Foolish of me to have forgotten that.
“Reagan?” Finnegan’s voice echoed from the far end of the hallway.
“Meet me in the study,” Reagan shot back. He frowned at me for a brief moment before turning away.
A thread of disappointment wound its way through my chest.
Still, I wondered what had stirred that abrupt tension in him. Varian’s presence meant something, or maybe something he’dsaid. There was no way for me to know, but maybe someone else did.
After navigating through the castle’s winding hallways, I found who I was looking for.
“Jane, I thought that was you.” Cerridwen looked up from behind a high table strewn with glass containers, measuring cups, and cauldrons the size of a man’s head. “How was your trip?”
I assumed this was her office. Cherrywood cabinets stood alongside sleek metal tables. A closet with glass doors was filled with rows of bottles containing vibrant liquids, each one labelled with small, weathered parchment. Drawers lined the space, some left slightly ajar, with an assortment of containers and objects crafted from metal and iron.
“We just arrived. It went well, I think.” I took a brief look around the room. “What are you doing?”
She glanced at the wooden table with flasks, stones, and roots that I couldn’t make out. “I’ve been checking the latest solutions our researchers mixed for soil.”
That explained the dirt in small flasks next to the cauldron. I debated leaving her to it. “Any luck?”
“I’m afraid not.” As she spoke, her words were distant, her face a bit tight. She went on, “So, you met Lord and Lady Barrows?”
“Yes, they were surprisingly kind,” I answered, then pressed my lips, replaying my words.
But Cerridwen smirked. “You mean kinder than we were when you arrived in Mountheim?” she asked, not in accusation.
I shrugged, letting out a tight smile. “Reagan will probably fill you in later about the deal and meeting Varian.”
Her brows climbed high, and her expression curdled into discontent. “Varian? That’s unfortunate.”
“I take it you don’t like him either,” I ventured, hoping to steer our conversation. “Something about his associates?”
Cerridwen’s eyes narrowed. “Did Reagan tell you that?”
I nodded. “I was attacked in Erisea by men supposedly from an Order.”
Cerridwen’s eyes went wide while she put down the flasks and turned to me. “Attacked? What happened?”
“Nothing, thanks to Reagan. Then he told me about them and what they believe in,” I explained, not wanting to discuss my attack in detail.
“Was Varian one of the men who attacked you?” she asked, stiff.
“No, no. But I sensed some aversion from him. I just found it similar to the others. I can understand why Reagan dislikes him so much.”
She made a face and brushed it off. “I’m sorry you were attacked. I hope Reagan tooklegalmeasures for the issue?”
Her tone indicated she was well aware of what type of measures the Mage Lord was prone to if irritated enough. I simply nodded and tilted my head, feigning casual curiosity. “I suppose that’s all it took for Reagan to dislike him, isn’t it?”
“You’d think that,” she continued, “but Varian has schemed against him many times, so Reagan has kept him out of the estate’s business. Varian is too ambitious for his own good. His belief that he’s entitled to the lordship of Mountheim is what drove him to move to Ashenagth, where he lives now.”
“Why does he think that?”
“Because his royal parent was a man,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Another ambitious one. But Elinor was the elder. The Ilya family resented them for many years.”
“Is there a chance that he can become Lord of Mountheim?” I asked.
Cerridwen’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. “If Reagan can’t rule anymore, and since Gwinifer is not of the same blood, Varian is the closest kin to inherit the estate.”
