CHAPTER FORTY-NINE #3
A grand fireplace sat on the far wall, crackling with flames. Silhouetted in its glow at the head of the table stood a woman with radiant golden hair. “Good evening,” she said, with a distinct poshness to her Waulden accent.
Deckard did a secondary scan of the room, looking for Evylin.
“Where’s Evie?” Thom whispered at his side.
He threw his brother a look that said, “How should I know?”
The woman spoke again, stepping around the table.
“If you’re wondering about your lovely companion.
I’m afraid it takes us women longer to prepare for festivities.
While I was, of course, aware of our little party, I heard your dear lady had quite the cleaning up to do to make herself presentable. I’m sure she’ll be along shortly.”
Everything in Deckard urged him to press her to learn more about Evylin’s whereabouts and safety, but he determined to remain cautious with the information he revealed. At most, this woman knew what Blount knew. He thought it best to keep it that way.
Deckard assumed the posture befitting a dinner party. He would indulge this noblewoman’s strange games and, if possible, play her to his advantage. “Will the Calders be joining us, my lady?” he asked, thankful for the decorum in his voice after so long without use.
A tilt pulled Lady Renaul’s lips into a sly smile as she met them at the back of the room. “Oh, no. I’m afraid they won’t be lucid for quite some time.”
Ethenn and Thom bristled on either side of Deckard. He spoke so they wouldn’t. “Then you don’t fear the presence of Warriors?”
“Not when they’re properly restrained.” Renaul’s deep green eyes met his.
The gold fabric of her gown hugged her frame, hinting at a shapely figure underneath.
Her blonde hair was styled in an intricate chignon, with golden beads strung through it.
She smiled at Deckard, fine lines crinkling around her eyes, the only tell of her mature age.
Deckard wasn’t too proud to admit he found her beautiful.
But there was a cunning nature and a sensuality in her gaze that made him uncomfortable.
Lady Renaul stepped up to stand directly in front of Deckard. “I take it you’re the leader of this little band,” she said with a swipe of her finger toward the other three men. “Four Ephrians caught up with two foul Mages and a lady Warrior. My, my, how did that marvel occur?”
Caution foremost in his mind, Deckard returned her suggestive smile with a polite one. “Would you believe me if I said they tricked us into it?”
Renaul laughed. “Four grown men, tricked into finding Relics?” She clicked her tongue. “That hardly seems possible.”
“We were equally surprised.”
Her laughter expanded, rich as the room around them. “You’ve got a quick wit.” She reached up to tap his cheek with a slender finger. “I like you.”
Deckard fought the urge to jerk away and forced his smile to remain. “It’s a pity I’m your prisoner then.”
Renaul raised her brow in concession, but the click of the latch behind them cut off her reply. “Ah!” She motioned toward the door. “Here she comes.”
Deckard and the men whirled on their heels. The white double doors opened, and he held his breath, needing to see Evylin, to know she was safe.
The Wind Mage stepped through first, her dark eyes catching his. In the dimming light of sunset, her silver dress shone in cold contrast against the warmth of the room. She moved aside, revealing Evylin standing in the hall behind her.
Deckard’s heart stopped.
Evylin stepped into the room as polished and refreshed as the rest of them.
However, their transformations paled in comparison to hers.
Her dark hair was smooth and silken, falling in gentle waves to frame her face.
Her lightly tanned skin contrasted sharply with the vibrant gown they’d placed her in, the gentle folds an amethyst so saturated it might have been dyed in the very skies of the deepest night.
Its full skirt cascaded from her waist to puddle softly on the marble floor.
Yet, the bodice featured a distinctive military cut, fitting her every curve with precision.
The straps sat off her shoulders, revealing her sculpted neckline, the cut lower than Ephrian society would deem appropriate.
Flowing sleeves draped around her toned arms, giving her a regal appearance and leading Deckard’s eyes to the iron shackles on her wrists.
Clamping his jaw tight, Deckard met Evylin’s gaze then.
Neither of them smiled, sharing an instant understanding.
This dress was too specific, too appropriate for a Warrior to be anything but intentional.
This was no secondhand dress Renaul had cast aside.
This was a gown made specifically for Evylin.
Deckard caught his breath and turned back to Renaul. The noblewoman’s eyes glimmered with pride as she surveyed Evylin. The lady was no fool. Escaping her would be no easier than escaping Caustin. Already, Deckard understood that her games were intricate and calculated.
And Deckard was afraid they’d never had a chance to win at all.