The Heretics

38.1: Regret

Reagan and I were walking along the beach when we both finally found the time to escape the crowd together. It was a great relief to feel a breeze on my skin and not be ambushed by faces I'd never seen before. I'd barely seen anyone of my pack at the event, safe for Kendra who'd wished me luck shortly before I was roped into another conversation with someone from Illios Valley.

"Did you hear the voices?" I asked Reagan, who'd been silent all the way down here. I'd done a lot of venting, since I'd realised that social gatherings of this magnitude were something I would try to avoid in the future if it was possible.

Reagan nodded, black locks falling into his eyes. His gaze remained on the path before us. I lowered mine to my feet as well, seeing my toes disappear in the dark brown sand.

"Yes. I heard you, too. Have you heard the voices before?"

I nodded.

"Parting gift from my father," I announced, speaking of him for the first time in Reagan's presence. He turned to me with an expressionless face.

"I've come to realise that he is not your usual topic of conversation. Would you like to explain?"

For some reason, I did. "He is who Dante thought. He is on the Sermin. And he is also one of you."

Reagan's expression changed then, even if only subtly. A frown made its way onto it––a rare sight.

"Well I mean I expected as much but it strangely still comes as a shock to me that it's true," he said slowly, his brows knitting together in such an adorable way. I barely ever saw him like this; confused. It was oddly sweet. "How did you find out?" Just as the question left his mouth, it formed an 'O' and his eyes grew double their size. "He's in Polla'Nisia?"

I gulped at his quick piecing together of what little I'd revealed to him, dreadfully aware of how delicate the situation was becoming. His mother, Queen Amalfi, already knew of my heritage but she couldn't know that it was Feiran in particular who, in truth, was named Xenon Fentya.

I wasn't even sure how far I would go in telling him.

"I used my gift on him," I said and Reagan knew right away without me needing to voice it.

Dishonesty had no room in the Promised Bond and I wasn't going to start lying now.

Reagan nodded, shock still etched into his handsome, sharp features. His stubble had grown the past weeks, as I noticed. "I suppose it does not matter really who he is at this point," he muttered and I nodded in agreement. "No, I suppose it doesn't."

Reagan offered me a small smile. "Thank you for sharing this with me, Leiirin. I know in what kind of a position you are in. It means a lot to me that you trust me."

Returning his smile, a wave of warmth filled me. "We should return to my chambers. Your day starts early tomorrow, as does mine."

I sighed. "I wish I could put off training."

A laugh bubbled out of Reagan, a sound that made my head snap to him and my mouth hang agape. Hearing Reagan laughing like that was such a rarity that I cherished every second of it. "I wish I could put off a great many things. Unfortunately, we are not living in a time where it is a luxury we can afford. Just kick him where he is softest," he said with a snicker and I stared at him, wondering what had gotten into him.

"Nothing about him is soft," I stated.

Reagan's grin widened. "Nope, not that part."

And when I finally realised what he'd meant, I smacked his arm and guwaffed at his insinuation.