Eldar’s gaze fixed on him. “So you want to drag us into your conspiracy.”
“Drag?” Reagan leaned forward. “I would say I’m stepping into a conflict you have been standing in for years. I would even wager your own people have suffered at the hands of Scions.” His voice dropped, meant only for the Elven Lords and Anife, sitting next to Iqbal. “Strange disappearances. People harmed.”
It was Anife’s face he watched now, solemn in a way that confirmed he had struck true.
“They will gut you too when it suits them, just as they gut humans and hybrids now,” Reagan murmured.
“They don’t gut us,” Eldar replied, his eyes flicking over the table to ensure no one else listened. “Not anymore.”
“They do,” Reagan countered. “Right under your nose. Just as they do under mine.”
“Let’s say we help you. What do we gain from it?” Iqbal asked. “Magisters to speak for the elvenborn?” His grin curved. “An invitation to the Mage Lord’s bed?”
Reagan let the corner of his mouth twitch. “All of that could be negotiated if you can lend us your resources. Although I assure you, you would grow bored of me in a week.”
“Ah, but what a week it would be.” Iqbal sighed, his gaze sweeping over Reagan. “But we may need more added to that list of offers.”
Eldar’s gaze cut to Reagan, lingering over his bare chest with a sharper intensity than Iqbal’s. He was the one who meant his words. “Iqbal is right. What can you offer to make risking our resources worth it?”
Reagan held his stare. “Try me.”
Eldar didn’t blink. “What about a bonding?”
Reagan barked a laugh before he could stop himself. Their faces didn’t change.
“Flattering,” he said dryly.
“Not with us,” Eldar replied. “With Anife.”
Her face was impassive.
Banfgaard had always been neglected by the wider estates, or so they believed, convinced their elven lands stood alone. A bond with a Mage Lord might grant them greater sway in a country where the majority was mageborn.
“That offer is far higher than what I’m asking,” Reagan said.
“Then release Atkus,” Eldar proposed, casual as though dismissing a trinket.
Reagan smiled, and there was nothing friendly in it. “No. I don’t force my staff. But let me paint you a different picture.” He abandoned the notion of reason and changed the angle entirely. “There are five estates in this country where Scions can walk freely with little care about punishments. If three decide totighten the noose on the Order, what direction do you think they will go? Where will they concentrate their slaughter?”
Iqbal sprang from his chair, propping his hands on the table to snarl in Reagan’s face.
“Easy,” Reagan murmured, unmoving even with the lord in his space. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Iqbal scoffed, some of the tension bleeding from him as he sat again, muttering about wilder arrogance.
Good. The last thing Reagan wanted was a physical confrontation while he was still wearing half a shirt.
But it was not a jest. He knew he could take both elven lords. His wield was stronger, even if they were physically matched, and they knew it too. That knowledge made this conversation even heavier with resentment.
The allies were a partial bluff. He had Erisea, but still didn’t know where Aisling, the Lady of Vaelon, stood regarding the Order.
Iqbal rolled another velmoria stick, and Reagan leaned forward, keeping his voice cool.
“I’m being practical. I don’t want your estate to suffer the consequences of our progress. But that requires your support as well.”
They looked at him as though he had spat in the faces of their goddesses. Eldar, however, was not as volatile as his partner. For all his pride, there was recognition in his gaze.
“We will think on it,” he said curtly.
