“I’m waiting on the arcanists. I’ve already pressed them. One more time and even I’d tell myself to fuck off.” He sighed. “I’ll address it at the next Audience. Just tell them.”
“I think they’re expecting that.” She plucked a newspaper from her pile and tossed it across the table. “But this is where it’s coming from.”
His gaze caught on the commentary section, the image of the Highlands steward’s son glaring back at him.
“Bloody herd mentality,” Gwinifer said.
“You’re telling me Zephyr’s rubbish is spilling beyond the Highlands now.”
She nodded. “You and Cerridwen want to keep the responses amicable, but it’s not working.” She leaned forward, eyes sharp and decisive. “You need to go for the necks. Reprimand them.”
The thought had already crossed his mind. Since the curse had broken, the Highlanders had made a habit of airing complaints in public. Mild responses had bought him patience at the last Audience, but clearly no goodwill elsewhere. A publicdressing down would quiet things for now, spare him a dozen of these conversations.
It was also precisely what they expected from him.
“This is just a symptom,” he said. “The Highlands are the wound. If I deal with that, the rest should bleed less. And once the arcanists deliver their plan, their tempers will cool down.”
“They would cool faster if you stopped brooding and looked optimistic,” she said, faintly patronising.
Heat flared in his chest. “I sulk and brood. Should I smile more, sister?”
“Nobody cares if you smile,” she said evenly. “They care if you look like things are improving. Like there’s a timeline. Like their lives will actually get better. Pretend, if you have to.”
He was not optimistic, and he doubted progress would come as swiftly as his people expected; nothing ever moved the easy way—not his rule, not the recovery, not even his chosen, whose abilities seemed dulled, hampered by the ring that weighed in his pocket. This problem had been gnawing at him since her exam, demanding attention he could not squander on thoughts of Zephyr.
Leaning back, he let out a bitter laugh. “Should I promise them this won’t be another season of stunted crops? That they’ll somehow get three times last month’s yield?”
“Spare me, Reagan. I’m trying to help,” Gwinifer said, waving a hand as she rested her feet on the table and crossed her legs.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor as he exhaled, reaching for the bottle of ale over the table and pouring himself a glass. He needed the edge taken off if more sermons were coming.
Finn joined them, grinning like someone actually grateful to be free of a curse.
“Plans for the night?” Reagan asked and drained his glass.
“Ramilda volunteered to keep me company,” Finn said, waggling his brows. “She promised to demonstrate her skills with long daggers.”
Gwinifer snorted. “You shouldn’t promise what you can’t deliver.”
“Jealous, Gwin?” Finn sprawled in the chair, his grin wicked. “You’ll always be my favourite. I could tangle with you tonight if you invited me.”
“Another time, Atkus,” she said smoothly with the same old game.
“Let’s hope Ramilda doesn’t break my heart like that,” Finn lamented.
Reagan’s shoulders shook with mirth. “She looked interested, but not in something as soft as your heart.”
Finn’s grin widened. “That’s why you have my attention for five minutes before I go meet her again. What did I miss?”
Gwinifer told him about the unfortunate draught and the situation with the Highlands. They spent the next moments deliberating over the problems and decided they were all too drained to produce decent solutions.
“Yeah… Other than scaring them,” Finn said, “I don’t know how to deal with Zephyr or Castor.”
“Let’s leave scaring as our last option,” Reagan said wearily.
“Is that it?” Finn asked, stretching his legs, clearly eager for his next meeting. Reagan nodded. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Gwinifer followed suit. “I’ll leave you too. I’m staying with Astrid here. Think about what I said.”
