CHAPTER FIFTY
Dinner with the Glaas family was insightful. Evylin’s eldest sisters, Euna and Albina, arrived with their brood of daughters, seven between the pair, while Dolia and her young husband, Devaan, joined as well. The house was full of feminine chatter.
Euna was notably dubious of Deckard at first. She nearly glared at him with suspicion, making pointed remarks about his taking Evylin away without even bothering to meet the whole family first or inviting her sisters to their wedding.
Swiftly, Deckard apologized, assuring her it was not meant as a slight.
He lied mildly, swearing that his love for her sister drove him to forget his reason, determined to marry her regardless of the cost.
Under his manifold charms, Euna softened. From then on, she began to sing his praises to her daughters, aged twelve all the way to four, coaching them to find husbands so devoted.
The dining room was bursting with guests.
There wasn’t enough room for them all at the main table, so they squeezed a secondary table in from Devaan and Dolia’s house just down the road.
It made the room almost impossible to maneuver, but the splendid meal of mutton sausage, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables, smothered in butter and herbs and served with a fine vintage of Setshire wine, made it all worthwhile.
At the head table, Lawton insisted that Deckard take the seat of honor he’d been given last time, with Evylin sitting on his right and Thom on his left.
They squeezed Laurisa, Euna, Albina, Vayden, and Isla into the remaining seats.
At the other table, Ethenn, Ilain, Brea, Rafferty, Calyn, Dolia, and Devaan were clumped together, the children having been sent to the kitchen to share their meal.
Calyn had specially requested Brea’s presence at her table, seeming to have decided she’d become her special friend, as they were to share a room together that night.
The meal was pleasant, and they readily found their way into the parlor for easier conversation.
Card tables were drawn out for games of Crooks and Crowns, and tea was served.
While Whickam Village was just as small as Deckard’s home village of Stocburrough, with Lawton as a magistrate, their homelife was quite different from his family’s.
The house was finer, the manners more precise, and the overall air more refined.
Deckard had little cause to wonder why Evylin liked the more extravagant, luxurious things in life.
Her childhood home was a constant attempt at replicating those fancier indulgences.
As the night wore on, the party slowly began to split apart. Ilain excused herself early, stating that she wasn’t feeling at her best. Ethenn remained to play cards with Rafferty and Brea at the far end of the room, but Calyn hopped up to usher Ilain to their lodging for the night.
“Right this way, Mrs. Loxley,” she said cheerily.
Ilain’s expression pinched in an odd manner, but she followed the girl with a gracious, “Thank you.”
From there, the others slowly drifted off to their own rest. Euna and Albina took their daughters home, bidding Evylin a fond farewell as they would not likely see her the next day. Dolia also requested Devaan take her home.
“I’m always overtired these days,” she said with a wink.
Evylin didn’t appear to understand the pointed comment. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Dolia giggled, glanced at the far end of the room where the men were distracted by their cards, then lowered her voice to say, “I’m with child.”
“Oh!” Evylin exclaimed, then laughed at her ignorance. “Congratulations to you both.”
Dolia leaned in closer, her voice dipping even lower. “You’ve been married longer than I. Are you expecting too?”
Immediately, Deckard blanched, and Evylin’s laugh grew nervous. “No,” she said with definitive assurance.
Dolia glanced sidelong at Deckard, then tugged Evylin closer, not whispering quite quietly enough for him to avoid hearing as she said, “Try lifting your legs after next time. Mrs. Lyvingston advised me that it helps.”
Evylin pressed her lips together, a blend of agitation and amusement shimmering around her at her sister’s naively inappropriate suggestion. “Thank you, Doli,” she said dryly.
And with that, Dolia and her husband departed with Calyn and Brea in tow.
Deckard and Evylin shared a wry glance. “Don’t try that,” he said.
“It’s an old wives’ tale,” Evylin said. “It doesn’t work.”
“I don’t wish to press our luck.”
With a chuckle, Evylin went off to join the card games.
An hour later, the rest of them departed for the evening.
Evylin led Deckard up the stairs, reminding him of his previous stay in the Glaas home.
He smiled to himself, watching her skirt swirl around her feet as they ascended to the second floor.
He’d been so enamored with her all those months ago.
It wasn’t love at first sight but perhaps could be considered interest at first conversation.
She was attractive, but so were many other women.
However, her wit and candor were what struck him, combined with her openness and authenticity.
Evylin was who she was—and she was charming.
Deckard supposed that was what had drawn him to her. While he worked hard to gain the good opinion of others, Evylin seemed to come by it naturally. He admired that.
Stepping into her old bedroom, Deckard did a quick scan over the space.
He’d already visited it earlier when they changed for dinner.
The room was simple but nice. The rich brown wooden furnishings were well-made and beautiful.
A light blue patterned wallpaper covered the walls, and a medium-sized bed with a cream-colored quilt sat directly across from the door.
He’d already perused her collection of novels on the far bookcase, unorganized and haphazardly put away.
Many had stains on their cloth and leather bindings.
In fact, much of Evylin’s belongings were in disarray. The wardrobe held many dresses, blouses, and skirts, all nearly falling off their hangers. The chest of drawers could hardly shut.
Sitting on the bed, Evylin kicked off her boots, letting them clatter to the floor.
Deckard eyed the careless behavior but didn’t say a word.
They prepared for bed, and he intentionally—guiltily—kept his eyes away as she peeled off her chemise.
He didn’t think he would ever grow used to the delight of seeing her naked form, but recently, it’d become a less wholesome pleasure.
Evylin never took off the Space Relic anymore, and seeing the gold and onyx necklace draped openly across her bare chest gave him the unholiest of urges.
Since waking after the Space Keep, touching Evylin had grown increasingly difficult.
Each time, he felt an immediate surge of magic—profound and provocative.
Deckard had been careful not to reveal his discomfort, but it had made sleeping next to one another a struggle.
He lay awake with her in his arms each night, fighting the whispers in his head.
Let me out.
Gratefully, Deckard had managed to avoid intercourse for the past thirteen days.
He didn’t know what such blatant and open intimacy would do to him.
Remembering the surging power that swept through him since their Bonding, he feared losing control to the Space Relic—and he couldn’t ask Evylin to remove it, knowing she’d only tell him that he needed to learn to ignore his impulses.
Pulling his nightshirt over his head, Deckard cautiously glanced toward Evylin. He found her in her nightdress, climbing under the blankets. He forced himself to relax. His muscles felt unendingly tight these days, his brow unceasingly pinched.
Deckard picked up Attachments of the Soul from his nightstand and joined Evylin on the bed.
They’d made it through several pages over the last week and a half, discussing the archaic wording thoroughly to ensure they both understood.
Despite their steady progress, he hardly felt more informed on Bonding, the earliest pages dealing primarily with the process and ceremony of the Bond and its significance.
As he settled against the pillows and lifted the book’s cover, Evylin’s hand stopped him. He looked over at her, confused. “Not tonight,” she said.
“No?” he asked, even as she took the book from him.
Evylin leaned across him to set it back on the nightstand. He couldn’t help but tense as she brushed against his chest, a current of magic slipping across his skin even through the fabric of their nightclothes. He forced his breath out, attempting to ease his taut muscles.
With a knowing smile, Evylin sat back down at his side. “I want to talk with you,” she said.
“All right,” Deckard said, thankful she hadn’t tried to take his hand.
In the bronze lamplight, her amber eyes glowed. She tucked some of her waves behind her ear and settled on the bed beside him. “Jonn,” she began, “you have to stop being afraid of me.”
He frowned in confusion, so she clarified, “Afraid of touching me.”
Deckard’s body seized.
Evylin’s lips lifted with dry humor. “You thought you’d hidden it from me?” she noted.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, he admitted, “I did.”
“I noticed the first day,” she said. “Ever since I started wearing the Relic, you’ve flinched every time I touch you.”
Deckard pulled a tight smile. “I suppose it’s a virtue, being a poor liar.”
“We’ve already discussed your penchant for lying,” she teased. “Now, tell me: What’s wrong?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Deckard considered his words. “I can’t control it,” he said at last.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“So you’re letting it control you?”
Deckard frowned, meeting her gaze.
Evylin grabbed his hand, and as expected, the touch sent a thrill of power through his arm. “You keep fighting it,” she said. “But it’s fighting back, isn’t it? Every time you push it down, it grows stronger, making the urge to use it greater. And touching me draws on it.”