CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The wan morning light drifted over the rooftops, pale in Deckard’s eyes as he stared out the window at the overcast sky.
He pressed against the band of his new ring with the pad of his thumb.
Ever since the ceremony’s end and Ilain’s declaration, he’d wanted to remove the talisman.
The cold metal stung his skin, irritating him with the reminder that he wasn’t just a soldier anymore; he was a Mage.
And worse, it meant that they’d been manipulated once again.
Despite his better judgment, Deckard believed Archminister Fishere’s sincerity when he said their appointment in the government was a choice of their own.
It had been plain in the old man’s stern gaze that Ilain had chosen to add that final pronouncement of her own accord at the last second.
But that didn’t mean he trusted the aims of the Alliance either.
Time and again, the Alliance had twisted and exploited the Ephrian soldiers’ dedication. They’d used them. They’d lied to them. And their troop continued to go along with it because they believed that a future free of Blount and Ephren was a better one for their people.
But would the Alliance prove to truly be any better?
After waking an hour earlier, Deckard had risen, his mind too full to remain still.
In the darkness, he’d dressed and begun to repack their saddlebags.
Now, the bags waited by the door, an outfit sat folded and ready for Evylin on the settee, the room was set to rights, and a pot of tea was steeping on the table.
And through all his tasks, Deckard ruminated.
It wasn’t right. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.
The Bonding ceremony had gone well, though the experience left him feeling off-kilter. Already, he sensed and enjoyed the amplified connection to Evylin, though he was still uncertain as to what all it would prove to entail. But what really bothered him was that damn pledge.
Deckard didn’t mind commitment to service. Being responsible for others wasn’t a problem. From his youth, he’d determined to become an honorable soldier and gentleman who put others before himself. He would happily give his life to make the world a better place.
No, what irked him so much was the suggestion that simply by Bonding, they had somehow become an authority now and, as such, had an obligation to rule and lead because of their power.
The ring chafed on Deckard’s finger, and he nudged it again.
He didn’t want to rule or lead the developing country any more than he wanted to be a Mage.
He was a soldier, not a king. He and Evylin weren’t superior because of their magic or their Bond.
Those qualities didn’t give them any divine authority from Allore.
This dogma, this rhetoric that the Alliance believed—it didn’t line up with the Allorian church in which he’d been raised.
Service, duty, and humility were rewarded. Pride, ambition, and selfishness were folly.
On a matter of principle, Deckard wanted to be a servant, not a sovereign. And this suggestion that Allore created him to be the head of his people as an inevitable matter of course, a politician who governed, a monarch who dictated—he rejected it.
Deckard heard Evylin shifting in the bed. He glanced over his shoulder to see her disappear deeper beneath the blankets. His thumb brushed the ring’s band again. It rested snugly on his right ring finger, perfectly made for him.
When they returned to their room the previous night, Evylin had brought his hand to her lips, kissing the moonstone before meeting his gaze. “No matter what they say,” she’d whispered. “No matter what they want. We are one soul now. And in a thousand lifetimes, that is what I’d choose.”
A reluctant smile came to Deckard’s lips as he remembered that moment. If given the opportunity to go back, to reject the Bond, he wouldn’t take it, even if it meant they’d be forced into leadership. Because now, he knew . . . He understood what it was about the Bond that so enraptured Ilain.
Stepping away from the window, Deckard let the pale, gray light fill the room. The blankets cut a softened silhouette of Evylin’s sleeping figure. Only the mussed top of her brown hair peeked from under their folds. He couldn’t help smiling as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.
Memories of her, of their Bonding, stirred in his heart.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected of the night, but the experience shattered every preconceived notion.
First, she’d stunned him in the fierce black gown, her beauty almost too exquisite for him to bear.
But more striking was the strength of power he felt radiating off her.
Though it was still new to him, Deckard was slowly growing used to his magic, to the feel of it. He’d discovered it was hot and pulsing, enlivening and urging. It drove him to action, filling him with grandiose desires and compelling him with its might.
Evylin’s magic felt nothing like that. Instead, hers was refreshing, the sensation akin to a soft breeze.
During the ceremony, he could feel it providing stability, heightening his senses, and offering a startling clarity of the world.
He felt more balanced—still motivated to act but with a reduced sense of attachment.
Her power didn’t drive him with its strength; rather, it enhanced him.
As the sensation of fire and ice had filled Deckard’s core, he began to see the assembly hall with overwhelming detail.
It gave him a sense of control that he’d never before experienced.
And with it, he’d seen Evylin in ways he’d never been able to without the aid of her magic.
As the Bonding took hold, he’d taken her in with all his senses, coming to know her like new.
It granted him the profound understanding that her physical abilities far exceeded his; her lean muscles and honed skills providing prowess he doubted he’d ever obtain.
She smelled like flowers and warmth, like joy and hope.
Her cool brown hair refused to be tamed, drifting around her face in little wisps.
So many small pieces of her gathered to form a new and complete image of the woman he loved.
As the ceremony concluded, the strength of the power was too much, causing Deckard to lose consciousness, as Ilain had warned.
Thom had woken him then by resting a hand on his shoulder.
He’d tried to wake Evylin, too, while Deckard recovered from the tremulous hold the magic had over him.
But she was too deep in the rapture of its embrace, and it was Deckard who had to wake her.
After the ceremony, the senses that had been sharply heightened had faded just as his magic came to rest, untouched, in his core.
But when they’d returned to the privacy of their room, he’d allowed himself to shunt aside the frustration and disappointment of the Alliance’s presumptions and admire those details of Evylin’s he’d come to discover.
As he’d tipped his wife’s chin up to kiss the small scar that hid under her jaw, she’d asked through a small laugh what he was doing.
He told her without hesitation: He wanted to make amends for missing so much about her.
Now, in the freshness of morning, Deckard reached across to tuck the blanket back. He leaned down and whispered, “Evie,” just before pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s time to wake up.”
Evylin stirred but lingered under the blankets. He ran his fingers through her hair over and over, patiently waiting for her to rouse. Finally, her arms slipped free of the blankets as she stretched, yawning.
“Good morning, my love,” Deckard said as she squinted up at him.
Evylin grunted in reply, a grimace contorting her face. She closed her eyes and began to retreat again under the covers.
Chuckling, Deckard halted her escape. “We need to leave,” he reminded her.
“I’m staying here,” she grumbled sleepily.
“I’ll miss you, then.”
Her hand snuck out to latch onto his wrist, tugging him closer. “Oh, no. You’re staying with me.”
“Now, that’s an idea I quite like,” he said with a smile. “Unfortunately, there are eight people who require our company downstairs.”
“Tell them to go without us,” Evylin insisted. One eye cracked open to peek at him.
At Deckard’s patient grin, she huffed. “I don’t want to go,” she said.
“Why not?” he asked.
Shifting to lie on her stomach, Evylin propped herself onto her forearms. “Because I like sleeping in a bed,” she complained. “I like eating good food. I like being with you.” She drew her fingers along his wrist. “Only you.”
Deckard laced their fingers together. “I like that too.”
“So we stay.”
He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. “I wish we could.”
Evylin leaned into him. “Me too,” she whispered.
Knowing they didn’t have time for a delay, Deckard allowed himself to give her one gentle kiss.
He really did wish they could stay. He wished they could hide away in this safehouse of the Crimson Clover Hotel forever, letting others care for the troubles of the world.
This mission of theirs had already asked too much of them.
He didn’t want to let it take any more of their lives.
At the thought, Deckard clenched his hand, the Bonding ring feeling like a vise on his finger.
“What is it?” Evylin asked.
Deckard averted his gaze, not wanting to admit his selfish thoughts. “Nothing.”
Evylin watched him knowingly. “You’re worried,” she said. “I can feel it now.”
His throat went dry. That awareness was a revelation he hadn’t anticipated.
Ever since the Bonding ceremony ended, he’d had the uncanny sense that he could feel what Evylin was feeling.
Similar to the way her power heightened her senses in the physical world, this was a heightened awareness that gave her emotions a tangible essence.
And while he’d already experienced how the new ability was beneficial, knowing just how she felt, the reverse effect was also a nuisance, revealing him to her as well.