CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
After Deckard and Evylin departed for Hewitt’s grave, Thom, Rafferty, Ethenn, and Ilain joined the others in the tavern for dinner. Thom’s heart was heavy, knowing his mentor was lost to him, but he took solace in the truth that Hewitt would finally be at peace.
Upon entering the tavern hall, Thom spotted the open seat next to Brea. He quickly and intentionally stepped forward to take it. She flinched, but neither of them said a word as he sat beside her.
The barmaid brought their meal and drinks, and the troop ate with somber moods and falsely casual conversation.
Thom’s mind kept replaying Hewitt’s final words to him. “Your purpose is whatever you make it; just make sure it’s a worthy one.”
He still didn’t know how to do that, but he thought perhaps the best way to start was by getting his affairs in order.
During the meal, Thom and Brea didn’t utter a word to one another. For the time being, he allowed her to maintain her ridiculous avoidance. Late in the evening, Deckard and Evylin returned but immediately went to their room, evidently still suffering the grief of Hewitt’s secondary loss.
Night had long fallen before the rest of them departed.
They said their goodnights and began climbing the stairs.
Thom was careful to lean over to whisper to Rafferty before they left the noisy tavern, Brea striding well ahead of them.
A sly grin crossed the weasel’s face, but he accepted his task wordlessly.
Continuing up the stairs, the couples went to their rooms while Thom and Rafferty followed Brea to their shared space. She unlocked the door, slipped the key into her coat pocket, and moved to claim one of the two beds, since Thom had volunteered to sleep on the floor. Rafferty winked at Thom.
The space was small, so two grown men and a petite woman made it feel even more cramped. Brea stripped off her coat and draped it over the footboard.
“Raff,” Thom said, “spare me a blanket, would you?”
“What? Your precious back can’t handle the hardwood, Thommy-boy?”
The innkeeper had provided Thom with an extra blanket and pillow, but there weren’t any spare mattresses to offer a more comfortable sleep. And while he’d laid out his bedroll, it would be of little comfort against the hard floor.
“Hard-packed dirt is softer than these planks,” Thom complained. “You’ve got the inn’s quilt plus your spare from camp.”
“And you’d like me to freeze?” Rafferty said.
“It’s practically balmy this far south. You’ll be fine.”
Rafferty waggled a finger at him. “I’m cold-natured.”
Brea heaved a sigh at their banter. “Use mine,” she said, gesturing toward her pack at the foot of the bed. Her camping blanket was rolled up with her own bedroll.
Thom took a step forward, but Rafferty held up a hand. “No, no,” he said dramatically. “Allow me, Thommy. After all, I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”
With dramatic mockery, Rafferty lifted Brea’s pack, unhooking the bedroll. It dropped unceremoniously onto the footboard, knocking down Brea’s coat.
“Many apologies,” Rafferty said, swiping it off the floor. He settled it back on the bed, then unfurled the blanket. With a lazy toss, he handed it over to Thom. “There. Be gratified.”
Thom smirked. “I am.”
“Good.” Rafferty paced across the room. “Well,” he said, letting the word drag out.
Brea looked up as she untied her boots.
Rafferty laced his fingers and stretched his arms before him. “I’ve got some patrons to fleece, so you two have a nice chat.”
Brea’s brow furrowed, but before she could say a word, Rafferty slipped back out the door. The immediate sharp scrape of the lock engaging from the key he’d stolen out of her pocket followed his departure.
Leaping to her feet, Brea’s expression grew instantly hard. “Rafferty!” she called.
But he was gone.
Nonchalantly, Thom folded the wool blanket. “Guess we’re stuck with each other,” he observed.
Brea turned her flat glare his way.
Thom smiled pleasantly.
Kicking off her boots, Brea turned. Without a word, she began climbing into bed, fully clothed.
“Hey!” Thom lunged forward, catching her arm and jerking her back.
She whirled, slamming the heel of her hand down on his wrist fiercely. Thom yelped, his grip breaking readily. He cursed as the pain coiled up his arm, but he tried again. Using his other hand, he gripped Brea’s sleeve, tugging her toward him.
With another jab, Brea hit a pressure point in his left arm, making it immediately numb.
“Stop it,” he ordered.
“Then leave me alone,” she returned.
Thom sucked in an angered breath as she turned her back on him again and adjusted her blanket, preparing to lie down. “You’re going to have to talk to me eventually,” he said.
She didn’t reply, sinking onto the mattress and slipping her bare feet beneath the blankets.
“We work together,” Thom pressed, refusing to feel awkward as he stood over her bed. “That means you and I need to get along.”
“We can get along without talking to one another.”
He scoffed. “You know, for an old woman, you’re surprisingly immature.”
Sitting on her bed, Brea lifted a brow threateningly.
Thom wouldn’t be put off. “Why are you ignoring this?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s ridiculous,” he exclaimed.
“Brea, you don’t have to avoid me. Of all people, I know Ilain’s accusation was false.
Whatever your reasons for saving my life, it wasn’t out of anything resembling romantic affection.
I thought we were friends. And I’d still like to be that. So you don’t have to avoid me.”
She tossed him an irritated frown. Then she turned away, keeping her eyes on the far wall.
Thom scowled. “Dammit, Brea, I’m trying to be reasonable.”
“Yelling does convey reason, after all,” she mocked.
“Oh, sod off,” he snapped.
Her gaze flashed to his, dark and cold.
Thom held it unflinchingly. “This isn’t on me,” he said. “We could be perfectly normal right now, but you’re acting as though I’ve done something wrong. Which, unless you count nearly getting myself killed, I haven’t.”
Brea rolled her eyes. “Sit down,” she said flatly.
“What?”
“I’m tired of craning my neck to look up at you. Sit down,” she repeated and gestured to the other bed. “Over there.”
“Are you going to talk to me?”
“Yes.”
Thom took a seat on Rafferty’s mattress.
Brea turned to face him, letting her legs slip from under the blankets and dangle off the edge. She was so short that her toes barely grazed the wooden planks. “Did you ever consider that I don’t like being accused of murder?” she said.
“Of course,” Thom said. “But I’m not the one accusing you.”
She shook her head. “It’s because of our friendship that I’m being accused. And Ilain is right: If I let feelings get in the way of doing my job, my decisions should be called into question.” Her brows rose. “I’m distancing myself to ensure I can do my job correctly from here on out, Thom.”
Thom stared at her. Dozens of thin, black braids hung around her shoulders, brushing them loosely. Her gray tunic caused her brown skin to appear slightly ashen in the dim room. And she looked startlingly small for such a fierce woman.
“You saved my life, Brea,” he said quietly. “I don’t give a damn what other people think.”
She turned away, looking almost annoyed.
“Whatever anyone else says,” he pressed, “your choice kept me alive. I owe you everything.”
And even with her gaze averted, he could see that his words softened her.
“I’m not sure what changed, but I’d like my friend back so I can thank her for keeping me alive.”
With a sigh, Brea pulled her feet onto the bed. “I’m not trying to punish you, Thom,” she said.
“Then maybe talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say?” she demanded, meeting his gaze at last. “Yes, I saved your life. You’re welcome.
But I also caused us to lose one of our most powerful members because I chose your life over his.
If I can’t act with indifference, I can’t be sure that I’ll save the ones who matter most.”
Thom’s eyes widened. “You regret saving me?”
Her face scrunched. “No, that’s not—” She stopped and ran her hands over her face. “It was the right choice,” she said, the words muted. “If I could go back, even now, I would still have chosen to save you.”
“Thanks,” he said with dry humor.
She gave a half-smirk. “Magical or not, these people need you. Deckard, Evylin—they would crumble without you. Rafferty and Ethenn? You’re their leader, even if Deckard is their officer. The rest of us don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. You Ephrians are the heart of this team.”
“You’re an Ephrian too,” he reminded.
“Distantly.” Brea leaned forward, holding his gaze with a serious look on her face. “Letting you die would have crippled us . . . permanently. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Thom dipped his head, uncertain how his presence could mean so much. He chose to ignore that statement and asked instead, “If you don’t regret it, why are you treating me as though you do?”
Brea pressed her lips together. “Because I regret what happened after.”
“Ilain’s accusation?”
She gave a small nod.
“I told you I don’t believe her.”
Brea stared at her hands. From somewhere, she’d produced a knife. Likely one of the five he knew she slept with at all times.
Thom frowned at her dispirited mood. Her shoulders were uncharacteristically slumped. All her confidence seemed to have abandoned her in the shadowy room. And suddenly, Vayden’s words came back to him.
“She’s not punishing you. She’s protecting herself.”
Furrowing his brow, Thom decided to ask the question that had been foremost on his mind since the Space Keep.
“What does mi’caro mean?” he asked.
Brea twirled the knife, a humorless smile on her lips. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You wouldn’t be avoiding the answer if that was true.”
She scoffed in a self-deprecating manner. “It is a joke, that’s all.”
“Then we can laugh about it together when you tell me what it means.”
A long silence stretched between them, and he could see she was working up courage. No matter what she claimed, the term was far more serious than a simple nickname.