CHAPTER EIGHT
Wauld had officially made Thom’s list of worst places to visit.
In his five years of being a soldier, he’d journeyed across the greater land of Ephria, finding only small settlement after small settlement.
That had made his life feel immeasurably less grand than he’d hoped.
How could such a vast world hold so little excitement?
But at least those towns and villages had pleasing scenery or semi-comfortable taverns to kick back in after a long day.
From his minimal experience, Wauld was one great rainforest filled with power-hungry Mages, greedy nobility, and suppressed countrymen.
In the gray dawn light, Thom leaned against a dew-damp oak, watching his brother and the Day Mage disappear into the fog clinging to the pines, hazels, and ferns surrounding them, on their way to the town.
His curiosity plucked at the jealousy that rested endlessly in his chest. Once again, Deckard got to go off and have an adventure while Thom sat back and babysat.
“Blacklion,” Rafferty said wistfully, sitting in the low fork of a hazel. “Bet there’s a pretty barmaid in that town just waiting for a weary traveler to brighten her day.”
“Well, you certainly are wearying,” Thom said.
Rafferty ignored him. “Neither the colonel nor the highlord is gonna put their time to good use.”
“One of them is married after all,” Evylin said with a smirk, the image of her old self.
“And the other is an impossible bore,” Ilain added.
Her dark skirt swirled as she spun to the low-burning fire in the camp.
They only risked the campfire because it would be hidden in the daylight, and they needed to boil fresh water for their journey.
“Now, we’ve got at least four hours without those two making things dull. What shall we do?”
“I have a pleasant diversion for us,” Evylin replied, voice chipper.
Thom eyed her, caught between worry and gratitude at her improved mood.
This sudden turnaround bothered him. She’d begun acting so carefree.
It was as though Hewitt had simply chosen to return to Whickam Village.
If that wasn’t concerning enough, she’d resumed flirting with Deckard again.
A sure sign that she was moving on far too quickly.
“What sort of diversion?” Rafferty asked, gray eyes sparkling with mischief.
Evylin tapped the hilt of her sword. “It’s been weeks since we’ve properly trained,” she explained. “Now that we’re in Wauld, that needs to change.”
Hunched against the oak, Thom frowned. “We just woke up,” he lamented. A large drop of rainwater from the leaves above took the opportunity to splatter the hood of his cloak, leaking down onto his nose.
He scowled up at the tree as Ilain laughed outrageously. “And,” he added, “where this forest isn’t covered in dangerous tangles of roots the size of Raff’s whole body, it’s slick with mud.”
“You’re a pansy,” Evylin said, then turned to Ethenn for support.
The young soldier sat at the fire, poking the embers with a stick. His tired expression showed even less excitement than Thom’s.
Evylin let out a disapproving hum. “Some soldiers you are.”
“We’ve defected,” Thom noted.
“You’re still soldiers,” she said. “Only for the Alliance, now.”
“Technically,” Ilain cut in, “the Alliance doesn’t have an army.” She sat beside Ethenn, and the boy glanced nervously at her from the corner of his eye. “It’s more of a militia.”
“So we’re militiamen,” Rafferty surmised.
“I suppose so. Though we do have officers.”
Evylin waved off the formality. “Either way—” She turned back to Thom and Ethenn. “We need to keep up our strength and skills. That means running every drill Hewitt taught us.”
Thom watched Evylin’s face, looking for any sign or flash of grief at her uncle’s name. He found none. Another sign that something was up. Even he felt a tremor of disappointment and loss at the thought of Hewitt.
Rafferty hopped up from the hazel. “I’m for it,” the weasel announced. “Not that I’m any more a fan of Hewitt’s exercise regimen now than before. That part’s downright torturous. It’s the sparring that interests me. I’ve been itching to duel for weeks.”
Evylin smiled, and Thom sighed. “All right,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Excellent!” Evylin moved toward the entrance to the camp. “There’s a reasonable clearing a few hundred feet that way. We can run our paces first and spar there afterward.”
“Shouldn’t someone stay with Highlady Calder?” Ethenn suggested.
Ilain brushed a dismissive hand through the air. “Nonsense,” she insisted. “I’ll be just fine with my sketchbook for company.”
“Besides,” Evylin added, “we’ll be within sight. We can even take breaks here at the fire.”
With the kid’s strange protectiveness of the highlady taken care of, Ethenn rose.
Under Evylin’s instructions, they gathered the two training swords they’d deemed to bring into Wauld and headed for the clearing. “We’ll start with a quick warm-up,” she said. “Then a quarter-mile jog before we go one-on-one.”
Thom nudged her arm. “Try not to wear us out before we get to the real work, eh, Evie?”
She held out her arms in a dramatic sweep. “Try not to be such a girl, Thom.”
Rafferty and Ethenn snickered.
The insult rankled at the edges of Thom’s ego, but he paid it no attention.
Of all the people in the world, Evylin was the only one who could insult him without damaging his pride.
He’d wondered at that peculiar phenomenon dozens of times.
He felt sure that her opinion of him should be the one that mattered most. Yet, he could always sense her regard for him in every jest and taunt.
No matter how flippant or blunt she was, she spoke with a fondness that he rarely heard from those in his life. And he loved her for it.
Still, the curiosity of her good humor kept his smile from fullness.
“How’s this, then?” he offered. “I challenge you first. And whoever strikes the first hit gets bragging rights for the day.”
“For the rest of the week,” Evylin countered, grinning ear to ear.
“You’re on.”
They wore through the first hour of their morning with the warm-up, run, and the first couple of bouts.
Much to his disappointment, no matter how unsurprising it was, Evylin landed the first hit in their duel.
They’d set up, her in her usual stance, perfected by Hewitt over more than a decade, and him in his still-improving one.
He was prouder of his swordplay these days, but going up against Evylin didn’t do much for a man’s confidence.
Rafferty had called the start of their bout, and Evylin feinted upward before slashing at his hands. The strike left his fingers stinging and his pride bruised.
She didn’t gloat too much, but Rafferty and Ethenn jeered at Thom from the sidelines.
“Ah, Thommy, what a shame!”
“It’s not much of a loss, though, is it?” Ethenn said.
“Whyever not, little Lox?”
The kid smirked. “When’s he ever had anything worth bragging about?”
Their baiting proved successful. Thom’s muscles tightened, and his jaw tensed. If he wasn’t so focused on holding his own against Evylin in the duel, he might’ve found the wit to make a retort. Instead, he put his frustrations into the spar, finding his movements more sloppy than usual.
Evylin knocked him off his feet, sending him sprawling in the mud. The men laughed even more vigorously at his demise.
Thom took Evylin’s offered hand, and she helped him up. “You can’t let them get to you like that,” she said, her voice low and her gaze knowing. “A level head is the key to winning any fight.”
“It’s not the only key,” he grumbled. He attempted to brush off his back but only covered his hand in mud. “Strength, skill, and magic help.”
Evylin raised her brow. “I wasn’t using magic.”
“You are magic,” he said, and he meant it. “Everyone else is a mere mortal compared to you.”
She breathed out an incredulous laugh. “And you say that Jonn’s dramatic.”
Thom held his tongue, backing away to give Ethenn his blade. Rafferty took Evylin’s spot, and she called the start for them. Then she stepped over to Thom’s side, where he was wiping the mud from his hand with the back of his cloak, draped over the branches of a rowan.
“What do you think it’s like?” she asked. He raised his brow, and she clarified, “The town.”
“Ah. Probably just as wet and muddy as the rest of this Allore-forsaken country.”
“You’re in a fine mood.”
He gave her one of his more cynical smirks. “When am I not?”
“That’s an excellent point. Is anything in particular the cause of this radiant countenance, or are you just feeling adequately hydrated?”
He snorted but didn’t feel the humor it held.
What caused his sour mood today? Yes, it could be the damp and the cold.
It could be the urge to get out of these perpetual forests.
A good night’s rest would likely offer improvement.
But then, his ill-tempered demeanor might be tied to the fact that his brother still had everything, while Thom had nothing.
Wiping the last remnant of dirt from between his fingers, Thom offered a half-felt grin. “Turns out I have a taste for waterlogged fowl.”
“Mm, yes.” Evylin leaned back against the tree, watching Ethenn lazily defend Rafferty’s wild attacks. “Waulden geese are quite the delicacy, aren’t they? I believe I caught a hint of loam in its flavor profile.”
Thom shook his head as she chuckled. He rested against the tree at her side, bumping her shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”
“What do you mean?”
He stared down at her, the dim forest turning her dark eyes a silty brown. He hesitated, seeing the joy they held. “Evie, I don’t want to upset you,” he murmured.
Evylin’s brow wrinkled, but her smile remained. “Are you going to tell me that you let me win?”
“This is what I’m talking about.” He gestured to her smile, then the rest of her relaxed demeanor. “You’re acting happy.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
He stared at her, incredulous.
A beat passed before Evylin sucked in an understanding breath. “Because of Hewitt.”