CHAPTER FIFTY #2
“Nevertheless,” her eyes flashed threateningly, her reply swift, “you will play.”
Evylin met Thom’s gaze then, raising her brow. It wasn’t the time to test the woman. She held the Calders and the Relics captive, and there was no doubt in Evylin’s mind that Renaul was working with Blount. It wasn’t worth testing the countess to find out what vile things she was capable of.
Jaw tight, Thom complied. “My name is Thom, and I met Evie at her uncle’s smithy.
I . . .” He hesitated, meeting her stare.
Something like regret passed over his face.
“I liked her instantly,” he said, addressing Evylin rather than Renaul.
“Somehow, I had the good fortune to become her friend. And I can’t fathom why she’d be that good to me. ”
Deckard shifted uncomfortably beside his brother, tension creeping into his shoulders. But Evylin heard the apology in Thom’s words. He regretted his actions, and he was repentant. Genuine remorse shone in his eyes, knowing that he’d hurt her.
Evylin offered Thom an absolving smile. Whatever his flaws, Thom Deckard was a good man. Sometimes, it just took him longer to display his goodness. And in the face of death, it was not the time to hold a grudge.
“How sweet,” Renaul muttered dully. “Well, I think I have the information I need.” She tossed a hand in Ethenn’s direction. “Not you.”
The hunter visibly relaxed.
“Which puts it down to the brothers,” Renaul said dramatically.
“Now, pretty Thom,” she patted his arm, “I see you have a soft spot for our darling, but I’m afraid friendship was its end.
There’s a foreign quality in the way you say her name.
As if you know the sound of it, but you can’t quite understand the meaning. ”
The lady’s intense gaze floated up to Deckard’s face. “But you, Jonn Deckard, speak her name with knowledge,” she said, and inexplicably, Evylin’s heart filled at her words. “A knowledge that only intimacy can impart.”
Though Evylin doubted their marriage shared the sort of intimacy this noblewoman implied, she didn’t doubt the truth of her conclusion.
Deckard did know her—better than anyone alive.
Despite all the barriers Evylin had constructed, he’d discovered her heart.
And he’d done so not by force but by attention.
He hadn’t knocked down her walls; he’d scaled them.
He’d accepted the distance she placed between them and perched on the top of those barricades, watching her from afar and learning her better than anyone she’d ever known.
And she loved him for it.
“Have I guessed correctly?” Renaul asked, breaking through Evylin’s reverie. Her sharp glare held a hostility Evylin didn’t quite understand. “Is Jonn your husband?”
Meeting Deckard’s steady and tender gaze, Evylin allowed herself one moment of awe at the truth of it. “He is,” she whispered.
The gentlest, most loving smile lifted Deckard’s whole expression.
Renaul scoffed. “Tricked into helping the Calders, indeed,” she said caustically.
“What better way to trick a man,” Deckard said, “than with the woman he loves?”
Evylin couldn’t contain her grin. “Incorrigible flirt,” she said.
He dipped his chin in a mock bow. “Anything for you.”
Renaul let out a considering hum. “Charming,” she said, then motioned between the two of them.
“If you would, Colonel Deckard, please escort your wife to her seat. I’m sure you all must be starving after your journey with my liege officer.
Caustin is not the most hospitable, I know, but he gets the job done. ”
As Renaul moved out of the way, Evylin and Deckard stared at one another, both hesitant.
Neither could quite believe the woman would allow them to be together.
But as the lady drifted to speak in hushed tones with the Wind Mage and none of the guards made any move away from the walls, it appeared no one would stop them.
Cautiously, Deckard began to approach, and Evylin met him halfway. His hands came to rest on her arms, pulling her close. “Are you all right?” he whispered, brow pinched together.
Evylin’s heart jolted, remembering how he’d asked that same question in Dunneshead, just after their kiss. She wished she could recapture that moment in this one.
Instead, Evylin reached up, the shackles clinking once again as she settled for brushing one hand along his forearm. It felt so good to touch him, to have him near. “I’m fine,” she replied with a reassuring smile.
Though the pinch didn’t ease, Deckard let out a relieved breath. He offered his arm, and she took it, letting him lead her toward the table.
“Colonel,” Renaul said, beckoning, “you’ll sit at my right hand, and—oh, sweet Thom—”
Following behind Evylin and Deckard, Thom paused.
“You must sit on my left,” she instructed. “After all, the seat next to Evylin is claimed.”
As they took their seats at the grand table, Renaul gestured to the Mage at Evylin’s side.
“Allow me to introduce my steward properly,” she said smugly.
“This is Highlady Aterian Isla Freye. She’s my insurance to keep our precious Warrior in check.
Highlady Freye came to me from the Order of the Wind years ago, but we recently learned of the tragic loss of most of her brethren.
Isn’t it shocking, such a number of dear friends murdered so brutally? ”
The comment was accusingly pointed. The deaths of the highlady’s Order had been at their troop’s hands.
Highlady Freye sat beside Evylin rigidly, the reason for her frosty demeanor all the more clear.
“She’s reserved,” Renaul continued, “but immensely loyal.”
The troop took in the lady’s words. Evylin noticed Deckard’s hand gripping the seat of his chair fiercely.
Undoubtedly, he was remembering his role in the death of those Mages.
Evylin wanted to reach out to comfort him, but she remained still, knowing her manacles would alert the whole table to her actions if she tried to touch him.
Renaul signaled the servants, and they opened a side door, ushering in more men and women who bore platters and trays filled with food.
The savory, robust scent of roasted meat filled the air, causing Evylin’s stomach to twist with anticipation.
She’d been deprived of quality meals like this long before their time as captives.
Dish after dish was set before them. Sumptuous venison and smoked pork. Boiled potatoes with dried herbs and butter. A medley of cooked vegetables. A creamy, cheesy soup with crisp, yeasty bread. Fresh-cut apples, pears, and berries adorned the table.
The servants filled their crystal glasses with deep crimson wine as Renaul clapped her hands with gaiety. “Wonderful,” she said, passing a superior grin to all of them. “My cooks have outdone themselves, haven’t they? As it is to be your last meal, I did want it to be quite the feast.”
The casual remark hit Evylin like a blow to the head—an experience with which she’d become frightfully familiar. The Ephrians exchanged worried glances.
“Our last meal?” Thom repeated.
“I’m afraid so, pet,” Renaul said, golden and bejeweled rings glinting in the firelight as she lifted her glass. “But as a consolation, I will make this evening ever so exciting for you.”
“How so?” Rafferty asked, the only one of them intrigued by the proposition.
Renaul sipped her wine languidly. “As a little, mm . . . Let’s call it a farewell, shall we? I will answer any question you have with total honesty. But let’s not allow this dinner to grow cold, darlings. Tuck in.”
Slowly, the men began to fill their plates, all of them silent. However, Evylin latched onto Renaul’s offer, the value undeniable.
Evylin caught the noblewoman’s gaze. “Any question?” she asked.
Renaul stabbed a slice of venison. “Whatever your heart desires.”
Appetite all but forgotten, Evylin leaned closer. “Do you work for Blount?”
The men froze while Renaul and Highlady Freye continued to pile their plates high.
“I do hope you aren’t referring to His Majesty, the king,” Renaul said. “I thought even Ephrians were taught to respect the crown.”
“I’m not referring to the king,” Evylin said. “I’m asking about his son, who deserves no respect.”
Deckard’s hand brushed Evylin’s in a gentle warning, then returned to his meal. She understood and appreciated his concern, but if they were going to die, she saw little point in caution.
Renaul didn’t reveal any offense at the statement. In fact, she grinned. “Rouland said you have cheek,” she noted, the remark as good as an admission.
“So you do work for him?” Evylin pressed.
Deckard leaned in to murmur a cautionary “careful” before he began filling her still-empty plate for her.
Renaul popped a berry in her mouth teasingly. “I don’t work for anyone, my dear.”
“But you are after the reward?” Rafferty said from his seat between Thom and Ethenn.
“I don’t need or want the money,” Renaul replied flippantly. “You’re all my gift to Rouland.”
They all paused again. Deckard cleared his throat and finished setting a scoop of potatoes on Evylin’s plate. Thom and Ethenn resumed chewing.
Thoughts churning, Evylin tried to remember if the Calders had mentioned whether Blount had a family.
She eyed the noblewoman thoughtfully. Renaul was older than she would have expected for the prince, but then the Calders were likely the lady’s age themselves.
Though she’d imagined the prince to be Deckard’s age, there was a good chance he was vastly older.
Working to deduce Renaul’s relationship with Blount, Evylin asked, “You’re his wife?”
The woman’s hearty laugh filled the room. “I am no man’s wife,” she said, then raised her brow. “I’m the king’s mistress.”
Caught off guard, Evylin didn’t have a response to that. She had read about kept women in a few novels, but as she’d never met one, she almost doubted their existence.
“So,” Ethenn said, fork lowering to his plate, “we’re your gift to the king?”
“No, no.” Renaul brushed the idea away. “King Rouland has no interest in you. It’s Prince Rouland I’m gifting you to.”