CHAPTER SIXTY
“So,” Thom began, sitting in the booth at the back of the tavern, “what did you want to talk about?”
Across from him, Deckard unbuttoned his coat.
They both wore street clothes for the first time in months.
Since their appointment with the Third Volunteer Company, they’d either been traveling as officers, on their mission, or on Alliance business.
It felt good to be out of the rigid military coats and regalia.
They’d both forgone cravats, too, making them appear like any other common man.
Though Thom could still see the gold chain of the Space Relic peeking through his brother’s collar.
Thom had left the other Relics with Evylin, thinking them safer in the house than in a tavern.
Deckard thanked the barmaid as she delivered a pint of ale and a glass of wine. “I’d like to know about your intentions,” he said without preamble.
Thom pulled a face, lifting his ale. “My intentions,” he repeated dramatically. “Don’t you sound like a protective father?”
Though Deckard tried to ease his expression, it didn’t work. “I’m simply checking in on you,” he said. “We haven’t spoken in a while, and I’d like to know if you’re feeling the same as before.”
“Mm.” Thom drank the red ale slowly, considering his reply.
He looked over the tavern, surveying the soldiers and other patrons.
Living in the Military District, taverns were prevalent.
Deckard had never frequented them, but Thom had.
He had story after story to tell from the raucous evenings spent in their warm walls.
But recently, Thom had no desire to spend time in taverns. They reminded him too much of Rafferty and the friendship he’d lost.
With a sigh, Thom set his pint down. “You mean, do I still wish for mundanity?”
“More or less.”
He shrugged. “Yes.”
Deckard narrowed his gaze thoughtfully. “What does that look like to you?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Probably soldiering. I’d like to sign my contract if they’d ever bloody offer it to me.”
Deckard hummed in agreement as he sipped his wine.
“But,” Thom continued, “I’d also like to stay with you and Evie. So whatever that looks like, I’ll do it. Aside from that . . . I’d like a family. A wife. Some children. Maybe a dog.”
“What kind of dog?”
“One of those Shireland Collies. The black and white ones, with the spots on their noses.”
“Ah. They’re quite trainable, I’ve heard.”
“Good with kids too.” Thom leaned forward. “But you’re not interested in dogs, are you?”
Deckard grinned. “Not particularly.”
“You want to know if I intend to woo Calyn,” Thom surmised.
“I believe you’ve already wooed her,” Deckard said lightly. “I’d like to know if you intend to wed her.”
Thom tapped his fingers along the handle of his tankard.
He’d asked himself that question many times over the last several weeks.
Ever since they’d returned to Whickam Village on their mission to retrieve the Relics and he’d seen her again, he wondered what he felt toward the young woman.
She was pretty; that was certain. And she’d changed.
She’d matured. He’d come to understand that even better over the last week.
No longer was Calyn Glaas an impetuously-in-love, foolhardy girl. She was still romantic, innocent, and even ignorant, but she also bore a distinct desire to grow. It was charming. And she would make an excellent wife.
But for some reason, Thom couldn’t convince himself to want her.
“No,” he said. “I don’t want to marry her.”
Deckard’s posture eased as though he’d been holding his breath and could finally let it out. “Good.”
Thom scoffed into his ale. “You didn’t approve?”
“I told you before,” his brother raised his brow, “she’s not serious enough for you. Despite all your sarcasm and flippancy, you feel far deeper than most people. And you need a wife who can understand that.”
Thom didn’t bother replying.
Deckard shifted, obviously uncomfortable with his next words. He took another sip of wine, then asked, “And what about Brea?”
Thom frowned, meeting his brother’s gaze with confusion. “What about her?”
“What are your intentions toward her?”
Struggling to comprehend the catalyst of this question, Thom gaped at Deckard. “I’m rather confused,” he said. “Brea and I are friends.”
“Perhaps,” Deckard said disbelievingly. “But she has admitted feelings for you, hasn’t she?”
Thom smashed his lips together. He regretted telling Deckard about that. Though Brea hadn’t requested that Thom keep her past with Adie secret, it felt almost like a betrayal to reveal it. And now, Deckard was using it against them.
“Yes, all right?” Thom shook his head. “She had feelings for me. Before. But she’s also made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want those feelings.
She made her promise to the Alliance; she intends to Bond with whomever they wish, and what’s more, she told me she’s talking to a few of them.
Through letters mostly, but Highlords Wilkinsone and Grames are both here in Ephria, so she’s seen them on occasion.
She said Grames has a good sense of humor and darker hair than most Wauldeners, which is a plus for her.
Granted, he’s apparently about six-foot-five, so they’d have quite the journey to share a kiss. ”
Thom tried to chuckle at the joke, but the thought of Brea kissing anyone made his stomach pinch.
Deckard noticed. “You like her,” he said.
Thom shook his head again. “Not like that.”
“No?”
He squirmed under his brother’s inspection. “No,” he said, then illogically added, “Even if I did, she’s moved on.”
Deckard’s brow quirked. “You know that for a fact?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“How?”
Thom had no reply.
Deckard wore a knowing grin. “Let’s say you’re wrong. She does still have feelings for you, and she would abandon her promise to the Alliance to be with you.” He set his forearms on the table, clasping his hands. “Would you accept her offer?”
Thom stared at him, mouth clamped tightly shut. He fidgeted with his tankard, tapping an uneven rhythm on the rim. “I don’t like this game,” he muttered.
Deckard drew in a long, understanding breath. “Right,” he murmured, drawing a hand over his mouth.
“Stop,” Thom said flatly.
Deckard met his gaze, silent.
With a small, dejected shake of his head, Thom said, “Just . . . stop trying to figure this out, all right? I know nothing can come of it. That’s why I’m refusing to accept it. I don’t have feelings for her. I can’t.”
“But you do,” Deckard confessed for him.
Thom swallowed, the truth locked deep inside of him. Yes, he had feelings for Brea. If she abandoned her promise to the Alliance in order to be with him, he’d take her in an instant. No one had ever made him feel so seen, so cared for. Not even Deckard.
Breata Lohen was strange. She was blunt, rude, and downright terrifying. But she was also the gentlest soul he’d ever met.
“We can’t be together,” Thom said quietly. “She’s the last single female Warrior in the Alliance. The last in Allund, from what we know. They’d never approve of our marriage, and she wouldn’t break her promise to them. I wouldn’t ask her to.”
Running a hand through his hair, Thom scoffed at his ridiculous desires. “She deserves better than me anyway.”
Deckard appraised Thom slowly. It was clear he was trying to deduce the truth behind Thom’s words.
In Thom’s entire life, he’d never had a serious relationship with a woman.
He’d chased different girls. He’d even carried on a secret affair with a widow during his time as a sergeant in Worthing, a tiny village in the foothills of Felbourne province.
It was a sin he wasn’t particularly proud of but had long repented of in the kirk.
But for all his life, Thom had looked for a woman’s affection. He thought it would make him whole, that it would fill the void of his insecurities.
He’d come to learn romantic love wasn’t enough. He had to be enough for himself first before he could give himself wholly to another.
But he still wanted someone to love him. He wanted to be enough for her too.
“You’re far better and far more worthy than you think.”
“Thom,” Deckard began cautiously. His brows pinched together, showing his concern. “Do you love Brea?”
Thom took a moment to consider the question. “Are you asking if I love her or if I’m in love with her?”
Deckard tipped his head to the side. “Is the answer different?”
A second passed before Thom nodded.
“Then I’m asking both.”
Thom thumbed his nose, took a swig of ale for courage, and said, “Yes, I love her. I want her to be happy with or without me. Whether I’m in love with her is . . . uncertain.”
Deckard seemed as puzzled by the answer as Thom felt. “If she weren’t a Warrior, would you pursue her?”
Thom chuckled self-derisively. “Ah, but she is a Warrior.”
“Pretend she wasn’t.”
“I can’t,” Thom said. “That’s part of what makes her her. It’s part of what makes me—” He cut himself off, not ready to be so open yet.
Deckard sighed. “Do you intentionally get yourself into difficult situations, or are such situations inexplicably attracted to you?”
A sour laugh escaped him. “Unfortunately, I think it’s a bit of both.”
“I see.” Deckard sipped his wine, a thoughtful expression across his face, then pronounced, “You’re in love with her.”
Thom shrugged. “Maybe.”
Shaking his head, Deckard grinned kindly. “No, Thom,” he insisted. “You are in love with Brea. You’re willing to sacrifice your happiness to let her have her own. Even if that means you can’t be with her.”
The truth of the sentiment hit Thom then: He was bloody in love with Breata Lohen. If given the chance, he’d marry her. If she asked, he’d pull down both moons for her.
Thom dropped his face into his hands. “This is shit,” he said, the words muffled by his palms.
Deckard chuckled. “This is love,” he said. “It hurts, but it’s worth it.”
“Is it?” Thom demanded, hands dropping to the table.
“If you’re you, then fine, sure, it’s worth it.
Everything you and Evie went through hurt, but you ended up together.
Love was worth the pain because, in the end, you’re together.
But what about me? Is it worth loving someone you’ll never be with?
Someone who will never even know how much they mean to you? ”
Deckard frowned. “You don’t intend to tell her?”
Thom glared at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why?”
“That would go against the very thing you just said proves my love for her.”
Deckard looked entirely baffled. “How so?”
“If love is self-sacrificing, then how can I possibly be selfish enough to even offer the lesser option to her?” Thom said.
“How could I ever ask her to let go of everything she’s worked toward for the past thirty years—shit, that’s longer than I’ve been alive.
How could I ask her to give that up for me? ”
“I thought you said she doesn’t have feelings for you anymore,” Deckard quipped.
He raised a placating hand at Thom’s annoyed glare.
“Love is self-sacrificing, yes. But you’re forgetting that it takes two people to be in love.
She gets to sacrifice as well. And, at the end of the day, you’ll find that neither of you felt like you were sacrificing much at all because you’re together, and isn’t that the thing you want most in the world anyway? ”
Thom slumped in his seat. He eyed his brother irritably. “I hate you, you know? You and your bloody good advice.”
Picking up his wine, Deckard raised it in a mock toast. “I’ll stop giving it if you’d like.”
Thom scoffed but sobered quickly. “I don’t want to lose her friendship, Jonn. If it comes down to being her friend or losing her because I decided to take a risk, I’d choose the friendship.”
“You could be happy that way?”
“Happy?” He grimaced. “Most of the time. At least I’d have her in my life.”
Deckard ran a hand along his smooth jaw.
“Before we go any further, I’d like to go on record and tell you that I am not particularly in favor of your marrying a woman old enough to be our mother.
That bothers me, and I don’t really care to see you live with the problems that may arise with her extended life. ”
At Thom’s frown, Deckard smiled. “However,” he said knowingly, “in the interest of your happiness, I’m going to remind you of something.
Nearly two months ago, Brea told you frankly that she had feelings for you.
And, from my recollection, your friendship didn’t falter or fade by even a fraction.
And if you could be so understanding and loyal .
. .” He shrugged. “Can’t you be man enough to give her the chance to do the same? ”
Thom hesitated, a fight of fear and hope mixing in his stomach. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Either way,” Deckard said, “I think she’d appreciate your honesty.”
Thom pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wish you weren’t so damn right all the time,” he lamented.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I didn’t mean it as one,” Thom jested. He lifted his ale.
“Well, here’s to my singleness. I think that after I’ve made a fool of myself in front of the woman whom I like best in the world, I’ll give up trying for a while.
Maybe Rafferty had the right idea about monogamy. It’s not worth the heartache.”
Deckard shook his head. “You’re far too dramatic.”
“It’s what makes me charming,” Thom snarked and drained the rest of his ale.