He did not bother to pretend; he had already bared his feelings in full. This was no simple attraction anymore. The edges had blurred to the point he could not tell how far he would go to keep her from ever falling under harm’s way again. That thought frightened him because there seemed to be no boundary left.
“You need to sleep,” he said. “In a proper bed, not that chair. You both should be in real rooms.”
Where had his dignity gone? He sounded like a governess.
“We’re fine,” she murmured, stretching her back. “We don’t want to be away when he wakes.”
“Someone will fetch you the moment he wakes.”
She stared. “Is there something you need?”
He hid the half-smile with a pressed mouth, an urge to poke at her coming unbidden. “You know, if you need to relax, I’m more than willing to help.”
No reaction.
He inhaled, choosing his words carefully. “It has been days, Jane. Cerridwen said you have barely moved. I know you are angry, but talk to me.”
“Talk to you,” she echoed, shaking her head. There was no warmth in her eyes. “Because you will tell me everything?”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I will. And gluing yourselves to this room will not help him. We have things to discuss. Malory, your sister.” He glanced at the ring on her finger. “Your mana.”
“Later,” she dismissed. “I cannot speak about this now.”
A small surge of flux made him clamp down, an act of restraint that was already second nature. “Later when? Give me a date that is more conve—” He broke off, bowing his head to throttle the serrated words. “Please. Talk to me.”
Her eyes flicked between his, mouth tightening as she weighed him. She reached into her pocket, fingers closing around a small hairpin set with an emerald. She stepped forward and laid it in his palm, rubbing his fingers over it.
His heart thudded, brows knitting.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s talk.”
She clipped the relic into his shirt pocket and something tingled in his throat. Reagan recognised the sigil on the emerald.
It was a truth-telling relic.
Bitter humour curled the corner of his mouth.
It was proof she had lost trust in him. Still, the cleverness of the thing was bloody impressive. She had surely made it herself because no self-respecting smith would sell this relic.
“This is forbidden by law,” he said softly, willing to bet that she already knew. “You cannot compel confession, not even in court.” Her eyes flared, not with shock, but rather misreading his answer. “I’m not confessing anything. I will use it because I have nothing to hide from you.”
He didn’t tell her the stain this rune had left in magecraft over the years. It was the sort of relic used in the old tribunals, when magekin still saw no problem in wrenching personal secrets from people unwilling to share, ripping thought andmemory from them until the law finally called it immoral. It was considered the same violation as compelling someone to bend to another’s will.
He doubted she knew that part.
“Then indulge me,” Jane said, her features fixed in a strained calm that was already cracking.
Reagan’s gaze flicked to her sister. “Has Joy told you anything about what happened in the Northern Forest?”
Her leg began to bounce. He knew that sign indicated she was either nervous or losing patience.
“Yes,” she said. “You were there when she told us. But I need to hear you say it.”
Otherwise, she’d think he was twisting the truth, which was not the case. He only wanted to brace her for what had truly happened.
“Your father and sister were attacked by Strzygas when I found them,” he said evenly. “I didn’t know who they were. When I reached for your father, your sister panicked, and her mana surged.”
Jane’s brows pinched together, tension gathering in the small space between them.
