She was scared.
She was scared of the person who’d done this to her.
It was quite clever, Rohan mused. Dalatteya’s subconscious remembered just enough to do that person’s bidding, their manipulations hidden deep in her psyche without giving her any proof of who was manipulating her and why.
He felt almost sorry for the woman—now her paranoia made a lot more sense—before remembering the crimes she’d committed. Because she had committed them. He couldn’t find any evidence of her mind being manipulated back when she’d tried to kill her own nephews. That was all her, no one else. The third-party manipulation started much later, though Rohan wasn’t sure when.
Dalatteya also wasn’t in any way responsible for Mehmer’s death. She didn’t know anything about it. She didn’t seem to know anything about the rebels, either.
As for Tai’Lehr—
Something sprang out of the corner of her mind and lunged for his telepathic core. Rohan barely managed to bring his shields up in time.
Breathing hard, he pulled out of her mind and opened his eyes, unease making his stomach churn.
A mind trap. It was a mind trap.
He’d been taught about them, but he’d never actually encountered one before. It was a very hard skill to master. Mind traps were extremely dangerous. They could completely destroy the mind of the trespasser who triggered it. They didn’t practice mind traps on Tai’Lehr.
But Rohan knew who did.
* * *
Jamil bowed slightly to Dalatteya and turned to leave, glad the ordeal was over. Playing the role of a paranoid, revenge-thirsty widower had been rather tiring. As expected, Dalatteya hadn’t offered any insight. She was a master of saying a lot without saying anything of substance. But her sharp, watchful gaze on him didn’t match her meaningless chatter. It made him uneasy.
He found Rohan waiting for him outside Dalatteya’s office.
One look at Rohan’s blank face and grim eyes told him everything he needed: Rohan had found what he was looking for in Dalatteya’s mind.
Jamil could barely contain himself. He was dying to ask, but it was neither the time nor the place. He would have to wait until they returned home.
“Well?” he said as soon as they were finally back in Jamil’s rooms.
Rohan just looked at him for a long moment, his black eyes inscrutable. But Jamil could sense something like unease through their accidental bond. Unease and a sense of great urgency.
“I need to go home.”
Jamil stared at him. “Why?” A part of him, the rational one, knew it was the wrong question to ask. Of course Rohan would go home. If he’d really learned everything he needed to know, there was no damn reason for him to stay.
“I’ve found something in the regent’s mind. Something very worrying. I need to go home.”
Jamil pursed his lips and turned his face away. “Really? That’s all you’re going to tell me? After everything I did to help you?” He tried to sound angry, not hurt. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.
Rohan stepped to him and, taking him by shoulders, forced him to look at him. “Jamil.”
Jamil shivered. He hated how Rohan said his name: with an almost silent ‘l,’ soft like a warm embrace.
“What?” he said stiffly.
Rohan’s gaze was searching. “If I could tell you what I learned without endangering you, I would. But your bond to Mehmer still binds your telepathy. You can’t sufficiently protect your mind.”
“I can.”
“Not from high-level telepaths.”
Jamil’s stomach dropped. “There are no high-level telepaths on Calluvia.”
Rohan’s expression became pinched. “Officially.” He squeezed Jamil’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but stay away from the mind adepts of the High Hronthar.”
Jamil’s brows furrowed.
He stared at Rohan, and Rohan stared back.
Jamil nodded slowly. What Rohan was implying seemed unbelievable, but Jamil trusted him.
He trusted him, a man he knew pretty much nothing about, a man who’d used underhanded means to get into his home, a man who wasn’t even telling him what he’d learned from Dalatteya.
Was it crazy?
Maybe.
Hell, there was no maybe about it.
“You know I’d never hurt you,” Rohan said, probably reading his thoughts. Although his face remained mostly blank, his dark eyes burned with raw honesty, his hands traveling up the slope of Jamil’s shoulders to settle on his neck. Rohan cradled it gently, his fingers pressing against his telepathic core, which pulsed longingly for him.
Jamil made a face, pulling back a little. “Don’t do this.” I can’t think when you do this.
Rohan smiled wryly. “Yeah. Probably not a good idea. We will lose hours if we merge.”
“Will you break the bond now?”
Rohan grimaced. “Unlike artificial bonds, it’s difficult to break a natural bond intentionally. But it’s a new bond. It’s still very thin and fragile. It should break on its own with distance and time, and it will probably be less painful that way.”
Jamil knew he should probably insist on Rohan doing it anyway, but something in him instinctively shied away from the idea. Maybe a gradual breaking really would be better.