CHAPTER FORTY
A restless energy settled over Evylin when she woke that morning. Tomorrow, they would cross the border into Vaura Reach. Two days after that, they’d reunite with their team and head for the Time Keep.
Evylin’s breath caught alongside her thoughts every time they drifted to the impending future. Three days. Only three more days until she saw him.
Her stomach churned. What would that reunion look like?
Would Deckard be glad to see her? Or in the two weeks they’d been apart, would his heart have hardened from her rejection?
Moreover, how would she react to him? Despite her lackluster farewell, her body and mind constantly betrayed her in their time apart.
She ached for his presence in a way she never thought she could.
Would she be able to hold strong to her convictions?
Or would she be so desperate for his embrace that she abandoned all her scruples?
Evylin’s ruminations bound her like the sellswords in Dunneshead.
As distracted as the thoughts made her, she could hardly carry on a conversation.
Her companions noticed, likely presuming it to be her usual distaste for mornings, and they left her to her introspection once they were on the road.
She didn’t know whether to feel grateful for or irritated by her solitude.
The uncontrolled thoughts frightened her, stirring up feelings she wasn’t ready to face.
Eventually, Evylin forced herself to join the chatter.
The past two weeks had taught her all she needed to know: She was too attached to Deckard.
Her present thoughts were proof enough. If she felt this much for him already, she couldn’t return to the relationship they’d previously shared.
She could no longer entertain yearning and wistful thoughts about their reunion.
What came in three days would come. For now, she needed to shore up her resolve.
They rode through the final descent of the mountain pass into the thick forest on the outskirts of Vaura Reach.
In the distance, the stone wall of the border stretched like a belt, weaving in and out of the trees.
They only saw glimpses of it as they journeyed deeper into the forest. Nearing the northwestern parts of Wauld, the foliage grew thicker once more.
As a band of four, it seemed their plan to split their party had done its job.
They’d passed many travelers through the moors and a handful of others through the mountain pass, and yet they hadn’t encountered a single obstacle.
Evylin wondered how Deckard, Rafferty, and Auden had fared.
Was their journey as fortuitous? Then she feared they hadn’t made it at all.
The thought prompted Evylin to turn to Ilain. “Do you think the others have made it to their destination yet?” she asked as casually as she could.
Ilain either didn’t recognize her anxiety or she chose to ignore it. “No. Though they should only be a day or so away by now.”
Thom readily jumped into the conversation. “So you think they crossed the border already?” he asked, his tone reflecting nearly as much agitation as Evylin felt.
“Oh, yes,” Ilain said. “They shouldn’t have had any problems given Jonn’s abilities in conjunction with Auden’s.”
Evylin and Thom exchanged a look. Though she hadn’t allowed herself to admit to sharing his concerns when he’d spoken to her about Deckard’s magic, Evylin’s heart squeezed at the thought.
Thom was right; Deckard would not take well to the death and destruction his magic wrought, and she feared that he would succumb to the Deep simply to relieve his conscience in the end.
Worse, she feared that her rejection might have taken his last vestige of hope, his last reason to cling to sanity.
“I thought you said he might not be a Night Mage,” Evylin said to Ilain.
“He might not be,” the highlady confirmed, then gave a flippant wave of her hand. “Whatever kind of Mage he is, he does have a strong connection to Night.” She paused and gave a thoughtful shrug. “Stronger than I’ve seen in a long time.”
That news made Evylin feel worse.
“But you’re sure they made it?” Ethenn asked, joining the conversation.
Ilain gave a slow, confident nod. “Absolutely. If they hadn’t, I would feel it.” She set a hand to her chest. “Here.”
Brushing a finger over her rings, Evylin couldn’t help wondering if she’d feel it too.
If Deckard were in danger, if his life was threatened or taken, would she know?
Or would she arrive at their rendezvous to discover that she’d been right when she’d disparaged their relationship: He was gone, and they’d had no connection at all?
They arrived at their final stop within the Waulden kingdom on the outskirts of a large town roughly twelve miles from the border.
To help improve their speed on the following days within Vaura Reach, Evylin suggested she and Ethenn take the evening off from training so they could replenish their stores.
Ilain would preserve what they wouldn’t eat that night, making dried rations of their catch with Fire and Day.
Evylin chose to stay with Ilain to prepare the camp; her thoughts were too distracted to focus on the task of hunting.
The women cared for the horses, pitched both tents, prepared the fire, and readied their tools for butchering the catch.
Ilain supplied a ready and easy conversation that helped Evylin momentarily forget her worries.
She told her about the many fairy tales the Highloft Moors had inspired, her childhood home filled with legends and ghost stories.
“We have some similar stories in Ephria,” Evylin noted. “Though they aren’t quite as magical. They’re all compiled in a book called Fables of the Ram. It’s where many of our childhood tales are found.”
Ilain nodded. “We have something similar here too. Though we call it Fables of the Eight. I believe Ephren altered the tales, replacing the magical influences with animals or elements.”
Evylin paused in brushing down her horse. “Really? Huh.” She pursed her lips. “What about The Traveler and the Rook? Do you know of that?”
“The Traveler and the Mage,” Ilain corrected. “It’s the chronicles of Allund’s legends.”
Intrigued to hear the Wauldeners grew up with a magical version of her and Ryen’s favored tales, Evylin asked, “Does your version include Euon Sergus and Iona the Worthy?”
“Mm-hm.” Ilain crossed her arms haughtily. “Warrior and Mage.”
Evylin’s eyes went wide. “Sergus was a Warrior?”
“And Iona was a Terrae Mage.”
“Really?” Evylin repeated with an amused gasp. “Jonn’ll be disappointed.”
“Why’s that?”
“He adores Sergus. It’s his grandest desire to be just like him. Turns out, he’s Sergus’s opposite.”
Ilain held up a forestalling finger. “He’s Sergus’s balance. Or at least, the male equivalent. Technically, I’m Sergus’s true balance.”
Averting her gaze, Evylin went back to brushing her horse. “Because of Bonding?” she asked quietly.
“If you want to know about Bonding,” Ilain said calmly, “all you have to do is ask.”
Evylin chewed on her lip. Did she want to know?
Could it do any good? She wasn’t going to stay with Deckard, regardless of how their reunion went.
She couldn’t stay with Deckard. But as a female Warrior, her existence so rare and so important, wouldn’t it be wise to learn what made her so valuable?
Perhaps the knowledge could help save her from Blount’s designs in the future. . . .
The crunch and snap of brush alerted them to Thom and Ethenn’s return. The men appeared in the trees, postures tense and demeanors brusque as they whispered furiously at one another. Evylin watched them carefully as Thom gave one final retort and Ethenn jerked the brace of hare from his grip.
Ilain sent Evylin a worried glance, then put away her sketching. Unceremoniously, Ethenn dropped next to the butchering supplies at the opposite end from the highlady. He gruffly went about his work, ignoring all of them, his face flushed a deep crimson.
Thom huffed and took a seat next to Ilain. The woman looked at him keenly. “What have you done to Ethenn?” she asked.
Though his back remained rigid, Thom smirked. He slid his arm around Ilain. “Nothing, milady,” he said dramatically. “Little Loxley’s just concerned he’ll miss his shot.” He winked and then added, “You know, in the Time Keep, with all those Shades.”
Ilain raised her brow. “He’s never been off before.”
Thom tugged Ilain closer to his side. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said slyly. “Seems he has recently.”
Evylin frowned, unsure of what precise game Thom was playing. Ethenn kept his head down, though his neck was almost as red as a ruby, and he cut up the rabbit violently, his fury notable but still maintaining his precision.
Ilain gave Thom a disparaging look, then shoved him away, extricating herself from his embrace. She got up and moved to join Ethenn. “Here,” she said, holding out a hand. “Let me help.”
“I’m fine,” Ethenn muttered.
“Yes, I can see that,” Ilain retorted. “Now, give me a bloody knife, and let me help.”
Ethenn hesitated, then slipped a small dagger from his belt. He handed it to her without a single glance in her direction.
Thom snorted, then stood. He moved to Evylin’s side, where she stood next to the horses, gesturing to the brush in her hand. “Want help?” he asked.
Warily, Evylin eyed him. After Ethenn’s warning, she’d done as he suggested, handling her relationship with Thom carefully.
But after seeing Thom and Ilain holding hands yesterday, she’d been assured that, whatever past interest he’d held, he had clearly moved on.
Whether or not the pair’s flirtations had begun falsely, it was clear they’d grown to mean more.
Perhaps Ethenn had noticed it too. And maybe the young man’s jealousy had caused the argument between them.
Evylin remembered Ethenn’s warning at the start of their small band’s journey. “I’ve gone this long without breaking before. Inevitably, I snap.”