CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
“He doesn’t look that scary,” Rafferty muttered to Thom behind Evylin.
Blount’s long stride drew him one step closer to their party as he scanned each member for the first time. “You have a very interesting taste in companions, Evylin,” he said. “Last time you were with Highlord Calder. This time, his sister accompanies you. Where is our other good friend?”
While Ilain shifted beside Evylin, her dress rustling, she gave no other indication that Auden’s mention bothered her.
When Blount stepped closer to Evylin, Thom moved up to stand at her side like a guard. “He’s a bit busy at the moment,” he said calmly.
Blount paused, regarding Thom slowly. Evylin could practically see his thoughts working to place this man. Surely, he remembered Thom. He’d been one of his captives.
As the memory dawned on him, a sly grin came to Blount’s face. “You’re the wrong Deckard,” he said.
Thom shrugged casually. “I’ve been told that my whole life.”
Blount hummed at the quip and turned to Evylin. “Where is your husband?”
With an internal search, she made a quick check on Deckard’s location—he was moving toward them from the back of the palace—and she raised her brow. “With Auden,” she lied. “They’re watching the Relics while we give our terms to you.”
The sound of Blount’s genuine laughter filled the air. “Your terms,” he repeated. “That’s about as amusing as the idea that your husband would allow you to surrender yourself without guaranteeing your safety. You see, I spoke with Oriane before her death—”
When Evylin’s brow furrowed, Ilain clarified, “Renaul.”
“Ah, yes.” Blount gave Ilain a snide look. “I suppose you wouldn’t have known her first name.”
“Your mistress,” Evylin said. “The one you killed.”
Blount shrugged callously. “She was a disappointment in more ways than one. But it’s no matter. Less competition for you, dear.”
“I’d rather gouge out my eyes,” Evylin said.
“They’d heal, you know.” Blount scanned her. “Once we’re Bonded, the recovery would be even faster. I wonder if they’d be the same color, though.”
“Blood doesn’t change, no matter what alterations you make,” Ilain noted.
“Mm.” Blount looked as bored as he sounded. “As I was saying,” he stared down at Evylin, his height several inches taller than even Deckard, “if your husband isn’t here, it leads me to believe you have a plan that makes him think he can get you back.”
“We have an offer for you,” Evylin admitted.
He regarded her with interest. “Unless it’s the Relics, I don’t want it.”
“Not even if it’s me?”
That caused Blount’s eyes to darken greedily. Thom and Rafferty shifted, but Ilain remained still and silent.
“You?” Blount said, disbelief tingeing his tone. “And you think I’ll believe that your husband will allow this arrangement?”
“Under the correct terms, he will,” Evylin said. “I will Bond with you, as you wish, according to Renaul, and you will return Ephria to the Alliance’s authority. You may have Wauld and me, but not Ephria or the Relics.”
He looked disappointed, as though she thought him foolish, but she quickly added, “Aside from the Night Relic, of course. Bonded to me, you can carry it without any ill effects. And the Alliance won’t stop you.”
His expression shifted then. Standing this close, she could see the subtle differences between Rouland Blount II and Vayden Calder.
Blount’s eyes were a true sky blue; Vayden’s held a darker tinge.
A small scar marred Vayden’s hairline; Blount bore no blemishes.
Blount’s face showed no signs of age; Vayden’s wrinkles showed his maturity.
“Is this your version of a peace treaty?” Blount asked.
“It is.”
“And your husband won’t mind giving you to me?”
At the mention of Deckard, Evylin checked on his progress. He was nearer, approaching at a faster rate than before. She couldn’t read his emotions through her anxious heartbeat and the wariness she felt in Blount’s presence, but she recognized the slight uptick in his own worry.
Evylin forced herself to calm her heart rate for his sake. She didn’t want to cause concern for him when the trap was almost ready. Blount was in their hands. She just needed to stall a little longer.
“I will be your Warrior,” Evylin lied. “Nothing else.”
Blount gave a soft chuckle. “I’m told that can’t last.”
“Neither can my husband’s life. As a Warrior, I will outlive him by more than a century. Once he dies—of natural age—I will be yours, wholly.”
Blount reached out, cupping Evylin’s chin. He dipped his head. “What if I don’t care to wait that long?” he asked.
Evylin forced herself not to squirm under the violent pressure of his grasp. “I hear patience is a virtue.”
“I’ve never been virtuous,” Blount said flatly. He released her then. “No. I reject your terms.”
Evylin blinked, her heart stalling with disappointment at his unwillingness to play along with her scheme.
“I won’t entertain this childish game anymore. You’re amusing, Evylin. I like that. But don’t ever make the mistake of treating me as though I’m a fool ever again.” His eyes gleamed with cruelty. “I won’t refrain from retribution if you do.”
Having experienced Blount’s retribution in the Water Keep, Evylin didn’t doubt his sincerity.
“I have decades of experience in warfare,” Blount said. “I have studied a millennium’s worth of history and politics. Should I acquiesce to this ridiculous farce of an offer, I would, at best, be faced with another war with your Alliance a century from now.”
“Why would you care?” Rafferty asked. “You’ll be dead, right?”
“I’ll be Bonded,” Blount said. His eyes darted arrogantly toward Ilain. “And I’ll have another means of survival, thanks to our brethren of old.”
Evylin furrowed her brow, but a sharp laugh burst out of Ilain. “You aren’t serious,” she said in blatant amusement. “You believe you can find the sandgem?”
“The what?” Rafferty said, eyes bright at the word “gem.”
“It’s an ancient magical artifact,” Ilain explained, “rumored to give eternal life to its bearer. But it was lost to time, along with nearly all other magical antiquities.”
“Money and power can buy you many things, Highlady Calder,” Blount said.
“I wish you the best of luck,” Ilain said sarcastically.
Blount ignored her. “Now, understanding my eternal destiny, you can see,” he said to Evylin, “I couldn’t accept your bargain even if it was genuine because I’m not interested in ruling Wauld alone. I want all of the Isle of Allund under my command.”
“You don’t believe our offer is genuine?” Evylin asked. She would have been bothered by his perception if Deckard hadn’t been on the other side of the door.
“No,” Blount said. “I’ll still Bond with you, of course, and perhaps I’ll let your husband remain with us. I do relish the idea of him watching while I bend you to my will.”
Evylin’s heart thumped at the confidence in his gaze. “I’m afraid that doesn’t suit me,” she said bitingly.
“I’m afraid I don’t care, darling.”
With that, Blount raised his hand. Evylin flinched, sure he was going to hit her. Instead, he snapped.
The throne room doors swung open. Dread spiraled through her as she got a clear read on Deckard’s emotions for the first time since they’d entered the palace: bone-deep dread.
Then she saw him.
A troop of soldiers escorted Deckard, Ethenn, Vayden, Isla, and Brea into the room. Shackles bound them all. It took four soldiers to carry all of Ethenn and Brea’s weapons. Their uniforms were mussed, and several of them bore bloody scrapes. They’d been captured.
Worse, at the head of the party, Lord Sirraus Obel, Duke of Flamesend Crest, Night Mage, and supposed Alliance member, led the way.
Deckard’s eyes met Evylin’s as they were brought into the room. He held his mouth in a rigid line. Worry leaped out of him in waves. Whether it was due to their capture or specifically Obel’s betrayal, Evylin didn’t know.
Thom swore under his breath. “You traitor,” he said as Obel drew near.
“That’s right, Captain,” Blount said. “My godfather has been quite helpful to me in bringing an end to your so-called Alliance. And now, he’s caught your friends sneaking around the palace.” He tsked. “Such improper behavior as guests of your new monarch.”
Blount’s hand landed on Evylin’s shoulder, gripping it tightly. “As it is,” he said. “We’re all here now, so the festivities can begin.”
“Festivities?” Evylin asked, scanning their troop. Ethenn bore a cut on his cheek, and a smear of blood marred his coat. Some of Brea’s hair had pulled loose from the low bun she wore. Vayden bore a split lip. Isla looked rather unscathed, aside from a swelling bump on her forehead.
But Deckard had a vicious slash going from his temple down across his cheek, the wound narrowly missing his eye. It wept a slow crimson streak despite its shallow depth.
Blount ignored Evylin’s question as Obel stepped forward. “We found these on them, Your Majesty,” he said, the glowing Relics hanging from his hand.
A pleased smile came to Blount’s lips. He released Evylin to take up the Relics. Night beamed amethyst, Wind swirled gray tourmaline, and Terrae radiated emerald.
Evylin furrowed her brow before she caught herself.
Gratefully, Blount was distracted, slipping the three Relics next to the other four around his neck. “Where’s the Space Relic?” he asked Deckard.
“We’ve yet to retrieve it,” Deckard lied apologetically.
Blount’s skeptical gaze said he didn’t believe the claim, but Rafferty piped up.
“It took us bloody forever to get to Estshire,” the weasel said with a shrug.
“We were on our way here to fetch it when we heard about your grand coronation. Congratulations, by the way. I think you’ll look ruddy fantastic in Ephren’s crown. ”
The quickness of Rafferty’s lie shouldn’t have surprised Evylin. That was his job, smuggling things in and out of places. He knew how to think on the fly. But the memory of Deckard speaking with the weasel so intently before they’d parted made her suddenly suspicious.