CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Once they made it beyond the walls of the capital, they rode hard for the first several hours, hoping to make up time.
Thom’s wounds ached, his leg stretching uncomfortably over the saddle as every hoofbeat sent a jolt through his scarred stomach.
However, with their late start, it would be a struggle to reach the nearest village before sunset.
So despite his injuries and their collective sorrow, they galloped away from the city before slowing to a fast canter when the horses tired.
Tension filled the air even as they rode.
Brea isolated herself, bringing up the rear of the group.
Though Evylin and Isla each attempted to join her at separate times, she’d sent them away.
At one point, Thom began to drop back, but the cutting glare the Warrior gave him was enough to return him to his place in line.
“Not sure why she’s so pissed at you,” Rafferty commented in a bemused manner once he was at his side again. “It’s she who wanted in your trousers, not the other way around, eh?”
Thom tightened his jaw, unease building in his gut. “That isn’t why she protected me,” he said. “Ilain made her accusation out of grief, and Brea denied it.”
“Yeah, well, she would, wouldn’t she?”
Thom rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t want me that way,” he insisted, knowing the truth but unwilling to share it.
Though he didn’t understand her avoidance, Thom knew Brea couldn’t have an interest in him.
She was in love with someone else. Moreover, she carried that bloody purpose of hers: She’d marry a Mage whether she loved him or not because she believed in the cause of the Alliance more than her personal desires.
She would selflessly wed a man she didn’t love rather than be with the man of her secret affection.
Though Thom couldn’t deny the strange way Ilain had thrown that nickname back in Brea’s face. “Te’caro.”
Over the last two weeks, Brea and Isla had begun to teach Thom the basics of the Schonese language.
While he would not become fluent anytime soon, he already understood the basic concepts of their foreign dialect.
Mi was self-explanatory. “Me” or “my” when directly accompanying another word.
Te came similarly. “You” or “yours.” The second part of the endearment was more challenging to decipher.
Schonese depended heavily on gender, altering words based on the subject.
Therefore, if Thom were to introduce Deckard in Schonese, he would say “mi’broso,” while he would call their sister, Meria, “mi’brosa. ”
Mi’caro. Te’caro. The gender didn’t change despite its possessive link to Brea because the subject remained the same: Thom.
Of course, Thom had asked Brea what mi’caro meant. She’d teased him with a Schonese explanation at first, but he pressed, “In Allundan, Brea.”
She leveled him with her dark stare. “You won’t like it,” she said.
“Doesn’t matter though, does it? You’re going to call me by it anyway.”
Brea shrugged. “True.” She’d sat forward, smirking. “It means ‘little dog.’”
Thom furrowed his brow. “What, like a small dog or like a puppy?”
“I don’t know the Allundan word,” she said. “It’s the baby dogs.”
“Puppies.”
“What a ridiculous word,” she laughed but nodded firmly. “Puppy it is.”
“You’re calling me ‘your puppy.’”
“Yes, because you’re cute and floppy.” She reached across to flip the hair from his forehead backward at the last bit.
Thom frowned in disappointment. “I don’t like that.”
“I warned you that you wouldn’t.”
In the moment, Thom had accepted it. But then Isla pointed out one of the farm dogs they passed on their journey, using it as a point of teaching for him. “We don’t have dogs in Schon, just wolves, and they’re called lobis. If the gender is known, then they’re lobo or loba.”
Thom frowned and asked, “And what do you call their pups?”
“Lobites.”
From that moment on, Thom knew Brea had lied to him. But he couldn’t figure out why.
Thom didn’t believe Ilain’s declaration. Even if Brea held a foolish infatuation with him, she wasn’t in love with him. Mi’caro was always said in a joking manner anyway. She didn’t mean it, whatever its translation. But perhaps it meant more than he’d once thought. . . .
Regardless, Thom wouldn’t act upon whatever interest—or lack thereof—either one of them held because he couldn’t imagine a life with a woman like Brea.
For Thom was tired. Tired of fighting and striving, tired of struggling and failing. He wasn’t cut out for this life of glory and grandeur. He’d already known that. And yet, he’d practically gotten himself killed trying to be the hero—trying, once again, to be his brother.
He was done pursuing the reverence of others. And he wasn’t about to chase after a Warrior who was intended to rule their nation either.
Thom liked Brea and was attracted to her, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be with her.
Shrugging away the irritating thoughts, Thom glanced over his shoulder toward Ilain and Vayden, riding just behind him.
Another mistake to mend, he thought. Whether the siblings blamed him or not, it was his fault Auden was dead.
If he hadn’t been foolish enough to think himself capable of heroism, imagining himself strong enough to break through the enemy and get the group to safety, he wouldn’t have rushed forward in the fray.
He wouldn’t have given Brea a reason to abandon Auden.
Just then, Evylin appeared at Thom’s side, breaking into his self-pitying reverie. “You’re replacing me,” she said with mock offense.
“Pardon?”
Evylin smirked. “Jonn requested that you join him up front.”
Thom raised his chin. “Am I in trouble?” he teased.
“The worst.” She nudged his arm. “He’s worried about you, which means you’ll have to deal with his pestering until you convince him you’re fine.”
“An impossible feat.”
“Allore’s grace go with you.”
Thom chuckled and relinquished his spot beside Rafferty to her. He guided his horse forward until he rode beside Deckard at the head of the group.
“Afternoon,” Deckard greeted casually.
Thom returned the greeting and asked, “Would you like to discuss the weather? Or are we to have a heart-to-heart?”
Deckard didn’t bother beating around the bush. “Evylin told me what happened after the Keep.”
“Which part?” Thom asked dryly. “The almost dying part or the revelation of my undeniable magnetism?”
“All of it. I’m sorry I put you in that position.”
“It seems I put myself in that position. Me and my rugged good looks.”
Deckard gave him a flat, if amused, stare.
“Genuinely, Jonn, it was my fault, not yours,” he said. “I was stupid, thinking I could get us out of there. I charged to the front, knowing I wasn’t strong enough. I’m not magical; I’m not special. I’m just a man. And apparently, I have an even bigger hero complex than you.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“You weren’t there.”
“No, but Evylin was.” Deckard raised his brow imperiously. “And evidently, her powers let her see everything that happened during that battle.”
Thom grunted.
“She told me that if you hadn’t rushed forward with Auden and Brea, they would have fallen defending Rafferty, Vayden, and me.”
Thom shrugged, unsure if it was true or not. His leg ached, but he ignored the dull thrumming in his knee.
“I’m fine if that’s what you’re after,” Thom said. “Yes, nearly dying wasn’t pleasant, but I’ve found peace with knowing that I lived. Granted, I don’t intend to lead the charge next time.”
Deckard offered a wry smile. “And what about the situation with Brea?”
Thom shook his head. “What situation? Ilain was off base.”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“Have you met Breata Lohen?” Thom scoffed. “She’s twice my age, twice my worth, and more than twice my intelligence.”
“Yet, you receive all her spare attention.”
Thom rolled his eyes. “Jonn, she’s bored. She likes to flirt and joke around, just like Evie. It isn’t serious, any of it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she told me.”
Deckard raised his brow. “Did she?”
Thom hesitated. He looked over his shoulder, catching sight of Brea riding far in the back. He didn’t want to break her trust, but this was his brother. And Deckard wouldn’t believe him if Thom didn’t tell the truth.
With a sigh, Thom turned back. “She loves someone else,” he whispered. “I’m just a fun distraction while we’re on the road, and she’s waiting for the Alliance to arrange her marriage to some Mage.”
That caused Deckard to frown.
“That’s her sacrifice,” Thom said. “You know how these Alliance saps are. They rather remind me of you, actually, with that ‘all for king and country’ nonsense.”
Deckard gave him a perturbed look.
Thom eased his humor to warn, “She told me in confidence, though, so maybe don’t let her know I said anything.”
Deckard’s expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. “That’s why she won’t defend herself against Ilain’s accusation. She doesn’t want anyone to know.”
Thom’s lips lifted in a wry grin. “Fantastic, isn’t it? I finally find a woman who actually enjoys my company, and she’s already taken.”
Deckard cast him a disapproving look. “She’s twice your age,” he reiterated.
“It’s a joke, Jonn. I’m not interested in magical sorts. It’s a recipe for heartbreak.” Thom smirked, hoping to lighten the mood. “To be honest, I’m considering writing to Evie’s sister. You know, the one with those curls and the pink dresses.”
“Calyn?”
“That’s the one. She was quite pretty.”
“She was childish.”
“No more than me.”
Deckard shook his head. “You wouldn’t be happy with her.”
“Why not?”
“She’s too . . .” Deckard paused, and Thom knew he was searching for a polite description. “She isn’t serious enough for you. Besides, I don’t think she’d want to leave her village.”
Thom waggled his brow suggestively, giving his best Rafferty impression. “I bet I could convince her.”
“Why would you want to?”
Thom sighed. “Because I’m tired, Jonn. I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’m alone. Our world is about to change, and if, by some miracle, I make it through alive, I don’t want to return to who I was. I’m not a Mage or a Warrior. I’m a man. And I can accept that now.”
Deckard studied him warily. “That doesn’t mean you have to marry a woman you don’t love.”
“You married a woman you didn’t love,” Thom countered. “And look how well that turned out.”
Deckard pressed his lips together, considering. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am. I’m bloody wise, I’ll have you know.”
“But,” Deckard raised his brow, “you still shouldn’t marry Calyn.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m already your brother once,” he teased. “I don’t care to be your brother a second time.”
Thom chuckled. “Maybe I’ll seek out one of your old sweethearts, then. The last one was pretty and had a tolerable personality. Helena, right?”
“You wouldn’t like her.”
“No?”
“Too religious,” he remarked. “Even if I’d tried to kiss her, she would have slapped me across the face.”
Thom scowled dramatically. “No, that won’t do at all. She’d never put up with my debauchery.” He snapped his fingers then. “Say, I heard Ethenn mention a sister the other day. Maybe I’ll see if she’s available. Surely, with his pretty face, she’s got to be a looker.”
“Ah, yes, imagine the pleasant Annaltide feasts you’d share. You’d have to let Ethenn carve the roast, of course. He will be king, I hear.”
“Highlord Commander, I believe,” Thom corrected. “But no, you have a point. I don’t think I’d like being related to Ilain, by marriage or not. Might make things awkward knowing I’d once flirted with my sister-in-law.”
“You’ve already flirted with your sister-in-law.”
Thom grimaced. “I’d rather not go for the set.”
They rode in pleasant silence for a few moments. Then Deckard turned to him again. “You’re worth more than that, Thom,” he said.
Thom blinked, confused.
“You shouldn’t seek marriage to quell your loneliness any more than you should seek obscurity to mask your fear of responsibility.” Deckard held his gaze, brotherly affection bright within. “You are worth so much more.”
Uncertain, Thom dipped his chin. He wanted to believe his brother, but he couldn’t. Because if he was more, then that meant he had to be more. And he was growing weary of trying to measure up to the high expectations of himself and others.
“I don’t want to be more, Jonn,” he said. “I just want to be me.”
Deckard’s whole countenance softened. His eyes dimmed, and his lips turned down. “What if they’re the same thing?” he asked.
That possibility Thom hadn’t considered.
With a reluctant grin, he replied, “Then don’t tell me. After nearly losing my guts and bleeding out on the Space Keep’s floor, I’m about ready to live in blissful ignorance.”
Deckard chuckled lightly and reached over to clasp his shoulder.
They shared a smile and a long look before turning back to the road.
A cool spring breeze swept through, rattling the lush tree branches.
A hawk sailed overhead, seeking mice in the vast fields around them.
To the west lay the mountains they left behind, and to the southeast awaited the forests and, beyond them, the Shires.
They were returning to the very beginning of their journey, and Thom couldn’t help hoping it was symbolic.
After making so many mistakes and experiencing so much loss, he needed a fresh start. He wanted to begin again. And more than anything, he wished to be enough—not as a hero, not as a soldier. He simply desired to be a man. Whatever that meant for his purpose in life, he didn’t know.
Thom turned to Deckard. “Do you think I could talk to Hewitt tonight?”
“Of course.” Deckard smiled. “Though I’ll need the Night Relic returned to manage it.”
“With pleasure.” Thom tugged at his collar, where the Relic hung concealed. “This bloody thing is rubbing my neck raw.”
Though Thom wasn’t sure what he hoped Hewitt would tell him, he needed the man’s advice.
Only days ago, he thought he could spend his life in service to Deckard and Evylin.
Now, he worried that he’d never be enough for them.
Deckard had fallen to Space, and Thom had been unable to do anything.
He’d tried to get Evylin to safety, and he’d practically left her to die alongside himself.
Whatever his purpose, Thom needed help finding it. Because if it was left up to him, he feared that next time, his delusion would get them all killed.