CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The rain let up on the way back to camp. Deckard removed his hood, grateful for the reprieve. Though his conversation with the ghost hadn’t entirely alleviated his worries, knowing that he was the real Hewitt, not simply a figment of imagination, gave him hope.
Still, a sprig of doubt lingered within his head.
When he thought he was only speaking to his subconscious, there was no real cause for alarm.
It was an odd coping method, perhaps, but everyone went a little mad when they grieved.
However, the revelation that Hewit was truly a ghost brought more questions with it.
Such as: How had Hewitt become a ghost in the first place?
And why was Deckard the only one who could see him?
Deckard had considered these things during their travel that day as he waited to visit Hewitt.
He supposed that if Day represented life, then Night, as its mirror, must represent death.
Perhaps Night magic held power over the souls of the dead, providing the opportunity to summon a ghost. The disturbing consideration led to a worrisome connection to Blount.
Yet, Deckard couldn’t imagine the answer lay with the Waulden prince either.
What reason could Blount have to bring Hewitt’s spirit back as a ghost?
Deckard thought to ask Auden or Ilain. Surely one of them would know these things. He didn’t doubt that magic had more implications on life than he could currently comprehend.
Yes, he would ask the Calders if they knew about ghosts in an offhanded manner so they wouldn’t be suspicious. After all, he still wasn’t sure why only he could see Hewitt, and he didn’t want Evylin to find out. Not when she had no way of seeing him too.
Laughter met Deckard as he neared the camp.
The troop’s disgruntled moods had evidently cleared away with the rain.
Sitting in the meager light of the forest, Rafferty regaled them with a story about a noblewoman who’d asked him to procure a rare, illegal fur stole of a Schonese mountain cat.
Evylin remained at his side, nibbling on the remains of her dinner.
Ilain perched on the fork of a hawthorn, braiding her long curls as Thom sat by her feet.
Auden scrubbed the pots, and Ethenn sharpened his knives, listening to Rafferty describing the chaotic process of securing the piece.
In their small camp, Deckard took the clearest, driest space he could find. He reached for the bowl of now lukewarm dinner left for him by the cold firepit. A slice of bread rested on the side.
Deckard picked it up. “Evie,” he interrupted.
Across from him, Rafferty paused, and Evylin looked up. Deckard tossed her the slice, and with her reflexes, she caught it easily. Their eyes held for a lingering second. Then he went back to his meal without a word.
“You have a nice walk, Colonel?” Rafferty asked.
“I did,” he said, scooping a spoonful of the barley and meat stew. “Please, return to your story.”
The weasel-like man grinned. “Nah, it was finished, more or less. There’re more interesting conversations to be had. Such as,” he raised his white-blond eyebrows, “where’d you go off to?”
Deckard raised his chin, unsure of the reason for Rafferty’s interest.
“Leave the poor man alone,” Ilain said, tying off the end of her braid. She smiled teasingly at Deckard. “Some people just don’t understand the need for solitude.”
“Since when have you liked solitude?” Thom asked.
“Oh, never,” she replied. “I’m just used to Auden.”
Her brother raised his head. “It helps one to think more clearly,” he said, then looked to Deckard. “Though I’m not sure it’s the wisest course to go out alone.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Deckard said, returning to his meal.
A beat of uncomfortable silence filled the camp before Rafferty nudged Evylin’s side. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“Here we go,” Thom said.
Ilain jabbed his side with the toe of her boot, though she chuckled.
Rafferty ignored them both. “With Eve’s discovery of the Relics’ ability to turn into a sword and all that, do you think they could turn into other weapons?”
Ethenn looked up, intrigued.
“Hm.” Auden pursed his lips in thought. “The Almanac of Elgur does depict them in various weapon forms. Though his writings are debated.”
“Because he was crazy,” Ilain muttered.
Auden sent her a disparaging look. “While I’ve not studied his work extensively,” he continued.
“He is one of the few ancient Mages whose works survive today. From what I understand, his experiments as a Time Mage were the foundation for passageways like the one we used to pass through the Day Keep into Night.”
“So that’s how that works?” Ethenn asked. “I was wondering.”
“It’s a combination of Time and Space magic,” Auden confirmed. “I’m not well-versed in either, so I couldn’t tell you exactly how it’s done. But it’s impressively detailed work, I can say that.”
“Anyway,” Rafferty drawled, “back to my question. Can the Relics turn into, say, a dagger? Or a bow? Maybe a hatchet. That could be fun.”
Auden shrugged. “I don’t know.”
A mischievous glint lit Rafferty’s silver eyes. “We could find out,” he said, the amethyst pendant of the Night Relic suddenly dangling from his hand. Its dull gemstone hung with no sign of the magic hidden within its core.
Immediately, Evylin met Deckard’s stare.
He could feel her fear across the camp. His instinct was anger with Rafferty for suggesting it in the first place.
The weasel knew of Evylin’s struggle with the Day Relic.
But then, Deckard realized, this was Night that the man offered.
The one Relic Evylin would have absolutely no interest in keeping.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Auden said.
“Necessary? No,” Rafferty said, making the Relic spin in the air. “Fun, yes.”
The highlord gave him an imperious glare. “Relics are not for fun. They are sacred artifacts from Allore’s own hand.”
Rafferty ignored him. “Colonel?”
Seeing the barest flicker of interest in Evylin’s expression, Deckard decided to take Hewitt’s advice and trust her to take care of herself. “I’m not the Warrior. Let Evylin decide.”
Rafferty swayed the Night Relic temptingly in front of her face. “What’ll it be, Eve?”
Evylin stared at the pendant, emotionless. Whatever thoughts were going through her mind, Deckard imagined they must be quite at war. It took several seconds before she jerked up from her seat, snagging the Relic as she stood.
An instant glow of deep violet light radiated from the Relic as it morphed into an elegant, curved short sword.
The blade appeared to be crafted from a vibrant purple metal, with the cross guard, hilt, and pommel all of a darker amethyst hue.
From his distance, Deckard couldn’t see all the fine detail, but he could tell that the weapon was far more intricate than any smith could design.
They all stared at it in awe, Evylin most reverently of all. She slashed up, slicing clean through the branch above Rafferty. Thin and primarily leafy, it crashed on his head with a gentle whoomp, causing them all to laugh.
Rafferty shoved the branch off, his wily grin wide. “Try another,” he said.
Evylin flicked her wrist, and the amethyst light of the short sword beamed brightly before shifting into a slender, metallic bow. Ethenn sat up straight, mouth ajar as gemstones shimmered in the bow’s limbs.
Thom sniggered. “I think Ethenn’s met the love of his life.”
“Unfortunately,” Rafferty quipped, “it’s unrequited.”
“Mm. Star-crossed lovers.” Thom clucked his tongue. “Devastating.”
Ethenn sent them both scathing glares.
Thoughtfully, Evylin ran her fingers along the bowstring. “I’ve never trained in archery,” she admitted. Then she gave Ethenn an apologetic look. “It feels like a waste.”
With a good-natured shrug, Ethenn tapped the fletching of the arrows beside him. “I’ll teach you,” he offered.
“She’ll be a quick study,” Ilain said. “Warriors are notoriously good with all weapons.”
Of that, Deckard had no doubt.
The bow beamed again, and Evylin returned it to its Relic form. The gem radiated with power as she handed it back to Rafferty. It went dull the moment it left her touch.
“Why do they do that?” Rafferty asked as Evylin sat beside him once more.
“Go dim?” Ilain said. “Because non-magical individuals can’t use them. Magic responds to magic. When a Relic senses a magical person, it lights up, connecting to their power.”
Rafferty held the necklace before him, frowning in thought. “But aren’t they magical storehouses or something? Shouldn’t that mean that non-magical people can use them too?”
Ilain smirked drolly. “You have to be magical to access magic. Just like you have to be a woman to be this stunningly beautiful.” She said the last while framing her face with a demure hand, batting her lashes dramatically.
Thom snorted, and she slapped the back of his head. “Ow! Yes, you’re stunning, and I’m constantly in awe,” he grumbled, rubbing the spot.
Eyeing the two of them, Deckard once again questioned their newfound flirtations.
He couldn’t decide whether or not he approved of the idea of their dalliance.
While Ilain was strong-willed and wild, she was also dedicated and clever.
He’d grown to appreciate the woman’s presence.
But he didn’t know if she’d do well for his brother.
Or—a more important matter—if his brother would do well for her.
“So,” Rafferty said contemplatively, “what you’re saying is that someone has to be magical to use a Relic.”
Ilain raised her brow. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“And,” he continued, “if someone is magical, then the Relic lights up all pretty-like when they hold it?”
A curious glimmer came into Ilain’s eyes. “Yes.”
Rafferty leaned forward, gaze locked with the woman. “Which follows, if a magical individual who didn’t know they were magical held the Relic, the Relic would inform them that they’re magical purely by the fact that it’s glowing. Yes?”
Deckard wasn’t sure he followed the convoluted question.