CHAPTER TWO
Down a hallway on the ground floor, Vayden led the troop to the rear of the hotel.
They passed several rooms for rent, the deep brown carpet muffling their tromping footsteps.
After months on the road, Evylin’s feet were unused to the cushioned flooring.
It was odd being in a building, to begin with.
Since they’d entered Wauld, they’d slept under the sky, rain, trees, and open air.
Now, she couldn’t decide whether she felt comforted or smothered by the dark walls and the unnatural glow of the yellow lamplight.
They entered the kitchen, a large, brightly lit space that opened into the dining hall.
A row of windows revealed the courtyard behind the hotel, the drizzle of rain tapping on the glass.
Tables and chairs filled the hall, enough for two or three dozen patrons to dine.
A massive stone hearth filled the opposite wall.
A young woman, perhaps a few years younger than Evylin, stood at the tall bench, chopping sausages.
Another, older woman loitered at the fire, stirring one pot while surveying a few others.
The Calders were greeted with enthusiasm by the young woman, who was quickly identified as Graicelle, the daughter of Maurus, the manager of the Crimson Clover.
It was evident that this hotel was a front for Alliance business.
In what capacity, Evylin didn’t know, but she assumed it functioned as a safe house or a covert meeting place.
“Please,” Vayden said to the Ephrians and his family, “have a seat. We’ll bring the food over shortly.”
“We don’t mind helping,” Deckard offered, but Vayden waved him off.
They drew two tables together to suit their large party.
In the shuffle to take their seats, Deckard was placed at the head with Evylin on one side and Thom on the other.
Ilain readily took the seat next to Evylin, pulling Isla to sit next to her, creating a women’s side of the table while Rafferty, Ethenn, and Auden were left to line up next to Thom, leaving the opposite head seat for Vayden, nearest to his wife.
“Do they have ale in this fine establishment?” Rafferty asked.
“They do,” Isla said, settling her silver skirts around her. “However, I wouldn’t advise that you drink any.”
Rafferty lifted his white-blond brows. “Watered down?”
“Not at all,” she replied. “You’re simply in for a night of imbibing. It’d be best to keep your head on straight for the approaching meeting.”
A look of pure excitement drew Rafferty’s eyes wide while Thom leaned forward to ask, “The Alliance is keen on raucous parties?”
“The Alliance is keen on community,” Ilain corrected, the brilliance of her rings contrasting strangely with her unusual, drab gray outfit.
“We believe in living life to the fullest while building lasting connections. Often, that dynamic includes alcohol. It helps loosen the tongue and encourages . . .” Her eyes flashed to Ethenn, then she smirked.
“Intimacy, both of the platonic and romantic variety.”
Evylin and Deckard exchanged a look.
“Don’t make our gatherings sound illicit, Lain,” Auden chided, then addressed the rest of them. “They are wholesome events meant to inspire deep conversation and familial attachments. There’s nothing raucous about them.”
“Tell that to Vayden,” Isla murmured.
Ilain snorted, a glimmer in her eye as she cast a look toward her brother, who was gathering refreshments in the kitchen.
“Ah, yes. He rather embarrassed himself by professing his undying love for Isla at a celebration a couple of decades back,” she explained.
“I believe he broke his wrist when he fell off the table.”
“It still gives him pangs when the weather’s foul,” Isla confirmed.
“You mean every day here in Wauld?” Thom returned.
Isla gave him an amused grin.
“So that’s what we have to expect this evening?” Deckard asked. “A celebration?”
“Well, first,” Vayden said, appearing at the table bearing a platter of meats and cheeses on one arm and a basket of bread on the other, “you’re to expect a meeting of the Administration. Darling,” he turned to Isla, “would you mind helping? My wrist is killing me today.”
Isla took the basket proffered toward her. “It’s your other hand, love.”
“That it is,” Vayden replied with a wink.
Following close behind him, the older woman from the kitchen placed glasses in front of each of them with a deft hand, then plunked a pitcher of water on the table and scurried back to her work at the hearth.
“Thank you, Mrs. Howerth,” Vayden called, then took the seat next to Isla. He eyed Rafferty’s hand, already in the breadbasket. “Shall we say grace?”
Rafferty’s wily fingers stilled, then slowly withdrew a slice of rye. “That’s right,” he said sourly. “You lot are religious.”
“You’re not?” Isla asked.
He smirked. “Allore and I have our agreements.”
Vayden reached out and took his wife’s and brother’s hands, grinning at the weasel. “Then you won’t object to showing gratitude, will you?”
Evylin sucked in her bottom lip. She wasn’t particularly religious herself, and prayers for meals were more of a familial habit than devout practice.
She wondered what the Calders—and the Alliance at large—would say if they learned that she didn’t fully espouse their views.
Then Deckard’s fingers slipped around hers, and she wondered what he would say about that.
One of the first things she’d noticed about the captain who joined her family’s dinner was his fervent “by your grace” as her father concluded the prayer.
They’d never discussed their respective faiths, but now she worried he’d be disappointed to learn that hers was lacking.
Eyes closed, Evylin struggled to pay attention as Vayden’s deep baritone filled the air.
There were a great many things she and Deckard had never discussed.
Their marriage was so quick, so unexpected, and they hadn’t had time to question the efficacy of their union.
Were they really a good match? Yes, as unexpected as it was to discover he was a Mage, and she was a Warrior, did that mean they were well-suited to one another?
Certainly, the Calders touted the coincidence as Allore’s way of marking them as one another’s perfect balance.
But then, that would make Auden as much her match as Deckard, and she certainly didn’t believe that to be true.
The mumbled “by your graces” said around the table brought Evylin out of her disconcerted reverie.
Deckard’s hand lingered on hers before reaching to fill her glass with water.
She watched his movements with growing unease.
Should she broach the subject with him? There was so much they didn’t know about one another.
She hadn’t even told him about Ryen. If she loved Deckard, shouldn’t she be open with him about every area of her life, even the most broken, devastating parts?
“You mentioned a meeting,” Deckard said, setting Evylin’s glass in front of her. “Is it one we’re required to attend?”
“I wouldn’t say you’re required.” Vayden sat back while the Ephrians and his siblings snatched up the food hungrily. “But I would recommend you join.”
“The Administration wants an account?” Ilain asked.
“Can you blame them?” Vayden replied, then glanced at his wife. “You’ve forced their greatest spy to reveal herself.”
Ilain rolled her eyes. But it was Auden who spoke. “We didn’t have much choice in the matter.”
“No,” Vayden allowed. “But they’d like an accounting of your mission anyway. The archminister has called for an impromptu hearing.”
“A hearing?” Deckard asked with a startled scan of the table.
Evylin didn’t feel any less unsettled, but Vayden held up a hand to forestall their concern. “It’s merely a term,” he assured them. “None of you is on trial. The Administration simply wants our most influential members to gather so they can understand the situation to its full extent.”
That didn’t make Evylin feel any better. “And what is the situation?” she asked.
Vayden’s bright eyes shone in the light as he gave a dry grin that looked strikingly like Ilain’s. “I should think you’d be aware of it,” he said. “Seeing as you’re in the midst of it yourself.”
“You mean,” Ethenn interjected, “this meeting is simply to hear what we’ve been up to these last two months?”
“More or less,” Vayden confirmed.
“And,” Auden added, “for us to request additional aid.”
“What sort of aid?” Evylin asked.
“Finances, supplies . . .” Auden glanced at his brother and sister-in-law. “Members.”
Lifting her chin, Evylin looked at Vayden and Isla with renewed interest. “You want to come with us?” she asked.
“If the Alliance will allow,” Isla confirmed.
“Regardless of whom they allow,” Auden said, “we need help now that we’ve lost two of the Relics.”
Frowning, Evylin met first Deckard’s, then Thom’s stares. Though she thought Auden was correct, she didn’t know how she felt about adding additional members to their party. It had been the seven of them for so long now that she could hardly imagine life any other way.
Eight, Evylin corrected herself. Hewitt was still with them, even if he was a ghost.
Evylin glanced at Deckard, wondering when he could bring her uncle back to her again.
Suddenly, the kitchen door burst open, slamming against the wall. They all whirled just as a youthful peal rent the air. “Mama!”
Isla gasped, leaping out of her seat. “Reya!”
In a frantic collision, Isla embraced a girl who looked to be in her early teens, with dark hair and pale skin.
They clutched one another in a mess of tears, kisses, and murmured words.
A sudden swell of homesickness clutched Evylin’s heart.
It’d been so long since she’d been held by her mother, a feeling she hadn’t realized she missed so dearly.