The group laughed again. They had dragged Reagan to the Hall’s post to boast about the win of the day: escorting his cousin off the premises.
Heil offered him a glass of ember-dark liquor.
Reagan shook his head. “Not for me.”
At this time of day, he would have welcomed ale, especially given the dryness scraping the back of his throat. But he’d kept away from it for days now, more than occupied in the company of the one person who had become precisely what he needed.
“Women are miracles indeed,” Heil mused, raising his cup. “Shall we toast our future Lady for this one?”
“You probably should,” Reagan said with the same smirk that had stayed with him these past few days.
“To the Mage Lady,” Freddy called, raising his glass. “May Zara bless her and keep her from knowing that Reagan cannot grow a full beard.”
Some of them barked a laugh. Chairs scraped. Someone nearly dropped a bowl of peanuts.
“Wasted dimwit,” Heil muttered, rubbing his brow.
“To you, Freddy,” Reagan said, lifting a random cup, “and may Zara grant you something worth boasting about besides your meagre beard.”
The pack of drunks roared. The loyal defenders of his city enjoyed the end of their shifts sprawled across their chairs, leaning against walls, shovelling peanuts into their mouths.
“At least ask for a stronger resistance to ale,” Finn added, smirking at Freddy. “Skies, this is embarrassing.”
Freddy snorted, going on about something Reagan didn’t care to pay attention to.
He let the outpost’s noise wash over him. He didn’t remember the last time everything had gone so well. But he had already lingered longer than intended.
Reagan stood, giving Freddy a strong tap on the back. “I’ll leave before you say something you’ll regret.”
A few drunken chuckles followed him as he passed through the clusters of leaning bodies near the rails. He nodded at those who noticed him, then vanished from their sight.
Reagan flung to the Hall and strode toward the training room. He found it empty, and so he angled toward the study, pausing when he spotted Gwin in a nearby room.
“Have you seen Jane?” he asked.
His sister spun at the sound of him, Astrid beside her giving a small head bow. They were playing cards.
“I saw her with Joy, some time ago.” Gwin smirked. “Maybe she regretted her decision and ran.”
“Thank you, sister,” he deadpanned, feeling a sharp ache settled between his eyes. “If you see her, tell her I’m in our chamber.”
He pressed on. The study was empty as well. If Jane had finished her practice, she would be bathing or reading. Perhaps she was in his room already, where they’d been sleeping since her sister was in hers. If he had it his way, she would’ve moved in permanently by now.
Reagan flung again, muscles weary with fatigue. But when he arrived at his chamber, it wasn’t the person he expected waiting inside.
Joy was there, perched at the corner table in the antechamber, eyes locking onto him. She rose, her posture rigid. Not unusual for her.
“I was looking for you. Fennel couldn’t find you where I told him to go,” she said.
Reagan frowned. “Who is Fennel?”
“My cat.”
“Your cat?” His mouth twitched. “Your familiar?”
She nodded, and he found it amusing that she named it. It was not a pet or sentient.
“I’m here. What is it?” He strode to his bedchamber to remove the gold chain he wore at his wrist and set it on the dresser.
