CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR #3
“Of loving you back.”
Simultaneous hope and despair rose in Deckard. If she feared loving him, didn’t that mean she felt she could love him? But what could cause someone to hold such a devastating fear?
The answer stood in front of Deckard as a ghost.
“She’s afraid of losing me.” The revelation breathed out of Deckard, washing over him like the rain of Wauld. “The same way she lost you and Ryen.”
Hewitt gave him a pitying look. “As I said, we never moved on.”
Understanding the dynamic at play made everything clearer.
Evylin’s actions—her intense withdrawal after Hewitt’s death—all made sense in this light.
Fear was an ever-constant reminder of what she stood to lose.
No wonder she’d pushed him away. If she felt for him a fraction of what he’d come to feel for her . . .
“The loss of me would be debilitating,” Deckard realized.
Hewitt understood. He stepped forward, gray eyes adamant. “You have to do what I never could, Deckard,” he charged. “You have to help her let go of the past. Otherwise, she’ll never be able to live.”
“How am I supposed to do that? If you couldn’t—”
“I didn’t try,” Hewitt admitted. “I didn’t want to let go. It’s too late for us to get back the last thirteen years of our lives, but it isn’t too late to protect her future. You have to help her move on.”
“I don’t know how,” Deckard said. “Not when she’s asked me to walk away.”
“It’s simple,” Hewitt said. “Don’t walk away.”
“Even when it’s what she wants?”
“It isn’t what she wants. It’s what she fears. She’s trying to prove to herself that she doesn’t need you, that she can bear being without you. Stay by her side. Once she realizes you aren’t going anywhere, she’ll let herself love you.”
Deckard grimaced. “That could be a bit of a problem,” he said, then took the time to walk Hewitt through the last several days. He told him everything from Dunneshead to the present, not bothering to leave anything out—not even their kiss.
Hewitt stroked his scraggly beard as he listened, deep in thought. “How long will you be apart?” he asked when Deckard’s summary was complete.
“Auden said our journeys will take roughly a fortnight.”
With a slow nod, Hewitt stared into the distance. “Mm. Good.”
“Good?” Deckard repeated incredulously.
“The distance will serve us,” Hewitt said as though solving a puzzle. “She’s getting a chance to experience life without you. She’ll see just how much she misses you, how lonely she is. It’ll lead her back to you.”
Deckard hated how hopeful the idea made him. “Are you sure?”
“Do you doubt my knowledge of my niece?”
“No,” he admitted.
Hewitt nodded. “This is just what we need. Two weeks. Yes, she’ll grow adequately miserable without you, but not so much that she forgets what it’s like to have you near.”
Deckard didn’t like how well Hewitt was taking the situation. “I still promised her an annulment,” he reminded him.
Hewitt waved a hand in dismissal. “It won’t come to that. Once she sees you again, she’ll practically leap into your arms.”
“What if she doesn’t?” Deckard asked, not as optimistic as the ghost. “What if she sees me, realizes her feelings, and still fears them? What if she requires me to stand by my promise?”
“Convince her not to.”
“Oh, I see. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Hewitt lifted his eyes to the Heavens. “What do you want me to say, Deckard? If she doesn’t figure it out on her own, then you’ll have to convince her. Unless you can find a way for me to talk to her, which doesn’t seem likely.”
Deckard ran a hand over his jaw. “Perhaps not,” he said hesitantly. “But . . .”
“But . . . ?”
As the idea sparked in his head, Deckard saw no harm in pursuing it. “Well, as of yet, I’m not a thoroughly trained Mage,” he said. “So I would think that certain aspects of my powers are underdeveloped. Such as the ability to summon a ghost.”
Hewitt lifted his brow, urging him to continue.
“If I had a better connection to Night magic,” Deckard said, “then I would imagine I could summon you more fully. Perhaps enough for someone else to see you.”
“I like that idea.”
“I thought you might.”
An expectant gleam lit Hewitt’s gray stare. “That’s our goal. You work to get stronger and find a way to make me visible to Evylin. If I can talk to her, I can help her.”
Deckard stared back toward the camp. He was running out of time. “Auden won’t help me with that,” he said. “He’s afraid of Night magic.”
“So get stronger with your other magic,” Hewitt suggested. “Surely, that will help.”
“Probably.”
Hewitt nodded in anticipation. “This is good, Deckard. For the next fortnight, train. Train hard. And when you see Evylin again, let me talk with her. Once she feels how happy she is to be back with you, she won’t ever let you go again.”
Though it sounded too good to be true, Deckard grasped onto the hope the plan offered with all he was worth. He had to believe that Hewitt was right.
A fortnight.
Deckard would train, he would practice, and he would hope.
He had two weeks to prepare. Two weeks to save his marriage.