CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
It began to rain again.
The rambling hills of the moors gave way to the towering heights of the Vaulgan Mountains, a thick forest floor growing at their base.
Though the fauna wasn’t as large and overgrown as in northern Wauld, the trees grew taller and their gnarled roots wider.
The road narrowed as they continued, with fewer and fewer travelers taking their route as the days passed.
Ilain informed them that only the mines extended for miles along their path. The meager settlements near the mountain range were either mining or lumber camps. While on this leg of their journey, they wouldn’t have to worry about the writ.
“Few enough people who live in this county are literate,” Ilain said. “Fewer still bother with the throne’s laws.”
“Could we enter settlements here then?” Ethenn asked. “To restock our food and weapon supplies.”
Thom gave the young man a dubious look. “In what world do you need more weapons?”
“I’m out of arrows,” Ethenn said tersely. “I’ve mangled together some makeshift ones, but I don’t have any steel tips for them. They’re only good for training and menial hunting at best.”
While Evylin thought Ethenn’s idea was sound, Ilain shook her head. “Writ or no writ, it isn’t safe to enter the settlements,” she said.
“Why not?” Evylin asked.
“The Vaulgan people are suspicious and territorial,” Ilain explained. “Our mere presence will draw unwanted attention. Should we start making purchases of any size, our money will attract even greater notice. And I don’t care to be mugged.”
With that pronouncement, the idea was abandoned. Furthermore, Ilain suggested they adhere more strictly to staying together. Though it was unlikely, someone—or worse, a wolf pack—could stumble across their camp. “Best to be safe,” she said. “We should always have a companion.”
So when Evylin and Ethenn went out to hunt that evening, Thom stayed with Ilain.
After a week and a half of training, Evylin was finally able to put her archery skills to the test. She wasn’t as strong as Ethenn, so she struggled to draw the string as smoothly as him, but he let her practice with minimal coaching as they went through the trees in search of dinner.
Spring brought the return of furbearers and fowl alike.
Even with only the sharpened wooden tips of their arrows, she snagged several hares and a couple of grouse, enough to last them the next few days with Ilain’s magical preservation.
While Evylin retrieved and cleaned the arrow from her latest catch, Ethenn prepared to string it up with the others. “Evie,” he said, reluctance in his tone, “could I ask you something?”
Handing him the rabbit, Evylin raised her brow. “Depends on what it is, I suppose.”
“It has to do with being a Warrior.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “Well, in that case, of course.”
Ethenn took his time tying up the rabbit. His expression remained tight as he finished. “That feeling we get in a fight,” he began. “The rush.”
Evylin nodded to encourage him.
“Have you ever felt it while not in a fight?”
Instantly, Evylin blanched. She could feel her face fall as her mouth went dry.
Ethenn met her gaze, drawn by her silence. “You have, haven’t you?”
Evylin most certainly had. But she wasn’t interested in explaining it to Ethenn. With forced casualness, she shrugged. “Once or twice.”
“With Deckard,” Ethenn stated rather than questioned.
The blood that had seeped from her head moments ago came back in a heated rush. “That’s—”
“Because he’s a Mage,” Ethenn added, seeing her attempt to distort the truth.
Evylin just stared at him.
With a slow nod, Ethenn gestured to himself. “I feel it too,” he said, “with Ilain.”
That caused Evylin’s eyes to widen. She’d known—well, they’d all known of Ethenn’s infatuation, but she didn’t think that Ilain returned his regard. And she certainly hadn’t thought they’d been kissing.
At her surprised expression, Ethenn hurried to clarify, “It isn’t—I’m not comparing it to what you—it isn’t like Ilain and I . . .” He grimaced, his entire face pink.
With a heavy sigh, he tried again. “I didn’t realize it at first. But whenever we would touch—in passing or—or, you know, just in general—I would feel that spike of what I thought was nerves.
With our training, I’ve gotten more familiar with the feeling, and I’ve realized .
. . it’s magic that I feel around her. It’s drawing me to her. ”
Evylin had intimate knowledge of Ethenn’s experience. But she had no more explanation for it than he did. “From my understanding, it would happen between any Warrior and Mage,” she said, giving what excuse she could to belittle the feeling.
Ethenn accepted it readily. “It isn’t like I think fate has called Ilain and me together,” he said defensively. “She doesn’t want me, even though I am a Warrior. But . . . it makes me wonder: What is it like? Being with a Mage.”
Evylin’s hand flexed, instinctively wanting to tug on her rings. “Ethenn,” she said, slowly and cautiously. “It’s not like that between us. I already—”
“I don’t believe you,” he said brusquely.
Evylin gaped at him.
He stared back at her, expression resolute and serious. “What you said when we split—when you pretended not to love Deckard—” He shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
Chest tightening, Evylin clamped her jaw shut. “Your opinion doesn’t matter.”
Ethenn didn’t flinch at her harsh tone. He just kept staring at her with that calm, knowing look of his. “Maybe it should,” he said flatly. He flung their strung-up catch over the root of a tree, then faced her again, determination in his dark gaze.
Evylin flinched at his expression. With his distinct Estshire appearance, broad-shouldered, boyish features, and warmly tanned skin, he reminded her too much of the man Ryen might have become.
The obstinate tenacity of Ethenn’s gaze was too familiar, too similar to Hewitt and Ryen’s.
Not uncanny but alike enough to cause her heartbeat to falter.
Ethenn stepped forward, pointing to his chest. “I was there, Evie,” he said. “In Dunneshead. I helped save you, too, and I saw . . .” Heat curled up his neck once more. “Well, I saw enough.”
“It wasn’t real,” Evylin defended instinctively. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“Like hell.”
She clenched her teeth.
“You can’t convince me that you don’t love one another,” Ethenn said firmly. “Not after seeing that kiss.”
Evylin turned away, unable to hold his knowing stare. “You’re young, Ethenn. You don’t understand.”
“I understand just fine,” he shot back steadily. “I may be young, but I’m not as innocent as Raff and Thom like to pretend. I fought in an underground fighting ring, remember? You don’t think I encountered girls who found that attractive?”
Having never considered it, Evylin now realized he was right. Had she known about the fighting ring in Trollenston, she likely would have gone in search of it. As a young woman, she would have found a skilled young fighter like Ethenn immensely impressive—and attractive.
Ethenn gave her a flippant, if bashful, grin. “I’ve kissed my fair share of girls. Trust me, I know what it’s like to kiss for fun. And that’s not what you and Deckard were doing.”
Somewhere between amused, intrigued, and disturbed, Evylin pressed her fingers to her temple. “Why are we discussing this?” she asked irritably.
He gave her an equally frustrated frown. “Because I need to know if I’m doomed to a life of either unhappiness or destruction,” he said, a thread of desperation in his voice.
Evylin drew back, startled at the admission.
Ethenn threw his hands in the air, staring into the forest around them as if seeking direction. “I feel lost, Evie. When I was a boy, all I wanted was to be like my parents—to be a hunter, have a small home and a happy family, and never leave Trollenston. Then everything changed.”
He didn’t give an explanation, and Evylin didn’t think she should ask.
“I left the town because of choices I made,” he said matter-of-factly. “I told you before: I’m dangerous. My anger gets the better of me, and I lash out violently. I thought maybe if I left, it would get better.”
Ethenn’s face scrunched with something like disappointment.
“Now, I’m this. I’m a bloody Warrior—a living weapon, meant only to create death.
It makes sense in a cruel way—why I am the way I am.
” He let out an embittered laugh. “And it seems I’m doomed to two choices: I either accept that fate and find a Mage to marry or live a normal life with a normal woman who can’t make me happy. ”
Evylin frowned, not liking the conversation. “We aren’t destined for Mages, Ethenn. You can be happy with whomever you like.”
“Can I?” Ethenn asked bluntly. “Whatever you say, whatever lie you like to tell yourself, now that you’ve experienced what it feels like to be with Deckard, can you honestly imagine loving someone else?”
She couldn’t. But not for the reason he thought.
His lips curled in discontent. “Now that you’ve felt that rush,” he continued in a whisper. “Now that you know what it’s like to be fully alive . . . Can you truly believe you’d ever be happy with anything less?”
Evylin’s pulse thrummed in her ears. Ethenn’s panic, his fear, echoed her own.
She’d asked herself these very questions many times.
Could she live a life not as a Warrior but simply as a woman?
Could she forget how her senses heightened in the rush of a fight, making the world purer?
Could she be happy without Deckard? Was happiness even an option for her?
When she didn’t answer, Ethenn gave his own response. “I can’t.”
Caught in her indecision, Evylin ran a hand across her forehead. She didn’t know how Ethenn came to his conclusion, but she feared that if she followed her thoughts, she’d find the same one at the end. She didn’t want to feel that way.
To distract herself, Evylin latched onto Ethenn’s predicament. “You said you want to be insignificant. If you’re a Warrior, you can’t be.”
He nodded.