My chest dipped, though I lifted my chin. “Are you sure? Do you know all the ways the Mage Lord marked me so he would sense if anyone else touched me?”
Cahir seemed to weigh my lies. The light above us flickered.
“He is a very possessive man,” I said.
The bluff tasted foul. Yet, I’d learned enough in the Hall to know most mageborn had no clue about all the feats Reagan could do, or how he bled his enemies so easily. All I needed was for them to remember the reputation he already carried, the impression of violence and entitlement.
I leaned closer, rewarded when Cahir recoiled. “Please,” I whispered.
Only a madwoman would attempt this. My hands trembled as I lifted them toward his face.
“Get away,” he snarled, shoving me so hard I struck the wall again, barely registering the impact through the flood of relief that washed over me.
Relief that I wasn’t worth the risk.
I schooled my expression into something resembling disappointment, letting him think there would be consequences in case he crossed that line.
He angled his body toward the door, light striking the tattoo at his temple as his nostrils flared. “Walk, filth.”
I didn’t have to feign my fear. This was only trading one predator for the next.
Chapter 53
Jane
Cahir marched me forward and sealed the door behind us. This time I noticed the latch as we passed, heard it engage when he shut it.
The corridor ended in a marble staircase. The air warmed as we climbed. On the upper floor, dark mahogany furniture lined the wide hallway, catching the light of iron chandeliers overhead.
I took in Cahir’s clothes. He wore tailored black trousers, an onyx buttoned-up shirt that appeared freshly ironed, and polished shoes beside my bare feet. I had the feeling it was intentional, as if it put us on different footing.
“Follow me, milady,” he said, the flame-eyed sigil at his temple shifting as he spoke.
Voices drifted from adjoining rooms. Through an open door, I glimpsed a round table where a small group was gathered. Men and women draped in velvet and silk chatted and drank, glasses in their hands. All except one.
A blond woman poured drinks for the Scions, her grey dress plain among the finery. Her movements were stiff, her eyes a bit glassy. Vacant. She also wore no shoes.
I didn’t realise I had stopped until Cahir yanked my arm.
“Is she human?” I asked.
“Walk,” he ordered low.
I winced at the tightness in his hold.
More faces with the same vacancy emerged as we passed, their clothing simpler than the others. Some of them had silver bands circling their wrists and bruises blooming along exposed skin. I couldn’t see the Order’s mark on them.
Because those weren’t Scions. Those were prisoners.
Cahir shoved between my shoulder blades. My teeth gritted as he led me into another wide hallway just as opulent as the rest of the place.
Another doorway opened as we passed, revealing a table surrounded by well-dressed figures, mostly men. A young woman sat perched on one man’s lap, her gaze unfocused. He twisted a lock of her brown hair around his finger and looked directly at me, lips pursing in appraisal.
“Is this the half-breed Lady?” he asked Cahir.
Something clamped tight around my throat. I didn’t hear his reply.
“She is human,” I said, loud enough for the room to hear. The entire table turned toward me, all except the girl, who didn’t so much as blink. “You cannot keep her here.”
