“Trust or not, it’s forbidden to let her go now,” Reagan pointed out, tapping his finger against the wood, his eyes locked on me.
“To answer your question,” Cerridwen cut in, her horned hat looking eerie in the dining room, “there is a long history between the mageborn and humans, one riddled with unnecessary conflict. The Shroud is the name given to that separation. It was a necessary precaution to prevent bloodshed and, of course, to keep amateurs from meddling with dangerous artefacts.”
My thoughts snagged on the words conflict and separation, which implied that the two groups had once lived alongside one another, or at the very least crossed paths. That could not be true, or it would be common knowledge. Our loose-tongued neighbours would have heard rumours of it.
“What exactly are you?” I asked, thinking of stories I’d read as a child. “Some kind of witches?”
Gwinifer chuckled.
“Witches practise folk magic,” Reagan said flatly. “They are practically humans who rely on herbs and runes. The mageborn wield high magic across many disciplines. We’re the most powerful practitioners in the country.”
I arched a brow. He might as well have reclined in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head for all the arrogance pouring from him.
A door eased open to our left, revealing a tall man in a grey blazer. He was solidly built and young like Reagan, walking towards us casually, with unhurried steps, as if he were part of this group. My gaze lingered a moment too long before it caught on his ears, pointed at the tips and peeking from his neatly kept blond hair.
“I heard we have company,” he said, his olive-green eyes sweeping the room before settling on me.
“The most fun kind in a while,” Gwinifer quipped.
“You clearly have a different definition of fun, sister,” Reagan said. “Finn, this is Jane Darling. She’ll be staying with us.”
I blinked. Sister? I had assumed they simply worked together.
“Hello, Jane,” the blond one said, dropping into a chair. “I’m Finnegan.”
“Hi,” I replied, trying not to ogle his ears. “Are you a mage too?”
His lips curled into a smile. “For the most part. And you?”
His gaze was assessing, but his expression was warmer than the rest. I sensed a measure of curiosity in him, different from the others, whose smiles dripped with mockery or disdain.
“Not even close,” I said.
Before I could think too much about it, Reagan turned back to him. “Didn’t know you’d be back so soon,” he said.
Finnegan ran a hand through his hair. “Silas had a hunch. We think we’ve found the place.”
Guilt and a strange sense of being out of place weighed on my shoulders.
Dominik would have noticed my absence already. Meanwhile, I sat at this table, not locked in a cell, yet not truly free. That had to mean something. Perhaps they were not all entirely cruel. Perhaps with witnesses present, they might show some measure of flexibility.
“My family will come looking for me,” I interrupted. The table quieted. “I was supposed to make it to the Capital. There’s a merchants’ fair happening, and I have commitments there. They’ll come searching, so let me go. I’ll explain and return.”
Finnegan cocked his head. “Are you a merchant?”
I hesitated. It was only my first time. “Of small family trades. I had to take over for my father. He couldn’t attend this year.”
A glance passed between them. I could have sworn that a phantom touch grazed the nape of my neck, skimming the faint quickening of my pulse.
Then Reagan, impassive, said, “We will take measures so your family doesn’t come looking.”
My spine stiffened against the back of the chair. “What do you mean?” I asked my captor, keeping my voice as calm as my racing pulse would allow.
He merely turned to Finnegan, ignoring me entirely.
“You know what I’m going to ask,” Reagan said, “and it doesn’t need to be sophisticated. Just a quick fix so you can get back to...the problem.”
“What do you mean?” I asked again, my voice sharpening. “I didn’t say that so you could interfere with my family.”
