“When you dreamt of your sister, your vision warned you of what would happen, didn’t it?” Gwin asked.
I nodded, and something stirred faintly in the back of my mind, like a thought rising to the surface.
“Maybe this future vision is a warning too,” Gwin said. “Maybe we should ask you to look into his future threads as well.”
Chapter 27
Reagan
Like most things Reagan chose for himself, he obsessed over it. Investigating conspiracies was no exception, least of all the hunt for the people who had killed the Foley girl. It consumed him. The image of the young seamstress, broken and displayed, had fed his drive for the past week.
The Scions weren’t all reckless. The deeper he dug for proof of their transgressions, or for any trace of Giddeon Madden’s whereabouts, the more elusive the information became.
It wasn’t only the girl that left him drawn out, but his own muddled thoughts too. An endless internal burn that even his liquor couldn’t douse, only dull long enough while he slept.
Today, a woman would come to meet with him.
He briefly wondered if breaking an arm might excuse him from it, though Quarrel would likely deliver her to his bedside regardless.
For a moment, he wished his authority were absolute. That he didn’t require the assent of a quorum of magisters to dictate his future, that he could bond when he wished, with whom he wished, and avenge his people however he saw fit.
He wanted to be a tyrant, apparently. But tyrants, at least, would have a choice.
“They are in that awful visitors’ chamber,” Finn warned as they made their way through the corridor. “Cerridwen said it’s urgent.”
They’d only just returned from an outpost, where the squads had found nothing. Not a trace of the killer. He didn’t even have time to pour a drink before being summoned. Probably for the best; he’d already had one at the post.
Finn watched him with the same grim patience he’d worn for weeks now, pointedly refraining from commenting on Reagan’s drinking, though it was only a matter of time before he did.
“Did she say what it was about?” Reagan asked.
There was only one reason to use that room.
“No,” Finn replied. “But she sounded concerned. And yes,he’s here too.”
If Cerridwen was worried, she should have known better than to voice it in front of his insufferable cousin.
It reminded Reagan of his plans regarding Varian.
“Have you already talked with Castor again?” Reagan asked. It’d been a while since he’d heard from the steward of the Highlands. “After Varian talked to him about the tolls?”
Finn nodded. “Castor will come to the next Audience with the Highlanders.” He glanced at Reagan. “He’s not happy.”
Reagan’s mouth twitched. Of course.
When they entered the chamber, there were more unfamiliar faces than he’d expected.
Among them was the divination tutor whom he barely knew. Laerune Xanthos had been referred to him by Kellan Barasa. What Reagan knew was that she was the only diviner in Mountheim known to possess a Tarkin, which was a rare thing for her craft.
His Second and Third were already present, both looking uneasy. Varian lounged in his chair, his gaze fixed on the tutor with far too much interest. Gwinifer stood by the window behind him.
Andshewas there too, wedged between Cerridwen and Xanthos. He thought he saw something shadowing the corners of her eyes, but Reagan only allowed himself a passing glance.
“Finnegan and I appear to be late,” he said as he crossed the room. “What are we late for?”
He took the seat at the end of the table. Finn moved to stand beside Gwin at the window, late afternoon light slanting in behind them.
“Something has come up that you should hear before we begin,” Cerridwen said. “Have you been introduced to Laerune?”
