Page 85 of Reign

I shook my head, trying to savor Bash’s touch—but my savior caught my eye and ruined the moment.

I glared at Fitzroy.

He was watching me intently, a smirk tugging at his rosy lips, brow arched like he was expecting my thanks.

He’d be waiting until the stars flickered out.

An uneasy silence fell. The men exchanged awkward glances, while I gathered the courage for the introductions.

I wanted Finn to meet Bash. I wanted to share with him the person I cared for so deeply—deeper than I should have. But the circumstances made this unbearable.

“Bash, Fletcher,” I announced, gesturing toward them. “This is my brother…” I paused, apprehension choking me.

Ever since I’d adopted Finn’s name as my alias, I’d feared the consequences of that panicked decision.

“Finn Smith,” Finn declared before I could stop him.

Fitzroy sucked his teeth, his panicked expression mirroring my own—as though he knew I was about to drown in a flood of my falsehoods.

With my eyes, I pleaded for him to save me once more. But as he turned away, I knew I’d have to fight this battle alone.

“That wasn’t the welcoming party I had planned,” Fitzroy bellowed, stirring a few nervous titters from the new soldiers. “Go—retrieve that thing’s head and put it on a spike. We’ll take it back to camp as a reminder that we will win this war.”

The soldiers obeyed, following their liege back down the beach to claim the head of the worm.

For a moment, Bash sneered at the idea of putting a head on a stick, before turning his attention back to me.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re both called Finn Smith?” he asked.

Finn whipped his head toward me so sharply I thought he might snap his neck.

Dread consumed me at the thought that missing Niamh was about to be found—right here in Cambas, on the beach, amid this circle of men. As everyone waited for an explanation, the tension thickened until it felt almost tangible.

I looked to Finn for help, but he only met my gaze with an expression that I read as: You dug yourself into this hole—now find a way out.

I cleared my throat. “When I was born, Finn was sickly. Believing he wouldn’t survive, our mother gave me his name in his memory,” I lied. “Unfortunately, he recovered, and now we are both Finn Smith.”

After I’d woven another thread to my web of lies, silence resumed, broken only by the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the shore.

“Excuse us,” Finn cut in, his voice slicing through the quiet. “I need to talk to my…brother in private.”

The cousins wandered along the sands to examine the worm with the other men, while Finn led me in the opposite direction. Once we were secluded from eavesdroppers, he turned to face me.

“Are you pretending to be a man?” he asked, his gaze trailing up and down my attire.

I nodded. “After I left Green Vale, I knew I’d get less trouble living as one.”

“Why did you leave?” he asked, seating himself on the moist sands.

“I’d no choice,” I replied, collapsing into a heap beside him as I gazed toward the murky haze that concealed the sea.

“I thought you were dead.” Finn’s voice wavered, tears welling. “I was convinced Adder had hurt you.”

“He tried to,” I admitted, clutching at the front of my tunic as memories of his defiling hands resurfaced. “He accused me of witchcraft, so I fled.”

Finn’s jaw tightened; anger simmered beneath his tears. “If Adder weren’t already dead, I’d march back to Green Vale and end him myself,” he spat, hatred obscuring his face. “A magical beast got him first—tore him limb from limb.” His nostrils flared with each heated breath.

“You’re blessed to be alive,” Finn continued, his voice softening as he placed a reassuring hand on my knee—a silent warning of what was to come. “Avice is dead,” he said on a labored breath. “That monster killed her, too.”