CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Their entrance into Sutterlund Reach was blessedly uneventful.
While Auden and Ilain worked together to shroud themselves and Evylin, entirely subverting the guards and slipping through the gate as quickly as possible, the Ephrian soldiers entered with Deckard and the documents from the Alliance.
It was clear the writ had done its job. The guards stopped what few individuals were traveling into the Reach, inspecting them heavily before allowing them passage.
Given Deckard’s Waulden appearance and acting skills, Thom’s resemblance to his brother, and Rafferty’s light coloring, they were able to play off Ethenn’s obviously Ephrian heritage without trouble.
After a brief search of their persons and horses (and claiming that the extra three were meant to keep fresh mounts for their journey), the guards readily allowed them to pass through.
It took the rest of the day for them to reach the approximate location of the Wind Keep.
Near the ocean, as all the Keeps were, they relied on Ilain to guide them when they approached the rocky seaside, her strength not as weakened as her brothers after the shroud.
Determined not to allow Blount’s Mages to ambush them as they had at the Night Keep, the majority of the troop set up camp while Ethenn went with Ilain to seek out the exact location, ensuring a stealthy approach.
In the bright dawn, Deckard set forth their plan.
While Auden and Ilain trained him, Ethenn would lead Thom, Evylin, and Rafferty to the Keep, where the four soldiers would spend the day searching the area to ensure no Mages were camping thereabouts, waiting for their arrival.
Though Deckard was remiss in staying behind, none of them questioned the value of his continued training.
Not after Dunneshead. Not when they were about to risk their lives in the Wind Keep.
Thom didn’t know what to think of his brother’s newfound power.
At first, he’d been jealous, naturally. It turned out that Deckard wasn’t just favored among people; he was favored by magic—by Allore himself, if the Calders were to be believed.
It felt like a slight to Thom. One more failing of his to prove he could never measure up.
But the more Thom watched Deckard training, and the more he learned about magic, the more he realized that perhaps this wasn’t the blessing the Calders touted.
Ethenn had regaled Thom and Rafferty with the story of Dunneshead the previous day. Though Auden and Ilain made it clear that Night magic could be dangerous, Ethenn’s story made it even more evident to Thom. Whatever kind of Mage Deckard was, the magic was changing him.
And that scared Thom more than he cared to admit.
He crouched in the tall marram grass, surveying the coastline.
He scanned the dunes and cliffs. The only signs of life were the small blue-beaked seabirds skittering across the variegated black and gray sand.
He’d never seen them before, and he wondered at the Waulden fowl.
There was a significant difference between the two countries, despite sharing the same continent.
Once they’d arrived in near proximity to the Keep’s entrance, the Ephrians decided to split up to cover more ground.
Ethenn and Rafferty took the north while Evylin and Thom went south.
With the sea to the east, the two teams would work their way back west and meet at dusk before returning to the camp.
“I don’t think there are any Mages out here,” Thom muttered to Evylin.
At his side, Evylin’s keen gaze swept over the shore.
He wondered how much more her Warrior eyes saw than he did.
Would she have to tap into her magic, or did she naturally have better vision?
Or were they one and the same? According to Ilain, magic was a natural part of being a Warrior.
To use it was to breathe, even if one didn’t realize he or she had the gift.
Evylin swatted a panicle of the beachgrass away from her face. “We’ve only been searching for an hour,” she replied, tone more tense than usual. “Have you grown bored already?”
Thom eyed her cautiously. He knew she was trying to remain her playful, teasing self.
But since returning from Dunneshead, she’d been on edge.
The nearly constant sense of depression was gone from her, replaced with an agitated atmosphere that made even her smiles pull taut.
He couldn’t decide whether it was better or worse.
He hated to see her in any distress, but was it better that she remain in grief or grab hold of this anxious unease?
“I’m always bored,” Thom said, deciding that ignoring her ill mood would be the best course of action. “It’s what makes me so foul-tempered all the time.”
“Ilain doesn’t seem to mind,” she noted.
Thom snorted derisively, disappointed that she didn’t sound the least bit resentful. “Ilain prefers me when I’m surly. It’s why she constantly torments me.”
Evylin turned to him, eyebrows raised. “You seem to enjoy her tormenting.”
He met her smirk with a frown. “Don’t go matchmaking, Evie,” he said sourly. “You’re no good at it.”
“I’m not the one flirting with the highlady every second I get,” she said, then stood. “Come on. There’s nothing here.”
As they continued up the shore, careful to remain inconspicuous and out of sight, Thom wondered if he should correct Evylin’s presumptions.
He might be a wretch for loving his brother’s wife, but he wasn’t abominable enough to do anything about it.
He’d never told Evylin of his feelings, never even hinted at them, because whatever else he was, he wasn’t unprincipled enough to have an affair with his sister-in-law.
While that didn’t stop him from wishing, it did keep his mouth firmly shut.
And thus, Thom didn’t know how to make it clear that his flirtations with Ilain were strictly entertainment.
Yes, the Mage was beautiful and clever, but despite coming to discover that he rather liked the woman, Thom was more certain now than ever that he could never want her in that way.
She was attractive, but he wasn’t attracted to her.
But how did a man explain that to the woman he was attracted to—the woman he did want?
Guilt spiked through Thom. He shouldn’t think that way. It was only himself that he was hurting by harboring these secret feelings.
Deckard was right—Evylin wasn’t Thom’s wife. And she never could be. These thoughts, these desires—they could only ever hurt him. The best he could hope for with Evylin was friendship. Unless . . .
Thom grimaced as his darkest thoughts surfaced: He could only hope for friendship with Evylin unless Deckard died, leaving her a widow free to pursue true love elsewhere.
Fear and remorse writhed in Thom’s stomach. He hated those thoughts. They always made him feel like the basest, most deplorable sort of man. How could he even consider it? He didn’t wish his brother dead. Whatever bitterness he held toward Deckard, he loved him. The idea of losing him. . . .
Gritting his teeth, Thom followed Evylin into the thin stand of trees near the beachside.
They patrolled the area, looking for any signs of a camp or hiding places.
Distractedly, he studied her nearly as much as the world around them.
She moved rigidly, though still with her innate athleticism and grace.
But he could see in the tightness of her shoulders that something was bothering her.
He had little question as to its cause.
“Evie,” Thom said, keeping his voice low, “can I talk to you about something?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “We are attempting to move with stealth, Thom,” she said in a snarky tone, though that hint of anxiety remained.
Gently, he grabbed her arm. “Then we’ll stop for a moment.”
Evylin narrowed her gaze, but she halted with him. “Must be rather important.”
“It is.”
When she motioned for him to continue, Thom sighed. “I’m worried,” he admitted. “Ethenn told Raff and me everything. About Dunneshead, I mean.”
Evylin shifted from one foot to the other. “Everything?” she repeated nervously.
Thom nodded. “He said—” He swallowed down his discomfort. “He said that Jonn killed a dozen men, showing no remorse until after it was all over. He said that you three even burned the tavern down to cover the evidence.”
As he paused to consider the crimes, Evylin chewed on her bottom lip, waiting for him to go on.
He shook his head, unable to reconcile any of the behavior with his brother’s character. “That doesn’t sound like Jonn,” he concluded.
With a curious expression, Evylin regarded him as though expecting him to say more. Once she realized he had nothing more to add, to his surprise, she visibly relaxed. “Oh. No,” she said. “No, it doesn’t. And I don’t think it was.”
Thom furrowed his brow. “But—”
“I mean, yes, he was doing those things,” she corrected. “But it wasn’t him. It was the magic—Night—affecting him.”
“Doesn’t that worry you?” he asked.
Evylin drew in a long breath, then said, “Yes.”
“It worries me too,” Thom admitted, a tremor going through his chest. “And what Auden said about the madness—the Deep . . . I’m not ashamed to say it, Evie. I’m frightened.”
Evylin’s eyes widened as she listened.
“What if Jonn goes mad?” Thom scrubbed a hand over his face and ran it into his hair. “That’s what’s bothering you, too, isn’t it? The two of us know Jonn better than anyone else in our camp. While his behavior concerns them, we know: This isn’t him.”
Evylin turned away to pace.
Thom asked the question that plagued him most of all. “What if the Deep is already taking root?”
“It’s not,” she insisted. Her immediate defense spoke to her mutual fear.
“Are you sure?” He followed her, cutting off her pacing to meet her gaze. “If what Ethenn said is true, then this magic has already begun to make him ruthless and violent. Those are two words I would never have used to describe my brother.”
“No, you describe him as selfish,” she returned sharply.