CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Evylin and Deckard joined the troop again early the next morning.
Serene and Jorge had showered them with hospitality the night before, asking them dozens of questions about the past several months of their lives.
Skillfully, Deckard answered, cleverly avoiding the topic of magic and the specifics of their mission.
Serene lamented that they hadn’t known about their arrival earlier and, thus, were unable to have Evylin’s cousin and her husband, Nelle and Nixon, join for dinner.
Evylin was glad, knowing how many more questions there would have been to field with Serene’s daughter in the mix.
As it was, her aunt updated them on all the gossip of Trollenston and the Glaas family.
Before the deluge of questions began, she and Jorge offered their sincere condolences on the loss of Hewitt.
When Evylin asked how they’d heard, Serene said, “Your mother told me at Dolia’s wedding. ”
Evylin furrowed her brow, baffled at how her mother had learned of the events. Seeing her confusion—or perhaps feeling it—Deckard leaned over and whispered, “I wrote to them after it happened.”
“You did?” Evylin replied in shock.
He gave a soft nod. “I’ve been keeping them mostly informed since we left. Same as my family.”
Evylin gaped at him then. He’d been writing to her family.
She didn’t know whether to find the diligence sweet or absolutely ridiculous.
But after an appropriate shower of condolences, Serene carried the conversation on, eager to fill them in on Dolia’s nuptials, so she and Deckard had not yet had the chance to discuss it further.
And in the bright, dawning morning, the troop left the town for Whickam Village.
It was half a day’s journey between the settlements, and Evylin knew it well.
The once-familiar twists and turns in the road held a sudden and curious unfamiliarity.
Each season, she’d traveled this very road with Hewitt, headed to and from Trollenston’s market.
Every hillock and dale, every copse and glen—she knew them all.
And yet, they seemed so foreign to her now.
Memories and distance caused a strange imbalance to unfurl within her. What had once been her homeland was now a novel sight. The sun crested over the eastern hills, gilding the emerald grasses, ivory sheep, ivy-covered trees, and the winding road. She’d forgotten how beautiful Estshire could be.
As the day wore on, Rafferty began asking Evylin about her old home. “When we passed through on our dear colonel’s jaunt, I hardly got to enjoy it, what with the duties at camp,” he lamented.
“What duties?” Thom sniped. “You never listened to a word I said.”
Their banter turned to reminiscing on their time in the Third Volunteer Company.
Rafferty enjoyed regaling the Alliance folk with tales, though in the morning light, Ilain seemed abnormally disinterested.
She rode beside Isla, her gaze on the horizon while the others laughed.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and she yawned regularly.
Evylin glanced back at where Ethenn’s horse walked next to Thom and Rafferty’s. Though he was often subdued in the mornings, the Warrior also looked abnormally tired.
Scrunching her nose, Evylin decided she didn’t care to dwell on what might have occurred to make the couple’s night particularly tiring.
Contenting herself with the distraction of Deckard’s company, Evylin turned to him. “Do you remember the last time we took this journey?” she asked, then added, “Though it was in the opposite direction.”
Deckard grinned at her. “Of course I do.” His fingers twitched where they rested on his saddle, but he didn’t reach across to touch her as she expected him to. “Things were quite different then.”
“You have a gift for understatement.”
He chuckled. “I remember being rather bemused at how I’d wound up winning so much as the loser of our bet.
” At her arched brow, he clarified, “I’d gained a beautiful, witty wife who was better versed in swordplay than any man I knew.
And all I had to do was take her on an adventure. Seemed like a lopsided deal to me.”
Evylin gave him a flirtatious smirk. “Yet, you didn’t bother to capitalize on your winnings for three months.”
“I didn’t care to press my luck. I’d seen what you could do with a blade.”
Her laugh danced among the hills.
The sun was hot overhead as Whickam Village came into view.
The rolling hills of Estshire embraced the village with their vibrant greenery.
Ivy crawled over the stone buildings and low fences, and the windows glinted in the noonday light.
Gentle clouds drifted through the soft blue sky, reflecting the fluffy white herds that dotted the distant terrae.
“Welcome home,” Deckard said gently.
Evylin continued to stare at the village, her heart strangely detached from the sight.
Twenty-six years of her life had been spent there, and she remembered every moment.
Her eyes caught on the stone fence around Mrs. Cohle’s yard, where she and Ryen once watched the soldiers depart from their home.
Within those buildings, her family awaited: her mother and father, her sisters and nieces.
The Glaas smithy still stood with the stables next door.
Yet, this village wasn’t her home.
Not anymore.
With a smile, Evylin turned back to Deckard. “This is my past,” she said, then took his hand, forcing herself to ignore the pulse of discomfort that raced through him. “You’re my home now.”
Deckard’s expression softened with joy and affection.
Leading the troop down the dirt streets of the village, Evylin scanned the buildings with fresh eyes.
Everything was the same. Mrs. Lyvingston, the town healer and midwife, sat on her stoop, preparing bushels of herbs for drying.
She looked up, doing a double take at the sight of the riders.
Then she called a merry, surprised welcome to Evylin.
They entered the square where the Glaas family home awaited.
Ivy covered the pale stone walls. Its slate roof and large windows were a luxury in the village, additions made only after her father’s appointment as magistrate.
While their family was by no means wealthy, they were granted the finest the small settlement could offer, thanks to the king’s funding.
The smithy and stables greeted them to their right.
A soft amber light glowed within. Upon Serene’s information, Evylin knew it was Dolia’s new husband, Devaan, who worked the forge.
After their marriage, he’d moved to Whickam Village, taking up the position under Lawton’s tutelage.
Though Devaan had never trained formally, nor had Lawton practiced smithing for some years, the farming and shepherding village still relied upon Hewitt’s old trade.
As they couldn’t afford to spend days traveling to Trollenston and waiting for repairs, even an inexperienced smith like Devaan was welcome.
They drew up before the stables and dismounted. Deckard ordered Thom, Rafferty, and Vayden to speak with the farrier and take care of the horses. “Then see about finding somewhere to stay,” he instructed.
Evylin tore her gaze from the village hall, stained with soot from the fire of now fourteen years past. “There isn’t anywhere,” she said.
They all turned to her, expectant.
Evylin shrugged. “The village doesn’t get travelers,” she said. “All we have is the tavern, and it’s got only one spare room. You could ask Mrs. Morgaan to rent it, but it likely only has one bed.”
“I call dibs,” Rafferty said.
Chuckling, Evylin shook her head. “Nonsense. My family will put us up,” she said. “Some of us will stay with my parents, but my sisters have homes, too, so they can house a few of us. And worst case, Hewitt’s old apartment above the smithy should be open. No need to spend our gold.”
With the plan in place, Thom led Rafferty and Vayden toward the stables while the rest of them made their way to the Glaas residence.
Evylin paused at the dark oak door. Her instinct was to walk in, but she questioned her right to do so. Instead, she rang the bell.
Several seconds passed. The quick shuffle of feet sounded on the other side.
The latch clicked free, and the door swung inward to reveal a young woman with dark brown waves, softly tanned skin, and a newfound sense of maturity in her once-rounded features.
Her eyes went wide, and she gasped. “Evie!”
Evylin barely had a second to brace herself against Calyn’s enthusiastic embrace. Unexpected delight welled in her, and she heartily returned the hug, giggling happily with her sister. “Oh, Caly,” she said into her sister’s wavy hair. “I missed you.”
Abruptly, Calyn pulled back. She gripped Evylin’s arms fiercely. “Well, I missed you, but why are you here?” Her gaze flittered to Deckard, and she gave a quick, sloppy curtsy. “Pleasure to see you, Cap—Colonel.”
Deckard smiled dryly. “Pleasure to see you as well, Miss Glaas.”
She scanned the crowd gathered behind them curiously, her eyes lingering on Ethenn. “Your last letter didn’t mention you coming here.”
“Our assignment took an unexpected turn,” Deckard offered. “We’re passing through for the night and hoped to visit with family while we have the chance.”
“Oh, that’s lovely!” Calyn said, her attention back on Deckard. “Please, come in. You’ll stay with us, of course. And your friends,” she added with another obvious glance at Ethenn.
Evylin fought down her amusement while Deckard gestured for the women to enter first. Evylin walked arm in arm with Calyn as Ilain, Isla, and Brea trailed them.
“Mother is in the drawing room,” Calyn said. “And Father is in his office. But I’ll ring for them.”
While she stepped away to do that, she asked, “Did you come by way of Trollenston?”