CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE #2
“Exactly,” Ilain said, exasperated. “He knew I wanted a Warrior. Yet, instead of informing me that he was one, he chose to wish me luck in finding one who loves me.”
“That’s because he—” Thom cringed at the sentiment, “loves you.”
“He thinks he loves me,” Ilain corrected. “Regardless, I rejected him. How can I expect him to accept me when I say, ‘I like you, Ethenn, and I think I could possibly come to love you, but only now that you’re a Warrior’?”
Thom stared down at his hands, plucking at the grass.
“Should I expect him to be happy when I tell him I’ve always liked him but not enough to sacrifice my future?” she asked weakly.
“I see your point.”
They fell silent, the mood settling heavily around them.
Thom’s eyes drifted to where Ethenn and Evylin stood on the moor. The light dimmed to bronze as they shifted, readying to return. He couldn’t understand what Ilain saw in the kid. Perhaps it was a Mage and Warrior thing.
The thought rankled. Thom didn’t like to think people with magic were drawn to one another that way—that they were made for each other. Not when he was busy trying to convince himself that Deckard was wrong for Evylin. Not when his hope was renewed with Evylin’s denouncement of their connection.
He knew it was wrong of him—hoping she would leave her husband. It didn’t matter that Evylin had proclaimed their marriage as a convenience. That didn’t mean it was any less lawful or any less binding. Surely, after all this time, they’d finally. . . .
Thom shoved the thought away, accepting the puzzle of Ilain’s predicament instead. She was right. Even if she told the unmitigated truth, she couldn’t expect Ethenn’s favorable response. If Thom were in his shoes, he’d take grand offense at being told, “I like you but not enough. . . .”
For the first time, Thom found himself sympathizing with the kid.
“It’s probably for the best,” he said lightly, attempting to cheer Ilain before the Warriors reached their camp. “He’s too young for you anyway.”
Ilain shoved his shoulder. “In the hundreds of years Warriors and Mages live,” she replied haughtily, “a twenty-year gap is nothing.”
“He could be your kid.”
“So could you.”
Thom raised his brow. “I’m not a candidate, though, am I?”
A sly tilt crept over her lips. “You were.”
His jaw dropped. “I was?”
“There was always a chance you were a Warrior, remember? Or even a Mage. I’m ever aware of opportunities.”
Thom found himself laughing. He swept up her hand dramatically. “You are one of a kind, Ilain Calder,” he said, then pressed a teasing kiss to her fingers.
Sharp eyes narrowing, Ilain gripped his hand before he could pull away. “And you, Thom Deckard,” she said mischievously, “have a surprisingly tender heart.”
Uncomfortable with her knowing stare, Thom tried to pull away, but she held fast to his fingers.
“One day,” she said, jade green gaze boring into him, “you’re going to meet a woman, and you won’t have to worry about whether she likes you better than your brother or not, because she’ll make it clear that you are the only one she could ever want. ”
Thom blinked, and his insides squirmed. She saw him too clearly, too fully. He feared that if she could read his deepest desires so easily, she might also be able to read his darkest thoughts.
But she released him with a smirk. “That woman is not me, by the way,” she said, turning toward the horizon. “I’d choose Jonn every time.”
Unbidden, a laugh burst out of Thom, stilted and uneasy. “Perhaps you’re right to do so,” he allowed, wanting to end the conversation.
Gratefully, Evylin and Ethenn arrived, saving him from Ilain.
While the four of them ate fish, barley, and dried fruit, Ilain kept up pleasant conversation by telling them ghost stories of the moors.
The evening shadows grew long, and eventually, the women retired to the tent while Thom and Ethenn sat up for their watch.
Neither of them spoke much, and Thom found his gaze regularly drifting toward the tent as Ilain’s words repeated in his head.
“She’ll make it clear that you are the only one she could ever want.”
Guiltily, Thom’s eyes locked on the shadowed form huddled under the canvas, cloak wrapped tightly around her. Evylin slept, and even from a distance, he could see a small shiver shaking her in the night chill. It was odd, seeing her without Deckard stretched at her side. The sight was encouraging.
Was that why she’d done it? Had Evylin denounced her marriage as a means of rejecting Deckard? Was there a chance she wasn’t stuck with him after all? Was she trying to tell Thom her true feelings—that he was the only one she could ever want?
No.
Thom closed his eyes, turning away from Evylin. Bile coated the back of his throat. He was foul. The wretched and traitorous thoughts burned in his gut. Why was he like this?
“You can’t be happy for anyone, can you?”
No, he couldn’t. Despite himself, despite how much he wished he could be different, Thom could never be happy for himself or anyone else.
Because while they all deserved happiness, he deserved misery.
While most people were good and honorable, he was envious and fickle.
He couldn’t be happy because he couldn’t be better.
That was the cruelest truth of them all. No matter how hard he tried, Thom could never measure up. No woman would want him because he could never be enough. He was destined to live in his brother’s shadow, wishing for eternity that he might prove worthy of love.