CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR #2
The innuendo wasn’t lost on Deckard.
In typical circumstances, Deckard would have told the man to mind his own business.
Discussing the condition of his and Evylin’s marriage wasn’t a topic he cared to broach with anyone but those he trusted most. Namely, Hewitt.
Examining the state of his and Evylin’s intimate relationship was even less welcome.
However, Deckard recognized the opportunity for what it was.
Slowly, Deckard raised his eyes from the branch and met Rafferty’s expectant, silvery gaze. The moment was exactly what he’d been hoping for when he suggested they hunt together. He could use the man’s curiosity, indecorous as it might be, to his advantage.
“I’ll tell you what,” Deckard said, keeping his voice steady to belie the anticipation within him. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“Oh, yeah?” Rafferty asked, a gleam in those cunning eyes.
Deckard gave him a firm nod. “There’s something I need to do that involves magic Auden wouldn’t approve of. In exchange for your blind eye and silence, I will answer one question.”
A wicked grin lifted the corner of Rafferty’s mouth. “Our colonel has some Night business to attend to, eh?”
“Is that your question?”
Rafferty raised a finger. “One question seems stingy, by my reckoning. Highlord Calder said Night magic could be dangerous to you and the rest of us. Said it could lead to madness. No, no. I couldn’t turn a blind eye to such potentially perilous behavior .
. . Not for anything less than five questions, with honest answers. ”
Deckard anticipated the bartering. “Two questions.”
“Make it three,” Rafferty held out a hand, “and you’ve got a deal.”
Deckard accepted the handshake. “Deal.”
Rafferty’s smirk was downright malicious. “You and Evie never had sex?”
“Really?” Deckard replied, unsurprised. “That’s the best question you can think to ask?”
“Consider me fascinated.”
“I’ll consider you debauched.”
Rafferty shrugged.
Deckard scoffed. “No, we haven’t.”
“Holy hell!” Rafferty’s face screwed up in disbelief.
“What’s wrong with you? Don’t answer—that’s not one of my questions.
Why not? That’s not a real question either.
Allore’s might, man! I’ve seen how she is with you, all flirtations and cuddles.
How have you not lost your damn mind sleeping next to her? Don’t answer that either.”
“Do you have a real question for me?” Deckard asked, irritated.
Rafferty tapped a finger to his nose, considering. “Not yet. I need some time to think on it.”
Deckard pushed himself up. “Enjoy your thinking. I’ll meet you back here in half an hour. Don’t follow me.”
Sly grin back in place, Rafferty waved him off. “Don’t worry, Colonel. I won’t risk losing my questions. Because, believe me, I’m not holding back for want of them.”
Deckard had no doubt.
Leaving the weasel to ponder whatever hierarchy of inquiries he might have, Deckard moved deeper into the trees.
Part of him worried about his sanity, entertaining Rafferty’s curiosities this way.
Though his time as a soldier had exposed him to indecent and often explicit conversations of his comrades’ intimate relations, he’d retained his sensibilities.
Such affairs should be between a man and his wife, he believed.
Granted, in this situation, such affairs were nonexistent between Deckard and his wife. So perhaps the point was moot.
Once Deckard had placed an adequate distance between himself and Rafferty, he summoned Hewitt.
The ghost materialized, grizzled and glowering as ever. “What took you so long?” he demanded.
Deckard opened his mouth, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. So much had happened in the six days since he’d last spoken with Hewitt. How did he explain it all? He didn’t want to relive it.
“I messed up,” Deckard admitted at last.
Hewitt’s steely gaze narrowed.
A brutal sigh worked out of Deckard’s lungs. “It’s over. Evylin’s asked for an annulment.”
Still, Hewitt stared at him, unresponsive.
Deckard shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, I—”
“She asked for an annulment,” Hewitt said, each word slow and measured. He held up a hand, furrowed his brow, and cocked his head. “She asked for an annulment?”
Deckard nodded.
“Tell me you weren’t stupid enough to give her one.”
“Well . . .” Deckard hesitated. He’d expected Hewitt to be angry, to rail and yell and call Deckard a fool. He hadn’t expected this flat, contained inquiry. “No, technically not yet. We’re still in Wauld, but—”
Hewitt cut him off. “Good. Keep it that way.”
“What?”
“I don’t give a damn what she asked for,” Hewitt said fiercely, the anger Deckard anticipated creeping into his tone. “Don’t give it to her.”
Deckard pinched the bridge of his nose. This discussion was never going to be easy, but he didn’t want to try convincing Hewitt of his reasons.
“I already promised her that I would,” Deckard said. “I can’t go back on my word.”
Hewitt scoffed. “You promised to prize and serve her, to stand by her side through all that life may send,” he said, quoting the marriage ceremony of Ephria. “A never-ending promise. Will you go back on that word of yours?”
“That’s not what this is,” Deckard argued. “She’s asking me to annul the marriage. Once it’s complete, those vows are void, as though we never said them in the first place, because we never sealed them. That promise was never fully assured.”
“Because you were too scared to assure it,” Hewitt said accusingly.
Deckard dipped his head, aggrieved by the man’s derisive tone. “Is it wrong that I desired love between us first?” he asked.
“No,” Hewitt said, the deep rumble of his voice surprisingly soothing. “It was wrong of you to assume that she didn’t love you.”
An ache filled Deckard with the deepest longing for Hewitt’s words to be right. He wished with the most fervent desire that Evylin had come to love him. If she did, he thought he could topple the Waulden and Ephrian monarchies himself if it would make her happy.
“You can’t make me happy.”
A body-shaking sigh slipped out of him. “I told her that I love her,” he whispered.
Hewitt curled his hands into fists but didn’t speak.
“I know you told me not to,” Deckard said. “But she’d already made her decision, and I . . .”
“You thought it might change her mind,” Hewitt concluded when he fell silent.
Deckard nodded.
“And it didn’t.” It wasn’t a question. Hewitt knew his niece well enough to know that Deckard’s love would only drive her farther away.
“Why is she like this?” Deckard asked, despondent. “Why can’t she accept love as a gift? Why does she feel it to be a burden?”
“I told you,” Hewitt gave him a bitter smile, “she’s afraid.”
“Of me?” Deckard couldn’t fathom the concept.