods, if he knew I was fantasising about him, he would mock me for our entire lives.
Our lives.
Gods, Jane, get a grip.
“Are we going to the training room?” Joy asked beside me. Her fingers tapped against her leg, her gaze flicking towards the few figures weaving among us who seemed intent on reaching an alternative gate. The Audience had been fuller than ever.
“Yes. I hoped we could try flinging to the second floor,” I replied eagerly.
Flinging still left me a little nauseated, but when Joy had taught me how to manage it myself after Elaith included mein their tutoring, the exhilaration had been almost enough to drown out my weak stomach. Crossing an entire room in less than a heartbeat felt both maddening and glorious.
I still hadn’t sent my eagle with a message to Seraphyn asking if she might return to teach me. For now, Elaith was fine having me with them, and he was infinitely more agreeable.
Joy was flinging everywhere now. To our bedroom, to the dining hall, to the training room. I could tell she wanted to fling now if only to avoid the passersby, as if she wasn’t worried about how much she could draw from her access. It took a few measly feats for me to feel tired, and yet she could draw again and again as though there were no limit to her power.
“May Zara bless your rule, My Lady,” a man said as he followed behind me, wearing a black cloak, the hood obscuring most of his face, though the part I could see struck me as familiar.
It would take time to grow used to being called that.
“Thank you. That’s very kind,” I offered with a smile. “What is your name?”
“It is Onorio, Lady Jane, from the Wandering Cup.” He faced me fully with a tight smile.
“Oh, of course. I couldn’t see you under the hood,” I said, halting in the corridor. I sensed Joy’s impatience simmering as she stopped farther along the hallway, well out of the steady stream of people. I glanced behind him, but he stood alone. “Are Daria and Jack with you?”
