My heart thundered, guilt heavy, but if he could hear it, he might have assumed it was in response to his advance. “You can tell me, Arun,” I whispered, letting my fingers linger in his hair. “You can trust me.”
“I cannot,” he replied, a crease forming between his brows.
“And why is that?”
Arun blinked, his mouth falling open. “Because we have been spying for the Scions. And feeding them information about you.”
Chapter 36
Reagan
Reagan had worked every angle to force his way onto Eldar’s and Iqbal’s agenda and had gotten nowhere. The Order might not be targeting Banfgaard directly, but they would always be a threat. Scions had harmed the elvenborn before. So why refuse to eliminate the risk?
They all stood to gain from dismantling the Order.
He’d spoken with Anife the day before, and she had admitted to a string of unusual accidents among their people. Elves abducted only to reappear without memories or recollection of where they’d been. Anife had concerns, even as she tried to dismiss the possibility of the Order’s involvement, as if someone had taught her to.
He could only read their hesitation as fear. It had never occurred to him how thoroughly the Order had cultivated their reputation, so deep that even estate heads hesitated to confront them.
Pressure clamped down on Reagan’s temples. This had been a waste of their time.
He’d brought Finn here knowing it would tear him between loyalties again, even if his friend would never admit it. It took a great deal to unsettle Atkus Finnegan, yet his own kin had a rare talent for it.
The sky had already dulled to a morning pink.
Reagan forced himself out of bed, temples throbbing, mouth sour with the taste of liquor.
He’d not intended to drink. But two days of circling the same arguments, watching them corner Finn while he held his tongue, had worn him thin. Eldar and Iqbal had watched him like starving wolves. Even if Reagan believed they would trade information for sex, which he did not, he told himself he wasn’tthatdesperate yet.
But the final push that led him to a glass had come when Jane and Arun didn’t appear at dinner. His chest had seized when Maith announced they were occupied. Water wouldn’t have dulled his thoughts. His throat had burned dry, and only liquor hollowed the feeling. One glass, then another.
The headache wasn’t from the drink. His body had endured worse. It came from the night spent rolling restlessly in bed, sickened by the idea that Jane might believe they were desperate enough for her to offer herself as a bargaining chip.
That was the danger of speaking with so much conviction. Others believed it meant anything was worth it.
He dragged himself into the washroom and leaned beneath the cold stream, letting the water crash over his skull. He forced his thoughts into order, crushed all the anger prowling under his skin. He needed clarity. Nothing else.
He dressed in his own clothes, hair still damp, when a knock sounded at the door.
Jane stood there with Finn, the latter bleary-eyed, as though she had dragged him from sleep.
“We need to talk,” she said, closing the door behind them.
Reagan noted the colour high in her cheeks, and the firm tone of her voice.
“Can you ward the room?” she asked. “I don’t want to be overheard.”
He nodded and wove the ward, sealing sound inside the chamber.
“You started working early, Jane,” Finn murmured with a yawn, dropping into a chair at the antechamber table.
“What did you find?” Reagan asked.
“All this time we have been trying to negotiate an alliance,” Jane said, resting her hands on her hips, “and they were already working with the Order.”
Both he and Finn stilled, stunned into silence.
“Explain,” Reagan asked.
