I shook my head and turned to Niamh. “Would you mind telling us the other items included in Erisea’s order?”
She tilted her head toward a sheet of paper resting on the counter behind her. “We have brooches, hairpins, pendants, lockets, charms, signet rings, and ear cuffs. Each of those with a specific rune carved, and some of them blended for completely different purposes: charm warding, memory holders, nullifying relics, location relics.” Her eyes met mine. “Is that what you were expecting?”
“That sounds about right,” I said, recalling our last dinner before we left. “Alameda Barrows was truly impressed with Mountheim’s runesmiths.”
“We’re the best in the country,” she assured.
“I have no doubt.”
A kernel of satisfaction surged in me. I’d enjoyed learning about the trades in Erisea, and hearing about the order was strangely compelling, especially those with relics I’d been reading so much about.
That Reagan thought I could be a decent emissary felt like more than validation. Perhaps more than just decent.
“Could you direct me to a washroom?” I asked.
“Down that corridor, third door on the left,” she answered, eyes back on her work.
“Thank you,” I said, leaving the room.
The scent of metal was pungent, and I could easily see how it could provoke a headache. I made my way down the corridor, hoping cool water on my face would help. Until I was pulled into a small alcove and pressed against the stone.
Reagan braced his arms on either side of my head, his voice edged with smoke.
“I came to see if I could assist you with anything,” he murmured.
“In the washroom?” I asked, arching a brow.
Reagan’s low laugh curled through the dim corridor. “Or right here. Any questions about the deal? Any assurance you need?”
His tone made it quite clear what type of assurance he offered.
“Niamh reassured us enough, and you seem to know her well. I assume you trust her.”
His eyes flickered, studying me. “Yes, you can trust her, too.”
I held his gaze. “Great. I’m glad the deal is working out and that you brought me here. Niamh seems competent.” I blinked. “And where does she think you are?”
He shrugged, his head dipping toward mine. “Around. She didn’t even notice I’d left.”
I doubted that.
“She calls you Reagan,” I said before he could kiss me.
I had no idea why I said it.
His head lifted, attention snapping fully back to me. “Sometimes,” he said. “So do others in unofficial meetings. Something you never seemed to notice.” His mouth curved faintly. “Or object to.”
“That’s a leap,” I replied coolly. “I just noticed that you seemed friendly.”
He clicked his tongue softly. “I would believe you,” he said, “if I didn’t pay such close attention to you.” His hands slid up my waist. “I know how you sound when you are indifferent. And this isn’t that. If I had to guess, I would say this is what jealousy sounds like on you.”
His gaze held mine, unwavering.
Reagan was skilled at reading me. “Do I have a reason to be jealous?”
An innocent question.
The scent of cedarwood overpowered the metallic tang in the air. Reagan grinned.
