Page 153 of Reign

The thing that scarred his face.

I continued glancing between the onlookers, my veil billowing in the wind like a banner, until I landed on a man who made my stomach churn.

Bash.

His white hair was tied back, revealing the entirety of his face. But the comforting smile I’d hoped for was absent.

His gaze—stern and cold—locked onto mine, tightening my throat.

“Niamh,” Fitzroy called, stealing my attention from a hard-faced Bash.

With Billy clinging to my cloak, I crossed the sinking sands to join Fitzroy.

“You were right,” he said, resting a hand on my waist. “My father deserves to be beheaded for his attempts to eradicate magic.”

He gazed into my eyes, and I wondered how it was possible that this had once irritated me. Now, it gave me butterflies. But I struggled to savor the moment—seeing Bash had awakened my memories, and now they rattled the shackles I’d locked them up in.

Fitzroy turned back to address his men.

“Remove your gloves. Use spells to protect yourselves and those around you. Teach the wizards and defend the mortal men. Every one of you is crucial in this fight. We have two nights to prepare, but we can stand strong—and claim this kingdom as our own.”

Admiration swelled in my chest as I listened to him speak. Despite his uncertainty about taking on such a daunting role, he did it anyway—for the people of Lyonesse.

After his speech, I leaned in close and whispered, “From what you told me about her, I’m certain your mother would be proud of you right now.”

As I pulled back, I noticed how the salt in the sea spray had curled Fitzroy’s hair, softening his otherwise commanding presence. He brushed away grains of sand that clung to my brows and lashes, and I appreciated his tenderness. His lingering touch glided along my cheek—a gesture that felt natural and possessive—and left tingles in its wake.

As much as I wanted to stay, ensnared in Fitzroy’s gaze, I couldn’t resist stealing a glance at Bash. He was deep in conversation with another soldier, his strong hand resting on the man’s shoulder.

Meanwhile, Fletcher, standing beside his cousin, glared at me from beneath the rim of his cap—his eyes as sharp as daggers.

“Niamh!” a voice called across the shoreline, saving me from Fletcher’s steely stare.

I recognized the tone immediately—it was Finn.

I searched through the crowd until he emerged from the throng of soldiers.

“Go, see your brother,” Fitzroy said. “I’ll take Billy to my tent and have him write down everything he remembers about Regina’s plans for battle.”

After a brief squeeze of my waist, Fitzroy grasped Billy’s wrist and dragged him inland.

The goblin attracted curious stares as he passed, his wide eyes revealing that he was as bewildered by the sight of the men as they were by him.

Moments later I heard, “Niamh,” but much closer this time.

Then, Finn appeared within arm’s reach, and I embraced him tightly.

“You’ve finally returned,” he murmured, crushing me like he was checking I was real.

Together, we walked along the sands, merging with the men heading for the encampment.

“You were right,” Finn admitted. “It took just one brave soul to stand up for wizards and change everything. Now we can reclaim Lyonesse as a land of magic—no longer forced to hide our true selves.” He exhaled a long, relieved puff, as though the war were already won.

“I won’t be celebrating until the battle’s done,” I replied, my chest tightening at the thought of Regina’s wrath when she discovered our deception. “The worst’s yet to come.”

Finn deeply sighed. “I just wish Avice was here to…” He trailed off, his voice heavy with grief.

I wanted to tell him about meeting Elizebeth—how she was Avice’s elder sister, and that the Lord of the Wetlands’s lineage was steeped in magic.