CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
In a grand parade, Highlady Freye and the guards led the five Ephrians back through the shadowed halls of Lady Renaul’s mansion. Deckard and Evylin refused to let go of one another, still not secure in the noblewoman’s promise. Neither would put it past the lady to play such a cruel joke.
Surrounded by guards on all sides, Thom, Rafferty, and Ethenn trailed behind them.
Despite the hours remaining until Blount’s arrival in the morning, it felt like a death march.
The chill of the night seeped into the mansion, turning its white halls an eerie gray.
Servants pulled the curtains as they walked, deepening the darkness.
Their footsteps echoed off the marbled floor, each thud reverberating in Evylin’s chest to rattle her senses.
They neared the main foyer, where the grand staircases awaited their ascent. Thom pressed forward, closing the gap between them as much as his guards would allow. “If this is it,” he said, gaining Deckard’s attention, “I want you to know: I’m sorry.”
Deckard scanned him, his arm still tightly around Evylin. They turned the corner to begin ascending the staircase. “So am I,” he finally said. He hesitated, taking a deep breath. “It isn’t said enough between us, so I’m not sure you know it, but . . . I love you.”
“Yeah,” Thom said, sorrow etching his face and words. “I know it. And . . . I—well, I—”
“I know,” Deckard said, granting him mercy. Then he turned to Ethenn and Rafferty. “Thank you both. For everything.”
“It was an honor, sir,” Ethenn said, his face grim. His dark eyes met Evylin’s. “You, too, Evie.”
She smiled, but Rafferty glowered. “I’m not saying goodbye,” he insisted. “Not until we’re dead.”
Nearing the top of the stairs, Thom didn’t share his friend’s scruples. “I’m sorry, Evie,” he said desperately. “I shouldn’t have—but I did, and I—I’d say I didn’t mean it, but that doesn’t sound right. But I don’t think I did—mean it, that is. I love you but not like that.”
The guards jostled them, muscling between them to part their groups. Evylin struggled to hold Thom’s gaze as she said, “It’s all right, Thom. It’s forgotten.”
He looked ready to fight through the entire Waulden Army himself to stay with them, but she gave him one final nod, and he let the guards carry him, Ethenn, and Rafferty to the right while Highlady Freye guided Deckard, Evylin, and their sentries to the left.
Watching them depart as long as she could, tears welled in Evylin’s eyes.
She hoped beyond reason that Rafferty’s optimism wasn’t misplaced.
She didn’t want to say goodbye to them either.
Emotion choked her, a sob rising in her chest.
After all she’d lost—Ryen as a child and Hewitt a mere month ago—after all the careful protection of her heart, she’d come to love these men too. The thought of losing any of them, while not as debilitating as the very suggestion of losing Deckard, was heartbreaking.
The rug in the hall gave gently under Evylin’s slippers.
Everything in Renaul’s home was beyond any opulence Evylin had ever seen aside from the Ephrian palace.
She couldn’t fathom living in such splendor.
It was beautiful and stirring, pulling at all her senses.
And it felt like a slap in the face given their circumstances.
The highlady came to a halt, flinging open the door to the room Evylin had been readied in.
The guards pushed her and Deckard inside, then took up their posts.
The Mage stepped up, a jangling keyring in hand.
“Don’t get any ideas from the lady’s generosity,” she said in her sultry foreign accent.
She lifted Evylin’s wrists, unlocking her shackles.
“If you try to escape, you will die. Should you cling to false hope, allow me to clarify your situation: There are seventy-five guards under Lady Renaul’s employ.
In addition, Officer Caustin and his forty-eight men remain on the estate. ”
Evylin rubbed her freed wrists as the woman continued, “Should you determine that normal men pose little threat to a Warrior, I’ll inform you that there are six other Mages here aside from myself.
And I will personally remain outside your door through the night.
If you consider jumping out the window, the fall alone would cause devastating injury as well as put you in the direct path of the sentries posted to patrol beneath those windows. Have I made myself clear?”
Her body and mind numb, Evylin allowed Deckard to guide her farther into the room. “Immensely,” he replied on their behalf.
“Excellent.” Highlady Freye retreated through the door and shut it with a snap. The rasp of the bolt sounded a second later.
Standing motionless in the entry hall to the opulent suite, Evylin struggled to breathe as Deckard’s hold on her loosened.
Her brain spun, fear winding its cruel grip around her limbs.
The odds against them were too high. Even with the hidden Night Relic in their possession, the full potential of Deckard’s unknown magic abilities, and her skills, their chances of rescuing their friends and the Calders, retrieving the stolen Relics, and escaping were next to impossible.
They would die. It was just a matter of whose hand dealt the killing blow.
Deckard released his hold on Evylin altogether and stepped away.
Cold air seeped into the space he’d abdicated.
Surprised by his abandonment, Evylin turned to find him stepping farther into the room.
He scanned the grand space, taking in its amethyst draperies, roaring hearth, painted ceiling, plush settees, and palatial four-poster bed.
A fully furnished bathing chamber waited on the other side of the hall, where Evylin had been scrubbed and polished within an inch of her life.
They’d poured an expensive-smelling oil all over her skin and hair, dousing her in its rich, musky scent.
With a final scan, Deckard sent her an amused look. “Your room is bigger than mine,” he noted.
A surprised laugh caught in Evylin’s throat. “Is that so?”
He tapped the back of one of the velvet settees. “Seems as though you’ve been given a suite.”
Usually, Evylin would return his banter with a witty retort. Tonight, she couldn’t find the words.
Moving into the room, Evylin bypassed Deckard and went to the windows that lined the back wall.
She understood that this opulence was gifted to her as Blount’s intended vassal.
Dread curled up her spine as she pushed back the heavy curtains to peer out across the lawn.
Immaculately cut gardens and drifting shadows met her inspection.
Cool moonlight shone like a beacon, the ivory moon large and round, a violet halo softening its edges as the shadow moon’s crescent peeked from behind it with a silver glow.
Evylin let the drape fall back to a puddle on the marble tile.
Everything in the room spoke of luxury. The silk and velvet fabrics.
The gilded walls and furnishings. Even the towering ceiling was beyond the scope of typical elegance with its intricate depiction of the night sky.
The heavenly bodies and stars glittered with metallic leafing.
Yet, just as the soft dress felt like chains around Evylin’s skin, the room’s grandiosity felt like the most oppressive dungeon.
You’re trapped, it whispered. You will be given everything, yet all that truly matters will be taken away.
The fire popped in the far corner. She glanced at the finely wrought hearth before her eyes drifted back to Deckard, who now sat on the far settee.
He’d unbuttoned his navy coat, letting it hang open as he untied the cravat.
He dropped the silk tie on the tea table before leaning down to remove his boots.
“What are you doing?” Evylin asked, her heart lurching at the thought that he’d given up.
His gaze flickered up to her as he set the first boot aside. “Getting more comfortable.”
She crossed to stand behind the settee opposite him. “Why?”
“Because I’m tired of this frippery.” Deckard set the second boot next to its pair, as orderly as ever. He looked up, his brow pinching as he surveyed her. “You look concerned.”
“I am,” she said, thinking he should be too.
A slow, confident smile came to his face. “You needn’t be. We’re going to get out of here.”
Hope and reality warred within her. She was glad to know he hadn’t surrendered to death yet, but she also worried that he wouldn’t take her request seriously.
Her fingers brushed over her rings. “How?” she asked.
“I don’t have a weapon, the Calders are drugged in a dungeon, the Relics are in a vault with an unpickable lock, and there are more than one hundred guards between us and escape.
Not to mention the Mage waiting outside our door. ”
Deckard watched her calmly. “Are you finished?”
Evylin gave him an agitated look.
He grinned. “None of that worries me.”
“Why not?”
Unfastening the buttons of his collar, Deckard reached beneath the fabric.
“Because,” he said, pulling the Night Relic free, “you do have a weapon, as do I. Despite Caustin’s effort to weaken us, we’re both reasonably recovered from our time in the Keep, and we have nothing to lose.
Once we retrieve Ethenn, we’ll have a second Warrior.
And with Rafferty by our side, a second Relic. ”
Evylin gaped at him. “What? How?”
“I’m not sure how he managed it,” Deckard said.
“But he’s gone to a lot of trouble to tell me something, getting himself beaten bloody in the process.
I’m convinced that Ethenn somehow passed Rafferty the Wind Relic when they discovered the danger.
Smuggler that he is, Rafferty’s managed to keep it hidden. ”
Hope burgeoned within Evylin. Two Relics, two Warriors, one Mage. Yes, it would seem their odds were rising. “You know which room Raff is in?” she asked.