Heil had done a fine job convincing the court it had been a fair fight.
Barracus watched in silence, waiting. Reagan gave a curt nod to his Defence Commander, and the man moved on.
“Did it work?” Cerridwen asked with that clipped tone she used when she was irritated. She’d wanted Heil to handle the Scions himself, but when Reagan reminded her of what they’d done, she’d reluctantly agreed.
“What worked?” Gwin asked, one brow lifting.
He was hoping to get to a bath before he had to answer for his whereabouts, but alas, he might as well get this over with.
“Those three Scions were spotted by our patrol,” Reagan said, his gaze sliding toher.“We chased them down and handed them over to Malory.”
Jane hadn’t looked away from his face once. When his words sank in, her eyes widened. The silence stretched too long, and Reagan, uncertain what to make of her hesitation, turned for the stairs.
Jane crossed the space to him, her skirt hugging the curve of her hips and a high-collared pine sweater concealing her elegant throat, much to his regret.
He stopped by the black railing as the others murmured and slipped into the dining room, leaving them alone.
She reached out, her fingers brushing his bruised jaw as she turned his face this way and that, searching for other injuries. It wasn’t necessary, yet he let her. He liked the way she worried, so gentle and earnest, so unlike the rough-edged care he’d grown up with.
But then her mouth twisted, anger stirring from a simmer to a boil.
“What in the gods’ names were you thinking?” she demanded, shoving at his chest.
He stumbled back a step. “Jane—”
“You just got your freedom, you idiot,” she snapped, pushing him again, eyes blazing.
He caught her wrists, pinned them gently to her sides, and pulled her in. She struggled at first, tense and trembling.
“Easy, love,” he murmured against her ear. “It’s all right. Everything’s fine.”
“Did you kill them?” she asked, her body giving in.
“No,” he murmured steadily, willing her to read his tone.
She pulled back, her gaze flicking to his jaw. “But they hurt you.”
“No. That was Heil. I asked him to do it.”
Her brow furrowed, lips pressed thin until they nearly vanished. He had the sudden need to pull them back with his teeth.
“You pretended to be hurt too,” she murmured, beginning to understand.
“They were seized by my patrol,” Reagan said, a humourless smile ghosting across his mouth. “But Heil might’ve left their cell door open, and someone had to fetch them. If that someone was outnumbered, well, he might’ve needed to use some force to bring them back. Perfectly reasonable.”
Jane sighed, closing her eyes, and he knew she understood.
“I’m pretty, but not an idiot.”
Her shoulders trembled, a silent laugh. When she spoke again, her voice was harder. “Where are they now?”
“On their way to Pavilion to rot,” Reagan replied, his tone roughening too. It wasn’t enough, and he wagered nothing would ever be. “If you want to know, I can tell you what I did to them.”
Jane met his gaze, deliberating. Something steady flickered in her eyes. “Tell me.”
So he did, with every detail, and she didn’t interrupt, didn’t even flinch. He withdrew his fingers from her, the same ones sullied with Scion blood, and recounted each bone he’d broken and each patch of flesh blistered.
She wasn’t used to violence like he was, and though she hated those men, Reagan doubted she found any satisfaction in what he’d done. He suspected she listened not to enjoy it, but to steel herself. To shed the fragile girl who’d once belonged to a small human town.
