CHAPTER FIFTY
“Wow!” Rafferty exclaimed, breaking the silence that permeated the dining room like the fog of Wauld.
A wry grin pulled at Evylin’s lips as Deckard shot the weasel a disparaging look.
Despite her fatigued body, somber mood, and anxious thoughts, her heart beat faster at the sight of her husband.
He looked so like the man he’d been when they first met: clean-shaven, immaculately dressed, and decidedly charming.
Their circumstances aside, she approved of this presentation.
Based on Deckard’s immediate reaction, it appeared he approved of hers as well.
His green-blue gaze widened at the sight of her, and his breath caught visibly.
Yet, she couldn’t quite find the joy in witnessing his attraction to her.
They both knew this was no pleasant dinner party. And this was no simple gown.
The double-breasted cut spoke of military design. The revealing neckline displayed her muscular definition with intention. The deep amethyst silk displayed the color of Night magic, its shine glimmering in the evening light.
She’d been placed in the gown of a Night Mage’s Warrior. A dress that was intended for Blount’s Warrior.
Ironically, it could also mark her as Deckard’s Warrior. But neither Renaul nor Blount could discover that.
Stepping into the grand dining hall, Evylin chose to claim the gown as a sign of her dedication to Deckard.
Even if it could never be, even if their lives were ending just as she was ready to give him her future, she would treat these last few hours or days or however long they had as though they all belonged to Deckard.
Her wistful thoughts dissolved as the woman standing beside her husband stepped forward. “Why, you are stunning,” she said, eyes locked on Evylin. Her gold dress swished as she drew near. “This color does you justice, my dear.”
The woman—Lady Renaul, she presumed—eyed Evylin with a keen gaze. Yet, her beauty was almost off-putting, a disquieting shrewdness in her sharp green stare. “It’s an absolute pleasure,” she continued, a curious blend of warmth and malice in her accented tone. “I’ve been told so much about you.”
Evylin’s throat tightened. “Someone told you about me?” she asked, her voice scratchy from disuse.
“Yes, of course.” Renaul gave her a taunting smile.
With the tips of her fingers, she lifted Evylin’s chin.
“Now, let me get a look at you. I was told of your impressive strength, clever tongue, and winsome looks. I can see the beauty and brawn clearly enough. Your wit, I suppose, we’ll have to discover through conversation.
Though I can already see how taken these four are with you. ”
Renaul turned to peer at the Ephrian men, a wicked smile on her lips. “Darling, you’ll have to teach me that little trick.” She turned back to Evylin, and something like jealousy had entered her cruel gaze. “Gaining such admiration . . .”
Evylin clamped her jaw tight, hoping her expression gave nothing away.
The countess’s fierce stare swept over Evylin once more. “But, oh!” she gasped. “That’s something I wasn’t told.”
Renaul reached out and lifted Evylin’s hands, the chain between her manacles jingling with the motion. “What beautiful rings,” the lady remarked. “An Ephrian tradition, isn’t it? You’re married?”
Conflicted, Evylin’s eyes darted past Renaul to Deckard.
Whoever had told the noblewoman about her either hadn’t known her marital status or didn’t consider it a pertinent detail.
Increasingly wary of the woman’s intentions and with little doubt it was Blount who had given Evylin’s description, she had no interest in providing any more information.
However, there was little reason to deny such an obvious fact.
“I am,” Evylin said flatly.
Renaul’s eyes flickered with a strange emotion. “And which of these handsome gentlemen behind me procured such an honor?”
With a flippant tilt of her head, Evylin shrugged. “He isn’t here.”
“Oh, my dear,” Renaul tittered amusedly. Her fingers tightened around Evylin’s. “You already gave yourself away.”
Evylin clenched her jaw. The lady was too observant, and Evylin knew she had been foolish to look at Deckard upon the mention of their marriage.
“Now, don’t tell me.” Renaul released her. She clasped her hands with excitement. “I’ll guess.”
When Renaul turned her back on Evylin to approach the men, the Wind Mage lingering at her side stepped closer as if Evylin would strike when the countess wasn’t looking.
She’d been a constant guard since their arrival, yet Evylin still hadn’t learned her name.
The Mage hovered threateningly, her dark gaze cold and alert.
“I love a good game,” Renaul announced. “But I want no clues, so tuck those hands away, gentlemen.”
The men did as ordered, drawing their hands behind their backs and assuming the soldier’s at-ease stance. Evylin almost smirked seeing them obey so quickly, but her amusement died realizing that they were only so accommodating for fear of the noblewoman’s retribution.
Renaul paced in front of the men, left to right and back, inspecting Ethenn, Rafferty, Deckard, and Thom.
She surveyed them with an astute, sweeping gaze.
“While my information on the Calders and our darling Warrior, Mrs. Deckard, is adequate,” she said as she appraised the men, “I’m afraid I know next to nothing about you four.
“So, please . . .” She stopped in front of Ethenn, drawing a finger along his shoulder. Heat flushed his neck, but he glared straight ahead, otherwise showing no sign of reaction to her touch. “Tell me your name—given only, as I want no clues—and how you met our darling here.”
Frowning, Ethenn glanced down the line. When he received no direction from Deckard or the other two, he sighed. He stated his name and cleared his throat. “I met Evie during my training with the army.”
“The army, you say?” Renaul raised her brow, then squeezed his arm. “No wonder you’re so muscular.”
Thom and Rafferty sniggered as Ethenn flushed a shade darker.
“But be more specific, dearest,” the lady said, her endearments too much like Ilain’s for Evylin’s taste. “I need more information to divine whether your love for the woman in question is amorous or chaste.”
Ethenn scowled. “It wasn’t anything special if that’s what you’re looking for. I was invited to join her training squad, that’s all.”
“Details, love,” Renaul pressed. “How did you feel when you met her?”
“Nervous,” Ethenn admitted. “She’s really impressive, and . . .” His ears were red now. “Pretty.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Evylin couldn’t help smiling.
“I’d admired her already,” he continued quietly. “Being invited to train with her—to be part of her team . . . I was nervous that I wouldn’t measure up.”
“Hm.” Renaul studied Ethenn a moment longer. “A Warrior would be attracted to a fighter such as yourself. Interesting. We’ll come back to you.”
The lady stepped forward where Rafferty stood with bright eyes and an eager smile.
She didn’t even have to prompt him as he readily gave his account.
“Name’s Rafferty, but you can call me Raff, milady.
” He gave a wily wink. “I met Eve in the army, too, though I’m more a soldier of fortune than destiny. ”
Deckard shook his head wearily.
“Found her standing in our camp all lonely-like and decided to take pity on her,” Rafferty said. “I flirted a bit, and she did too. She’s an accomplished tease, and I’m quite proud of her for that. I’ve been at her side ever since.”
Renaul’s wide grin took on a knowing tilt. “No,” she said flatly.
“Pardon?” Rafferty replied.
“No,” Renaul repeated. “Your story may be true, but you are not her husband.”
“Why not?”
“You’re all flash.”
“Believe me,” Rafferty smirked, “I’m plenty substantial.”
Renaul laughed boisterously at his innuendo but moved on to Deckard. “And what about you, handsome?” She peered up at him, propping a finger under his chin. Evylin tried not to grit her teeth. “Are you a soldier too?”
“I am,” he replied.
“Are you all?”
“We are.”
“And your offices?”
Deckard readily gave their ranks as soldiers.
“Well, then,” Renaul said. “Is the colonel of our troop the lover of this lady?”
Deckard’s lips lifted in the charming smile he wore for magistrates, nobles, and officers—one that warmed people’s souls but rarely revealed his true feelings. “Would you like me to answer honestly?” he asked pleasantly. “Or would you like me to play your game?”
“Do play on,” Renaul said, her voice throaty and provocative.
With a deferential nod and a glance in Evylin’s direction, Deckard proceeded. “My name is Jonn. I was a guest in the home of Mrs. Deckard’s family, and we met at dinner. Evylin was . . .” He paused, the corner of his smile twitching fondly. “Notable.”
Renaul frowned. “That’s all? She was notable.”
Deckard lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug. “You requested the details of our meeting, not her manifold virtues.”
A small, breathy laugh escaped Evylin, but she managed to cover it with a sniff of her nose.
Deckard glanced at her again, though his expression gave nothing away.
Renaul pursed her lips. “Even I could come up with a more charming description. Is that really all you have to say?”
“Would it serve your game for me to say I found her to be the perfect woman?” he asked dryly. “Or shall I say that she captivated my very soul?”
Though there was a definitive snark in his tone, Evylin had learned Deckard’s manner of teasing well enough to know that he meant both those things. Her heart beat faster as her fingers found her rings, and she watched him closely.
“Mm,” Renaul hummed, then waved Deckard off. She stepped forward to stand before Thom. “May I assume by your likeness that you two are brothers?”
Though she addressed Thom, he remained silent.
“We are,” Deckard replied, sending a pointed glare to Thom.
Renaul reached up to brush some of Thom’s newly shorn dark locks off his forehead. He pulled out of her reach. “I don’t care to play your game,” he said coldly.