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We arrived at a cabin, the scent of aged wood and smoke wrapping around me. The space was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of candles and the faint silver light spilling through a single window. Shadows danced across the stone fireplace and the dark wooden beams lining the ceiling.
A fur rug stretched out beneath a battered sofa draped in a thick blanket, positioned next to a wooden coffee table. The rocking chair creaked with someone sitting in it.
Four figures stood in the room, the weight of their attention falling on us immediately. One of them, a tall man with long, white hair reaching past his chest, rose slowly from the rocking chair.
“That took long enough,” he said, his voice carrying the rasp of annoyance. His pale eyes raked over me, dissecting me. Unimpressed.
I couldn’t make sense of the wariness his presence stirred in me. He didn’t look old despite his silver hair. His frame was tall and powerful, broad beneath the fur-lined cloak he wore.
The other three, equally large and equally silent, watched us with expressions as cold as the room itself.
“Where are we?” I asked, the words barely more than a breath as I turned to Reagan.
He only smirked, a sharp-edged thing that cut through my last bit of calm.
“It was crowded,” Reagan said, his voice casual. Cold. “I had to search for her.”
The white-haired man narrowed his eyes, his lips curving in a slight sneer.
The chill of the room seeped into my bones, an unforgiving cold that had nothing to do with the familiar, comforting one of Mountheim Hall. My dress, thin and impractical, did nothing to shield me. And the others had come prepared, wrapped in furs and sturdy leather.
I glanced out the window. Snow-covered mountains rose in the distance under a sky littered with faint stars. There was no sign of another building, no castle or city. Only endless wilderness.
“Reagan, where are we?” I demanded, louder this time.
He turned, his expression sharper than I’d ever seen it, his lips curling into a cruel sneer that made my stomach knot. “It shouldn’t surprise me,” he said with disdain, “that my cousin allows a human to speak to a Mage Lord that way.”
Cousin.The word rang in my head. My body tensed, every nerve alive with the instinctual understanding that I hadn’t paid enough heed to the warning signs. My eyes darted to him, searching for anything he’d hidden. And there it was—a ring on his hand. A dark band, its stone gleaming faintly.
A ring I had never seen him wear before.
The white-haired one laughed, the sound cold and cruel. “Are you sure he will come for her?” he asked, his gaze flicking between me and the one who resembled Reagan.
“Yes,” Varian said. “I know my cousin well. Help me remove the ward around her.”
“You can’t do it yourself?”
A challenge. An irritation.
Varian cast a cold, hard look at him. “He warded her, and he is still the Mage Lord. Do I need to remind you?”
“Fine,” the white-haired one muttered.
They turned, and I pressed myself against the wall, nails digging into my palms. When their limbs brightened, I felt it—the sharp pull of something being torn from me, like a sheer veil being shredded by invisible knives. I swore at the pressure against my chest. Static crackled. Then silence.
“I’ll work the threads when it’s time,” the white-haired one said. “Dexter, Goyle, and Caius will stay behind. Let me know when it’s done.”
Then he was gone.
My hands remained clenched, my body trembling. I took a slow, deep breath.
“I should have known you weren’t him,” I said.
Varian turned on his heel. The same eyes I had come to love gazed back at me, except it wasn’t him. He gave a hateful snicker.
“Not so ignorant after all, human,” he said. “I guess there’s no reason to keep wearing this.”
