CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
For the first time in their marriage, Evylin awoke before Deckard.
She stared at him in the wan morning light, smiling softly to herself.
In the heat of summer, they slept with the windows open and the curtains drawn back.
A single sheet remained over their entangled limbs, aiding their cool temperature.
Impatient, Evylin wondered how Deckard could stand waking before her. He didn’t often linger in bed with her, but he must have gone mad with the boredom on the occasions that he did.
Still, she lay in his arms, studying his features. He looked older than when they’d first married. Not in any great way; he bore no more wrinkles or physical signs of aging than before. Rather, it was a weightiness to his features. A refinement that gave him a sense of responsibility.
It worried her. She was about to ask him to accept even more of that weight. Would he resent her for it?
Absentmindedly, Evylin began to trace the lines of freckles across his skin.
They were soft, almost indistinct in places, dotting his pale flesh intermittently.
There was one on his chest that she’d always thought looked like a star.
It made her smile, thinking he’d been marked by the Heavens from the start.
“Are you trying to tickle me?” Deckard muttered sleepily.
Evylin startled at his abrupt greeting. “No,” she said with amusement. His eyes were still closed, but the corner of his mouth was lifting in a grin. “I’m just bored, waiting for you to wake up.”
“I get the best sleep of my life,” he yawned, “and you decide to wake me because of your impatience?”
“Something like that.” Evylin leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She rolled farther on top of him, and he finally met her gaze. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he said warmly.
His arms tightened around her waist, and Evylin leaned her forehead on his. “Happy birthday.”
A slow, playful smile appeared on Deckard’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You remembered.”
“Just barely,” she admitted. “I had to write it down and have Thom remind me too.”
Deckard cupped her face in his hands, kissed her softly, and then leaned back, his entire being flooded with joy. “As I told you before,” he said tenderly. “I don’t care if you remember these kinds of things.”
“You also told me not to get you a gift. And I didn’t listen to that either.”
He frowned lightly then, and she sensed that his reprimand wasn’t sincere. He appreciated her thoughtfulness.
“Don’t get too excited,” she warned. “It isn’t quite so tangible as your gift to me.”
Deckard’s eyes narrowed in interest. “Oh?”
She nodded. “But I think we should sit up. You may not be able to unwrap it, but our current position could be somewhat distracting.”
A sly glint appeared in Deckard’s eyes as his hands slid lower down her back. “I wouldn’t mind being distracted.”
Evylin laughed and pulled away. “Quit that,” she commanded, quickly escaping his grasp to roll off the bed. “Or I’ll just have to keep your gift.”
“I thought that was my gift.”
Evylin rushed to their trunks with a huff and grabbed a tunic for each of them.
Although she enjoyed his teasing and their flirtations, this situation required more sobriety than their previous state of undress.
She tossed him the shirt and slipped on her own before climbing back onto the bed and crossing her legs.
Deckard didn’t argue; he simply followed her lead.
Leaning against the pillows and headboard, his demeanor revealed his easy mood.
The yellow morning light revealed more copper in his hair than usual, and his eyes sparkled with a bright blue.
He fiddled with his moonstone ring, which she had observed becoming more of an unconscious habit rather than a sign of anxiety.
His warm smile and cheerful demeanor were contagious.
Evylin grasped his hands. “Honestly,” she admitted, “I forgot to get you a gift.”
A soft, airy chuckle escaped Deckard.
“Now, I’m actually grateful I did. Because I believe this is the best option I could have discovered.”
He brought her hands to his lips, kissing the backs of them. “Whatever it is,” he vowed, “it will be the best gift I’ve ever received.”
“Well, let’s not put too much pressure on it,” she muttered.
Deckard lowered their hands to the bed between them, and she inhaled deeply. She met his eyes and said, “This is my gift to you: I am at your side, no matter what.”
A bemused pinch pulled Deckard’s brows together.
“Throughout my life, I’ve sought one thing: to see Ryen’s and my dream come to life.
I achieved that. Yet, over all that time, I’ve come to understand that it wasn’t enough.
I crave adventure, yes, but that isn’t all I want.
I also desire a home, security, and happiness.
I long for both adventure and normalcy, yet I know now that neither choice will ever be enough. ”
Evylin scooted closer. “Do you remember,” she said, “when we released Hewitt, and I asked him about—about his ‘more’?”
“I remember.” Deckard’s smile had vanished, leaving confusion heavy around him. “I can’t say I fully understood it, but I grasped the sentiment.”
“Well,” she said, lightly tracing her fingers along the back of his hand, “I always wanted to escape Whickam Village, convinced there had to be ‘more’ to life. I believed there was something grand out there that would make life truly worthwhile. Since childhood, I’ve thought that something was adventure, as Ryen and I imagined.
“But the moment I left, I recognized that the world mirrored my home. Each settlement felt identical; some were just bigger or smaller, but they all shared a commonality. I considered then that perhaps the world wasn’t as exciting as I expected.
Yet, I held out hope that genuine adventures were waiting for me. ”
She smiled. “Then we saved the prince, met Mages, fought a dragon, and . . . We had every adventure Ryen and I had planned—aside from becoming pirates, of course.” They shared a laugh before she self-derisively concluded, “And it was horrible.”
Deckard’s smile disappeared as she tightened her grip on his hands. “Death terrifies me, Jonn,” she confessed. “The thought of losing you, Thom, Ilain, Ethenn, Brea, Vayden, or anyone else is paralyzing. I hadn’t recognized before how significant the fear of death can be in adventure.”
Sympathy enveloped them as Deckard leaned closer. She sensed his desire to offer comfort, although he struggled to find the right words. That was fine with her; she already had plenty to express herself.
“Regardless of my fears,” Evylin held their hands tightly together, “I’ve realized one truth: I’m a Warrior. Though travel can be uneventful and adventure carries its price, my love for it endures. Deep down, a part of me will always yearn for more of it.”
Evylin paused, her face flushing and her throat going dry with the emotions swelling inside her. She focused on their hands for a moment, struggling to retrieve her courage and find her voice.
Meeting her husband’s affectionate gaze filled her with the strength she needed.
“With that in mind,” Evylin emphasized her words with strength and clarity, “I now understand that my past dreams aren’t sufficient.
They don’t truly enhance this world. If you told me right now that you wanted us to remain here in Aulton, working as clerks in this palace and never traveling again, I wouldn’t feel sad.
If you expressed a desire to return to Nettershire and take over your father’s farm, I would be happy to accompany you.
If you decided to move to gloomy West Allund and live in dismal Dunneshead, I would follow you there. ”
Although Deckard appeared apprehensive, they both laughed at the last one.
“I would do any of those things for you,” Evylin promised. “Because I finally know the answer.”
A heartbeat passed, and Deckard tilted his head to the side. “What answer?”
Evylin smiled at him, feeling perhaps lighter and happier than ever. “It’s you,” she said. “You’re my ‘more.’”
If Evylin ever doubted Deckard’s affection for her, the wonder and warmth in his gaze, along with the love and joy he felt at that moment, dispelled any uncertainty permanently.
Evylin found herself smiling brightly. “This world is so much richer with you by my side and far less vibrant when you’re not there.
” She continued with determination, “So I won’t decide our future.
I won’t choose who we become or what path we take because I trust that you’ll stand by me no matter what, regardless of your true feelings.
“I won’t allow you to endure a future less than you are,” she asserted. “I want your happiness to match mine. You deserve to be happy, Jonn, and to become the man you aspire to be.”
A brief flicker of fear glimmered in Deckard’s eyes. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know who that man is,” he said.
“Don’t you?” Evylin asked soothingly.
The breath he exhaled sounded labored. “Who do you want me to be?”
“I want you to be you.”
Deckard scoffed and shook his head. There was a certain level of exasperation around him, but she could tell it wasn’t aimed at her. Instead, it was directed at himself.
“Who do you want to be?” she asked.
Pulling one hand free, Deckard ran it along his jaw. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to say?”
That brought an edge of irritation toward her. Yet, it vanished instantly as he sighed, “I don’t want to admit it.”
“I know.”
“It’s . . . it’s not easy, you know,” he whispered. “Wanting to be like that.”
“Like Euon Sergus?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Like a legend?”
He winced. “That makes me sound like an egotistical maniac.”
Evylin brushed a hand over his cheek. “No,” she said, holding his gaze lovingly. “It makes you sound like Ryen and me.”