CHAPTER FORTY-NINE #2
She gave Caustin a furious glare. “Make sure they are placed in separate cells. The highlords will stay with the Calders to ensure there are no daring escapes.”
Deckard’s pulse rose as the officers carrying the Calders moved to follow orders. What sort of nobility had dungeons in their home? Was there any hope of breaking out their friends once they disappeared down there?
He didn’t have long to consider his options as the steward continued to give her commands. “As for the rest of them, Lady Renaul is intrigued to meet these Ephrian rebels. Our people will take care of them.”
“What about the Warrior?” Caustin demanded.
The woman followed his gaze to Evylin. She smiled, cold and calculating. “She’s coming with me.”
Deckard’s heart squeezed. Instinctively, he and Evylin tried to step closer to each other. It did no good. They were torn apart in an instant, multiple guards dragging them up the stairs. She kicked and squirmed, trying to wrench free. Then the steward raised her hand.
Evylin immediately went still, choking and gasping behind the gag still over her mouth. Her knees buckled as Deckard strained against the men holding him.
“Don’t fight,” the woman said—and he recognized her now as a Wind Mage, her silver dress and diamond ring proclaiming her magic. She met Deckard’s stare. “It makes me weary.”
The guards hauled Evylin to her feet. Deckard met Thom, Ethenn, and Rafferty’s angered gazes. He gave them a nod as his captors led him up the stairs. They would fail if they fought now. There were too many eyes, too much attention. They had to wait until a more opportune moment.
Deckard kept his eyes on Evylin even as they entered the mansion.
Servants guided the guards up a grand marble staircase with a golden rail.
Paintings and mirrors hung on the gold-leafed molding and plaque-decorated walls.
The steward walked at the head of the group, leading Evylin’s entourage.
They went left at the top of the stairs while the men were all led to the right.
Deckard gnawed at the gag in his mouth. He watched his wife disappear down the hall. He’d find a way to get them out of this. He would. He had to.
To his surprise, he was led into an opulent guest room.
Once inside, the servant accompanying them went about his work under the supervision of two guards.
They removed his gag and ropes. Once freed, Deckard rubbed his wrists.
He knew that he could take down the three men in the room with him, but could he get the rest of his troop out of the mansion?
And what about the other Relics? Where would this countess, Lady Renaul, take them for safekeeping?
And how did she know about them in the first place?
There were too many unanswered questions to act in haste. Better to wait and see what this noblewoman wanted with their group.
The servant guided Deckard into a small bathing chamber, a steaming tub already awaiting him.
Instantly, he set his focus on turning the Night Relic back into a crest. Within a moment, a soothing whisper of heat traced his skin.
The servant moved to strip him, but he requested in a croaky voice to do it himself.
The man acquiesced. Deckard left the disguised Relic around his neck, not wanting to risk it being taken away along with his filthy clothes.
Despite his anxiety, the bath was reviving.
He scrubbed his skin raw and dunked his head under the water as many times as it took to feel fully free of the grime.
After he dried off, the servant came forward with a razor.
He refused to give Deckard the blade—a wise precaution, he supposed—and proceeded to slather his jaw with cream before giving him the smoothest shave of his life.
The servant trimmed his hair, perfecting Rafferty’s previous work.
Then the man helped Deckard into a fresh set of clothes.
The fabrics were of the highest quality, soft against his freshly cleaned skin.
He ensured the Relic-turned-crest was hidden under the crisp white shirt.
In black breeches, shiny black boots, a silken cravat, and a navy velvet coat, he couldn’t determine whether he appreciated the finery or found it flippant.
He knew little of Waulden customs, but it seemed vulgar to truss up one’s prisoners before executing them.
At least, that’s what he assumed was the fate that awaited them.
Once the servant walked around Deckard three times to assess his ensemble, he nodded to the guards.
Deckard expected them to bind his wrists again.
Instead, they took hold of his arms and led him from the room.
They walked across the plush purple rugs that lined the halls, down the marble stairs, and into the heart of the mansion.
They passed room after room of opulent design.
Everything was decorated in stark white, rich purple, and garish gold.
Finally, the guards halted before a pair of double doors. Two servants stood at the side, waiting.
“Don’t move,” one of Deckard’s guards ordered. Then they both released him and stepped away.
Deckard watched cautiously. He wasn’t about to make a break for it now. He didn’t know where any of his teammates were. And he wouldn’t leave them behind.
After several minutes, Deckard wondered what the guards were waiting for. Then Rafferty was escorted in.
Deckard’s eyes widened at the sight of the soldier. Not only was he as clean as Deckard, but the bruises he’d obtained from Caustin were gone, and his fingers were notably fixed. The weasel grinned as the guards guided him to Deckard’s side.
“I feel like a goose,” Rafferty said, running his hands along the burgundy velvet of his coat. “Smooth and scrubbed down just in time for roasting.”
Deckard glanced at the guards, expecting Caustin’s mandate of silence to hold. As none of the men showed signs of concern, he supposed Lady Renaul didn’t mind conversation.
“I kn—” Deckard’s voice scratched and broke off, and he had to clear his throat to continue. “I know what you mean,” he said, then motioned to his face. “They healed you?”
Rafferty shrugged. “Brought in a Mage in a fancy yellow coat to do it.”
“Hm.” Deckard wondered at the noblewoman’s access to so many Mages.
Ethenn, then Thom, was delivered moments later. Clean-shaven and injury-free, they looked like the men he’d known back in the Third Volunteer Company, though with decidedly nicer coats. Ethenn’s was a rich brown, and Thom’s a light blue that matched his eyes.
Anticipating Evylin’s arrival, the four men hesitated when the servants opened the door the moment they were assembled together.
The guards stepped up, ushering them into the room.
The opulent decor of the house continued within.
The sunset streamed through windows flanked by heavy velvet curtains, tingeing the room with amber.
A large table stretched across the space, set with candles, plates, and golden cutlery.
Guards lined the walls, spears at the ready and swords on their hips.