CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Leaving their friends behind to enjoy the party, Evylin and Deckard walked back through the dark halls of the Aulden Palace.
She’d heard someone say during the dinner that they intended to rename it, though they were waiting until the coronation to let the chancellors and commanders determine its final name.
A menial-sounding task, but somehow, it carried a weight to it.
The halls were shrouded in a foreboding gloom.
Shadows clung to the arched windows and columned walls, broken only by the faint glow of lanterns.
Their footsteps reverberated on the stone staircases, with only the rare sound of a casual patrol to break the silence.
It was a tranquil night, one that should have brimmed with revelry and joy.
Yet, here they walked, somber and uncertain.
Evylin felt Deckard’s growing agitation throughout the meeting. He was glad to know they served a worthy organization but embittered at having them place responsibility upon him. She wished he could understand. . . .
When they arrived at the Loclight apartment, two new guards opened the doors for them.
The parlor was alight with a low-burning fire.
She ignored the comfortable space, heading instead for the privacy of their room.
Whenever Thom, Calyn, and Brea returned, she didn’t want to be in the middle of their debate.
Deckard kept up with her until they stepped into the room.
He shut the door, letting her drift deeper into the suite.
The attendants had clearly come in to turn down the bed and prepare the room for rest. Low lamplight cast a warm glow over the space.
The hearth crackled behind its metal fire screen.
The blankets were turned down, and the windows were open to let in the cool night air.
Evylin paced to stand behind one of the settees. The suite was grand, with abundant space. She supposed it was intended for the chancellor and commander of Loclight to have an escape while in Aulton.
Absentmindedly, she kicked off her slippers, letting her toes curl against the plush rug.
Deckard approached, his manner hesitant. “Why are you nervous?” he asked gently.
Realizing that she’d started tugging on her rings, Evylin blew out a half-amused chuckle. “I don’t want to let you down,” she confessed, her voice quiet.
He drew back, eyes narrowed in confusion. “How could you possibly—?”
“This is it, right?” Evylin interrupted. She shrugged, tossing her hands and letting them fall into the folds of her skirt. “You made me a promise: Whatever I asked, you’d do. You offered me the future—whatever future I want. And now, it’s up to me to choose.”
A heartbeat passed as Deckard drew in a long breath. “You know,” he said softly, “whatever our future together, I will be happy knowing that you’re happy. There is no wrong choice.”
Evylin’s lips turned up in a wry, uneasy grin. “Of course, there’s a wrong choice, Jonn. There’s always a wrong choice.”
“Not in this case.”
“No?”
“No,” he insisted.
Evylin’s chest constricted with frustration.
Deckard’s brow pinched together. “Why does that answer bother you?” he asked.
“Oh, Jonn.” She dropped her face into her hands. “Because I love you,” she said. “And I want you to be happy too. Thus, there must be a wrong choice because if I choose something that you don’t want—”
“Evylin.” He took hold of her shoulders, smiling kindly at her. “My happiness is not tied to my getting my way.”
Feeling the need to push his goodness, to reveal to him his disregard for the obvious, she said, “Then if I told you that my choice was to accept the Alliance’s offer—to become Chancellor and Commander of the Order of the Heavens—you would be fully happy?”
Worry flashed through his eyes, and his demeanor grew unsettled before he could mask his emotions. “Yes,” he lied.
Evylin couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her.
“I would,” he pressed. “Because if that is the future you want, I’d accept it.”
Evylin moved out of his touch to stand before the fireplace.
She questioned the fairness of his request, placing the burden of their life solely on her.
Nonetheless, she couldn’t ignore the essence of his plea.
He wasn’t asking her to decide because he was unwilling; rather, he wanted to secure her happiness above all else.
But there was one immense fault in his request.
“I don’t know what I want,” Evylin said, turning back to him. “I left Whickam Village because I made a promise to Ryen. I fulfilled that promise. But all that time, it wasn’t what I wanted. My actions were for him. Now . . .”
Hewitt’s words came back to her. “What would be reason enough to live?”
Evylin smiled humorlessly. “I don’t know what life I desire.”
Silence met her confession. She wasn’t sure if he delayed his response because he was waiting for her to elaborate or if he was unsure of what to say. But then he stepped forward.
Deckard brushed her hair over her shoulder, his fingers grazing her jaw and neck, trailing down to her shoulder and upper arm.
He caressed her gently, warming the skin under her gown.
“If you don’t know,” he said with the greatest tenderness, “then I’ll do whatever I can to help you discover the answer. ”
As Evylin gazed into his eyes, which glimmered a soft green-gold in the firelight, she recalled all the reasons for her love.
There was no denying his physical attractiveness.
His eyes, always reminiscent of shifting oceans, the strong contours of his brow, cheekbones, and jaw, the genuine expressiveness of his features, the toned musculature of his physique, and his overall calm demeanor all contributed to his appeal.
Yet, her feelings went deeper than mere attraction.
Evylin loved Deckard for his goodness—in every way.
He was heartfelt. He exemplified trustworthiness and loyalty, showed tenderness and calmness, and embodied superior morals and a friendly demeanor.
Even though he was somewhat reserved with others, he shared everything with her.
And he was willing to sacrifice any part of himself for her, always eager to give.
Setting her hand over his, Evylin whispered, “Please.”
Gently, Deckard kissed her temple, his hand sliding down her arm to entwine their fingers as he guided her across the room. They settled at the edge of the bed, the mattress yielding to their weight, their hands resting on the plush comforter between them.
“How do we . . . ?” Evylin asked, words failing as she held his gaze.
Deckard tipped his head to the side. “I suppose the first step is figuring out what it is you want out of life.”
“How do we do that?”
He hesitated far longer than she expected. “Do you have any ideas currently? Any thoughts on what you might want? Any dreams of how the future might look?”
After a few seconds’ consideration, Evylin shook her head. “Not really.”
“Nothing at all?”
“I mean, if I really think about it, I guess I imagine myself traveling and fighting, but . . .” She let out a deep breath.
“I don’t know how much of that is actually what I want and how much of it is residual from the past twenty-seven years of my life.
We’ve been traveling and fighting for six months now.
How do I know whether I actually want more or if I’m just . . . used to it?”
A small smile tugged at the side of Deckard’s mouth. “Do you like traveling?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like fighting?”
“Yes.”
“Then why wouldn’t you want them to be in your future?”
It was a valid point, but traveling and fighting had many drawbacks, which had caused Evylin to question her dreams ever since they left Whickam Village. However, she thought the biggest reason not to include them in her future was potentially sitting right in front of her.
“Do you like traveling?” she asked.
Deckard pressed his lips together, revealing his displeasure with the question. He believed their conversation should focus on her rather than himself. However, he replied, “Sometimes.”
“Do you like fighting?”
“Not particularly.”
“Not even as a Mage?”
“Evie—”
“I’m curious.” She tightened her grip on his fingers. “And you said you’d help me.”
“How does this help?”
“Because I have no ideas, Jonn,” she lamented. “All I can think of is more of the same: asking the Alliance if they’d like us to run errands like this for them forever. But I don’t know if that’s truly what I want or if it’s just my lack of imagination.”
Deckard sighed, his eyes dropping to his lap. An air of frustration and conflict surrounded him. “Do you want help with ideas?”
Evylin angled toward him. “Do you have some?”
He nodded hesitantly. “A few.”
“Then, by all means, tell me.”
Deckard ran his hand along his jaw, staring across at the fire now. “There are several paths we could take. And all these ideas could be altered to fit whatever you’d like best.”
He cleared his throat. “Initially, we could follow your suggestion and ask to serve as their . . . errand runners, I suppose. This role might be open to interpretation, leading us to tackle a variety of tasks, which could bring a decent level of excitement and adventure. On the flip side, it might also become quite routine and tedious. There’s a possibility we’d end up acting more like diplomatic representatives for the nobles rather than engaging in anything truly thrilling. ”
Evylin had not thought of this possibility, and she now questioned how she had missed it. The likelihood seemed to favor the last option. Going from one noble to another to make sure they were fulfilling their duties and had all they required would be much more about politics than adventure.
“If you didn’t want to take that risk,” Deckard continued, “or simply wanted more than that position could offer . . . We could leave Allund.”
Evylin grinned dryly. “And go to that white beach in Audis?”