CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Deckard considered himself to be strong and sure, unshakable in the face of adversity or trouble.
He prided himself on refusing to give in to fear.
From childhood, he strove to emulate heroes like Euon Sergus, men who saw beyond themselves and pressed forward, regardless of the emotions that might rage inside their hearts.
But as Evylin walked away, Deckard recognized his weakness. He was frail—a man broken and devoid of hope in the wake of rejection from the woman he loved.
Deckard kept his eyes set on the forest floor as Evylin left the clearing.
He watched each step of her boots, flecked with mud and the gore of fallen Mages.
His heart lurched, remembering his part in those deaths.
Still, his hand twitched as she passed him, urging him to reach out and stop her.
Could he convince her to give him another chance to be the husband she deserved?
Should he try? Or would seeking to fulfill his own unrequited affection refute the love he claimed to hold?
Once he was confident in Evylin’s departure, Deckard succumbed to his brokenness. Falling to his knees, he dropped his head in his hands. Tears blurred his vision. Isolated as he was, he let them fall readily.
For the past three months, he’d done all he knew to earn Evylin’s trust—to earn her love.
He gave every part of himself to their marriage.
From the moment he met her in Whickam Village, he’d liked her.
He’d appreciated her wit and candor, her joy only slightly tainted by her cynicism.
She was intelligent and beautiful, friendly and sincere.
Everything good, everything desirable. It hadn’t been difficult for him to make his wedding vows.
Even after three days of knowing her, he’d been ready to pledge his loyalty.
They’d labeled it a marriage for their mutual benefit. Yes, Deckard supposed that was true. Yet, despite losing the bet, he’d always believed he’d come out the unintended victor in the exchange. She was meant to have won. All the while, he was granted the wife of his dreams.
Perhaps that was why he’d tried so hard to be the perfect husband.
From the start, he was ready to love her.
Since he was the one who lost the bet, he felt he should pay recompense.
So he spent the last three months striving to prove his love, to make her feel she truly had come out on top.
He’d attempted to demonstrate his love—her prize—through silly means like her wedding ring and new clothing.
He’d taken her to Wayford and the lake at Banbury, giving her measly adventures when he couldn’t give her grand ones.
He’d left notes in his absence each morning.
In everything, he’d endeavored to put her first and assure her of his care.
For three months, Deckard had poured his heart and soul into their marriage. Three full months, as of yesterday.
Did she even recognize the date? he wondered. She hadn’t remembered when they’d been married a month. Why should she remember it now? Did she know the date of their marriage at all?
The weight of disappointment slammed into Deckard. He’d been warned of this outcome, first by Lawton and then by Hewitt.
“Don’t fall in love with her before she falls in love with you.”
“Don’t pledge your undying love and loyalty to her.”
Perhaps it was his desire to love her that drove her away. Within all his caring and devotion, she’d felt manipulated rather than cherished. Now, he’d lost her. Good and truly lost her.
What was he going to tell Hewitt?
Deckard stared into the morning fog. He hadn’t spoken with the man in days. This was his first opportunity to be alone. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to summon the ghost. How could he admit this failure? Hewitt would never forgive him.
It was his fault, yet another failure. He’d pushed his affection upon Evylin through tokens and deeds, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d become a monster of Night magic’s design, all in the name of protecting her. No wonder she’d rejected him. He wasn’t worthy of her love.
Deckard ran his fingers through his sweat-and-rain-soaked hair.
He steeled his heart against further pain, having allowed himself to wallow long enough.
A frigid chill hollowed out his bones, numbing his heart and mind.
Yet, despite the iciness overtaking him, the barest trace of warmth crept up his spine, as though magic itself was attempting to comfort him.
He shrugged it off, rising. He wiped the mud from his trousers, straightened his coat, and attempted to tame his unruly hair.
Though his tears had dried, there was no helping if his eyes had grown puffy or red.
If they saw his misery, so be it. The morning was growing late, and they needed to get moving.
The moment to part with his wife had come.
Deckard returned to the camp, finding Auden at his sister’s side while the Ephrians huddled together.
Evylin and the three soldiers spoke quietly, likely discussing how to split the parties.
She didn’t look in his direction when he stepped through the trees, nodding at something Thom said instead.
No signs of regret or discomfort marred her expression.
She carried herself with the same confidence and ease as ever.
Perhaps if he were more impassive—strong and resolute like Hewitt—she would have loved him then. Fighting off a wave of instability, Deckard cast his eyes away from her, moving for Auden. He crouched next to the man and his sleeping sister.
Auden gave him an appraising glance. “Just saying goodbye,” he said softly. He held Ilain’s hand, her fingers limp in his. “It’ll be weeks before I see her again. We’ve been apart for that long before, but it’s been rare. In all our forty-some years, we’ve spent almost every day together.”
Deckard furrowed his brow, realizing for the first time that the Calders were a decade older than his thirty-two years. He ignored his curiosity in the seriousness of the moment. He patted Auden’s arm encouragingly.
“What Evylin said before . . .” Auden eyed him warily. “Is it true?”
Deckard avoided grinding his teeth and said, “It is.”
“Your marriage isn’t real?”
“Legally, yes.”
“But not practically.”
Deckard dipped his chin in acknowledgment.
Auden sighed and set his sister’s hand gently on the blanket beside her. “I still don’t like splitting you,” he said. “Whether or not you’ll admit it, you’re stronger together.”
It wasn’t Deckard who didn’t want to admit it.
When he said nothing, Auden continued, “It will be you and I going now,” he explained, then tipped his head in the direction of the Ephrians. “They’re deciding who we’ll take with us—Thom or Rafferty.”
With a nod, Deckard rose. “Rafferty,” he called.
The soldiers stopped talking. Evylin kept her gaze averted.
“Colonel?” Rafferty said.
Deckard moved for the horses. “You’ll be coming with Auden and me,” he said. “We need your skills with stealth and tracking.”
Rafferty grimaced, then turned to the others. “Guess someone had to be stuck with the short end of the stick,” he muttered.
Deckard didn’t take offense. “Give the Night and Fire Relics to Thom, then we’ll leave.”
Auden watched the exchange keenly but didn’t object to the command.
While Rafferty dug the Relics from his coat, Deckard called Ethenn to join him. The young man hurried over, his dark eyes alert and his expression pulled down. “Yes, sir?” he asked.
“I have a job for you,” Deckard said, dropping his voice to keep the conversation private. He began to secure his saddlebags as he spoke. “I made a promise to Hewitt to protect Evylin, no matter the cost. Since I can’t be with her, I’m asking you to do that for me. Will you?”
Ethenn’s thick brows furrowed, but he nodded. “Of course.”
“Good.” He glanced over his shoulder, catching the way Thom stood a little too close to Evylin’s side.
Following his stare, Ethenn’s jaw tightened. “Regardless of what Evie said, sir?” he turned and met Deckard’s gaze, “I know it was a lie.” Ethenn nudged his chin in the direction of Evylin and Thom. “And I’ll protect her from that too.”
A flare of anger tightened Deckard’s expression.
Whatever Ethenn meant by that, whatever he knew about Thom’s intentions, Deckard pushed away his jealousy.
“I have another task for you,” he said, then reached into the saddlebag.
He held out the small leather pouch. “Evylin’s birthday is tomorrow. I’d like you to give this to her.”
Ethenn took the gift reverently. “Yes, sir.”
Seeing the eager obedience of the young man, Deckard hesitated.
At first, he’d judged Ethenn’s stoicism and reserved demeanor to be due to youth or insecurity.
Over the last three months, he’d begun to perceive the truth.
He remembered Thom telling him once that Ethenn was like a long match.
Once it burned up, it could become painfully dangerous.
Deckard had come to learn that Ethenn’s quietness wasn’t a lack of assertiveness or a display of self-doubt. It was a means of control, a way of keeping the fire inside safely contained. In reality, he was as fierce and passionate as the rest of them. He was simply better at hiding it.
“One last thing,” Deckard said, and set a hand on Ethenn’s shoulder. “Don’t lose control. Thom will test you. Evylin will push you. And Ilain . . .”
He paused, and Ethenn shifted uncomfortably.
Deckard let out a small scoff. He slapped Ethenn’s arm lightheartedly. “Well, she’ll be herself, which is a challenge for a man without your regard. Try not to let her get the best of you.”
“Sir, respectfully,” Ethenn straightened his shoulders, that hidden determination tightening his features, “I’m not a boy. You’ve given me a job. Trust me to do it.”
A smile worked across Deckard’s face. He felt oddly proud of the young man. “I do,” he said.
Auden joined them then. “Are we ready?” he asked.
“Nearly,” Deckard said. “Just let me say my goodbyes.”
“Of course,” Auden said. “I’ll come with you.”
Ethenn excused himself to store Evylin’s gift as they joined the others.
Deckard forced himself not to stare at his wife as they approached. He gave her a singular glance before addressing Thom and Rafferty. “It’s time for us to go,” he said.
Thom made the first move, stepping over to pull Deckard into an embrace. “Be careful,” he said, a tension in his voice that Deckard knew all too well. It was the same tone he used when apologizing after a fight. The same one that said he knew he was wrong, but he wasn’t sorry regardless.
Despite his suspicions of Thom’s motives, Deckard returned the hug. He loved his brother no matter the strain between them. “I will,” he said, then pulled away. “You do the same.”
Auden said a quick farewell to each of them before Ethenn arrived.
Rafferty sighed. “Farewell, kid,” he said to the hunter. “You’re about to have far more fun than I will.” He turned to Evylin and swept her into a hug. “Don’t forget me.”
Evylin chuckled. “Never.”
“Thommy,” Rafferty said with a salute to his friend, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
“There won’t be much I can’t do then,” Thom replied with a slap on the weasel’s back.
Rafferty stopped and lifted a finger to point directly at Thom’s nose. “I’m not joking,” he said, with deadly seriousness. “Keep it in line.”
“All right,” Thom said, holding up his hands. “Geez, what’s wrong with you?”
Rafferty rolled his eyes, then smacked Thom lightly on the cheek. “I’ll miss you, you idiot,” he said, smirking.
Seeing the farewells coming to an end, Deckard gave Ethenn a nod. “Take care,” he said, then turned to Evylin.
Not one part of Deckard was ready for what he had to do next.
He met Evylin’s dark eyes. She shifted from foot to foot, struggling to hold his gaze.
Her arms were crossed, shielding herself.
The uncertainty between them was palpable.
How did he say goodbye to her? Nothing seemed right anymore.
He longed to take her in his arms for one last embrace.
He wanted to plead with her, begging her to reconsider.
His whole being urged him to disregard all her words in the forest and kiss her for what might be the final time.
Deckard took a step closer.
Evylin flinched. “Have a good trip,” she said, lips turned up in a feigned smile.
An unamused chuckle escaped Deckard; even to him, the laugh sounded embittered. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t good enough, wishing him well as if he were going on holiday. After everything, he deserved more than that from her.
Emboldened by her indifference, Deckard had nothing left to lose.
He reached across the distance to cup her cheek.
As his fingers brushed her warm skin, she tensed.
He let himself give her a sad smile, showing how deeply her distrust hurt him.
Her expression showed reluctance and even fear, but she didn’t pull away.
Deckard drew his finger along her jaw, across the rigid cuts left by Wind magic, and up to tuck the wild strands of hair behind her ear. Did he dare press his luck? The pad of his thumb grazed her cheekbone. Would he anger her if he stole a kiss? Did he care?
Retaining control of his senses, he let his hand fall away. Deckard stepped back. “Goodbye, Evylin,” he whispered.
He didn’t wait for her to respond; he wanted to relieve her of that difficulty.
Instead, he turned and walked away, refusing to look back.
He stuck his foot in the stirrup of his saddle and swung onto his horse.
Auden and Rafferty joined him. They guided their horses away from camp.
And all the while, Deckard kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, even as he left his heart behind.