CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Over the next two days, a semblance of normalcy returned to the troop as they traveled.
Through the morning and early afternoon, they rode hard, stopping only in the evenings to train and rest. Ilain joined Deckard and Isla in their training, allowing Ethenn to return to his work with Brea and Evylin, leaving Thom, Rafferty, and Vayden to spar together.
Despite the constant worry over Blount’s location and the stress of what waited for them in the final Keep and the battle to come, the brief return to routine was enjoyable, though Thom was still uneasy around Vayden.
Despite the man’s good and temperate nature, Thom constantly felt the urge to apologize.
To his surprise, Vayden lived with a calm, ready acceptance of his brother’s fate.
There was a harrowed, haunted look in his eyes at times—moments where he would stare out in the distance as though remembering the loss—but all in all, he seemed to choose to live unburdened by the grief.
Thom found it impressive and utterly baffling. How could someone be so levelheaded when faced with the death of someone they loved so dearly? But, as he witnessed Isla’s similar reaction, Thom realized that the couple had already faced more than their fair share of heartache and sacrifice.
That night, after sparring for an hour, Thom, Rafferty, and Vayden began their trek into the next settlement to find an inn. They stabled the horses, procured rooms, and sat down at the tavern’s bar to order tankards of ale.
“Ah!” Rafferty said as the barmaid set the tankard in front of him. “I’ve missed you, old friend.”
“We drank at the inn last night,” Thom said.
Rafferty swiped an affectionate hand over the tankard’s handle. “One can never tire of their true love, Thommy.”
Vayden eyed the weasel knowingly. “You had an unhappy childhood, didn’t you?”
Furrowing his white-blond brows, Rafferty seemed truly confused. “My childhood was perfectly joyous. Rasnaack may have been a small, seedy village, but my pa and I were quite content in our drudgery, I’ll have you know.”
“You didn’t mention your mother,” Vayden noted.
Rafferty raised his tankard in a mock toast. “Didn’t have one.”
“That explains it,” Vayden commented dryly, then turned to Thom. “What about you? Seems you and your brother are mostly well-adjusted. I take it you had a good homelife.”
Thom swallowed down a gulp of the nutty brown ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Oh, yes,” he said readily. “The best in many ways. Though Father was gone, serving in the army for most of my earliest years. It was just Mother, Jonn, and me for a bit, but I don’t really remember those days.
Then Father finished his commission, came home, and our little sister was born.
Anyway, my family is great. I was a shit, though. ”
“You still are,” Rafferty quipped.
“Mostly,” Thom agreed. “I’m trying to do better.”
Vayden gave him an approving nod. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re doing just fine.”
Thom smiled with appreciation. He’d come to greatly enjoy Vayden’s company. The man carried a maturity and self-sufficiency that he couldn’t quite understand. It made him think that the man had somehow learned the secret to life—how to live happily despite your circumstances.
After taking another sip, Thom turned to Vayden. “Can I ask you something?” he said.
Vayden shrugged casually. “I don’t see why not.”
“Are you . . . all right?” Thom asked, broaching the subject with caution. He dropped his volume to ensure their conversation wasn’t overheard by the few patrons and the barmaid. “Not only considering Auden’s death but—the Keeps are harrowing. Especially for those of us without magic.”
Vayden drew in a long, thoughtful breath. “That they are,” he muttered.
“Yet, you seem to be handling all of this chaos and catastrophe rather well.”
A forlorn tilt lifted Vayden’s lips. “I lived as a spy for twenty years,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I’ve endured my share of harrowing experiences.
During my career, I was also apart from my wife and daughter for months, if not years, at a time.
I know the sting of separation better than most. Ilain .
. . She and Auden were more than siblings.
They were always together. Me? I’m the other Calder, the oldest, and yet the least notable.
I’m not magical, and I have no claim to greatness. ”
Thom raised his chin, feeling keenly connected to Vayden’s words.
“As much as I love my siblings,” the man continued, “there has always been a distinction between us. Not one set in place by my parents or presumed by our neighbors. It’s the simple fact that I’m not biologically a Calder.
Nor am I a Mage. Auden and Ilain were taken to Doorstunds Reach when I was fifteen.
I lost my siblings that day—my closest friends.
While they went off to learn magic and become a magister and a goddess, I was left to muck stalls and train horses. ”
Vayden’s smile turned self-mocking. “There was a time I felt bitterness toward them for it,” he admitted.
“And while those days are long past, I think it helped me gain a better understanding of what it truly means to love someone. I was forced to recognize that devotion doesn’t always mean close proximity.
You can love someone with your whole heart and not see them for weeks or years.
That’s faithfulness. It’s a divine love. ”
He paused, staring at the barrels that lined the back of the bar.
His dark blond brow drew low. “Ilain’s grief is selfish,” he said softly.
“She’s desperately mourning her loss of Auden because she never had to learn that love supersedes the physical.
While she’s brokenhearted without our brother, I am not.
My heart is heavy; my sorrow is deep. But I mourn the loss of Auden, not because I won’t see him again in this life.
I mourn what he was never able to accomplish.
Yet, I take comfort, knowing that he’s in the peace of the Heavens, resting in Allore’s arms.”
A heavy silence passed as Thom gave Vayden a small, encouraging nod. He appreciated the vulnerability the man offered. It was another reason he was impressed with the eldest Calder brother. He wondered if he could ever be so open, so trusting, so wise with his heart.
Rafferty’s empty tankard hit the bartop with a plunk. “You really believe in all that religious optimism, eh?” he asked, waving to get the barmaid’s attention.
Vayden smiled at his irreverence. “I do.”
“I don’t,” Rafferty said. “I think when you die, you’re dead.”
“That’s bloody insensitive, Raff,” Thom scolded.
Rafferty shrugged. “Why? It’s not really that sad. You get one life to make as much money as you can, make as many people miss you as you can, and earn as much respect as you can. Then you get to sleep for eternity, never having to worry about anything ever again.”
“And what’s the point of all that?” Thom returned. “Why earn money and respect if you’re just going to rot in a grave for eternity?”
“It’s the impact you leave that matters, Thommy-boy.” His eyes twinkled merrily. “If enough people care about you—whether ’cause you’re rich or ’cause you’re their friend—then they’ll make a bloody big deal out of you, telling stories and writing songs that’ll live on for generations.”
“You’d rather have songs written about you than to live in eternal bliss in the Heavens?”
“I’ve told you before: Allore and I made a deal. When I die—which won’t be until I’m fat with a head of white whiskers, mind you—Allore will forgive my predilections because I’ve done him more than one service.”
“Such as?” Vayden asked in amusement.
Rafferty gave a wry grin. “That’s between me and the big man now, isn’t it?”
Thom and Vayden chuckled at the weasel’s flippancy. The barmaid returned with a fresh pint, and Rafferty said, “Thanks, love,” adding a wink for good measure.
When the pretty young woman blushed at his attention, he took it as encouragement to continue. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tilda,” she replied, playing with the end of one of her brown braids. She was a medium-skin-toned, curly-haired girl with a buxom figure. Despite her bashful countenance, her batting lashes made it clear she wasn’t quite as coy as she seemed.
Rafferty’s grin grew. “My, Tilda, that’s a lovely name. Matches the face.”
“I’m used to flatterers like you,” Tilda replied. “But I’ll warn you, my father runs this place, and he doesn’t take kindly to dishonorable men chasing his daughter.”
“Then maybe don’t run,” Rafferty quipped. At her look of confusion, he explained, “Then I won’t have to chase you.”
Tilda burst out with a girlish laugh but darted down the bar to clean up after a recently departed customer.
“Excuse me, gents,” Rafferty said with a wily look in his eyes. “I’ve got an impact to make and a song to inspire.”
And with that, Rafferty followed the young Tilda to the other side of the bar to continue flirting.
Together, Thom and Vayden shared a disapproving chuckle.
“Do you think that man has a single scruple?” Vayden asked.
“I’ve spent the last four months traveling with him,” Thom replied. “And no, he doesn’t even know what the word means.”
“Pity.” Vayden sighed, shrugging his shoulders in a resigned manner as though leaving Rafferty’s incurable case of misbehavior in Allore’s hands. “So you asked after me,” he said. “Is it my turn to ask after you?”
Surprised, Thom settled his ale back on the counter. “What about me?”
“You nearly died,” Vayden said knowingly. “That’s typically a notable event in a person’s life.”
Thom nodded slowly, and his eyes drifted to the bartop.
“I’m all right,” he said, voice low and unfamiliar to himself.
“I’ve been dreaming about it sometimes, but .
. . I’ve dealt with that before. Not the dying part.
However, I’ve been a soldier for almost six years now, and I’ve faced my fair share of trauma. ”
“I understand,” Vayden said, and Thom knew he did.