A jolt ran through my stomach under his palm. Seconds later, the discomfort was gone, the spasms replaced by a faint, lingering tingle.
I lifted my gaze to his. “That is actually better.”
He raised his hand just so it hovered above my skin, the shimmer still radiating a comforting heat.
“Why is it that some people can do this, and others can’t?” I found myself asking aloud.
Reagan’s brows shot upward, surprised by the question, but he kept his gaze on his fingers.
“According to theFirst Grimoire, our power was first wielded by Godric and Zara, the original mageborn. They discovered the source, while others created alongside them didn’t share the ability. The first humans.”
I hummed as his hand continued its path along my stomach.
“They believed our source of power came with a responsibility, but it was limited, which is why only some people could wield it. It’s a theory. The book doesn’t actually explain that.”
His hand drifted, but I was too caught up in his words, even as the prickle of his power climbed from my navel to my chin, warming the spot I knew was bruised. My eyelids fluttered shut.
“For a long time,” Reagan went on, “our people lived among each other. The mageborn and humans even had children together, which is how we still have lines of what we call hybrid-borns or demimages.” He paused. “Want me to keep going?”
I nodded, wanting to know more, wondering where he fit in. “Are you a hybrid-born?” I asked.
“No,” Reagan murmured, his breath brushing my collarbone. “There were no humans in my family line.”
The warmth of his power spread toward my neck and shoulders. I should have told him the pain was long gone, but whatever he was doing was incredibly soothing. I was almost close to falling asleep. Then it dawned on me with alarm: he probably thought I wanted him to continue this, not the story.
Despite my heavy eyelids, I forced them open, meeting Reagan’s gaze, so very close.
Icy awareness rushed back, and I drew in a quiet breath.
Reagan shifted back, withdrawing his arm as I stood, clearing my throat—the sound as loud as a tractor breaking bricks.
“Thank you,” I said.
He sat up, resting an elbow on his knee, peering at me with an unreadable expression. “My pleasure.”
“I think I’m done training for today,” I told him, my face warm.
“Right,” he said, getting up with enviable grace. “I’ll wait for you so we can leave.”
I was halfway across the room when I shouted a confirmation and didn’t wait to hear if he said more as I rushed out.
???
The plan was to stay in Erisea for three days. Cerridwen helped me pack, but when it came to picking something to wear for arriving, she left me on my own.
Something professional, she’d said.
An emissary.
The term felt like a joke to me. What had I been thinking when I accepted this? I couldn’t even begin to grasp the complexities of their world, or the challenges the people of Mountheim were enduring. Nor did I know what trades Reagan wanted to discuss.
I should’ve asked for something simpler, innocent.
But the thought of spending another month just going back and forth between the study and my room would have driven me straight to the brink. This was fine. It was supposed to be fine. And perhaps I would find a train station.
Part of me was eager, itching to go. But the other part, the one rooted firmly in reality, asked me why I would think that I could do any of it.
I banished every one of those thoughts, forcing myself to stop stalling, to stop picking at my nails, and simply get dressed.
