CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR #4
Jarrad’s story was far simpler. He was a northern Wauldener who’d discovered his connection to Terrae as a child.
At which time, he was taken to Sutterlund Reach to train at the Order of the Wind (since the Order of the Terrae, originally in Ephria, was destroyed during Ephren’s uprising).
That was where he met Isla after she’d come to join the Order a few decades later.
Despite their bickering, it seemed they were good friends, and she’d convinced him to join the Alliance.
Afterward, he met his wife. They’d had their first child two years prior.
However, like Isla, Jarrad was an aterian, with a position as a guard and steward for a member of the nobility in Mouroc, which took him away from his family for the time being.
“Isn’t that hard?” Deckard asked. “Being away from your wife and child?”
“Of course,” Jarrad said. “But it’s worth it, knowing I’m making a better future for my son.”
As interested as Deckard was in learning more about the Alliance and the members who had saved their lives, the moment he finished his meal, he excused himself. He was worn out in ways he’d never experienced. If given the opportunity, he thought he might be able to sleep for a full day. Maybe two.
Though he hadn’t requested Evylin to retire with him, she followed behind readily. He glanced over his shoulder, noticing most of the camp doing the same. Emmaas and Ethenn sat up together, agreeing to take the first watch.
Far from the others, Deckard still kept his voice low as Evylin sat down next to him on their bedroll. “My head feels like it’s about to tear in two,” he said as he removed his boots. “I’m getting too old for this.”
Evylin laughed, her arm brushing his as she worked off her coat. “I hate to remind you,” she said playfully, “but you’ve got a minimum of another century to your life if Ilain is to be believed. You’re not too old for anything.”
“Oh, I forgot about that.” Deckard sighed and lay back.
The thought truly was daunting. One lifetime was enough to consider.
He’d expected to live into his eighties, perhaps his nineties if life was kind, watching his children and grandchildren grow.
He hadn’t once thought that he might outlive them.
The thought sent a jolt of panic through his chest.
Deckard watched Evylin lie down next to him, his arm coming around her as naturally as breathing. “Do you know if Warriors live as long as Mages?” he asked warily.
Evylin scooted closer. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she teased. “According to Ilain, I’ll live just as long as you. If not longer.”
“How disappointing,” he said, then kissed her temple.
Holding her in his arms again, it felt like they’d never been apart. And yet, somehow, it felt wholly different as well. She pressed into his side with far more comfort and intimacy than ever. He didn’t fear making her uneasy with his affection or touch. They were as they were always meant to be.
Evylin rolled into him, resting her chin on his shoulder to meet his gaze. The distant fire cast the very edges of her figure in rusty red light. It caught in her eyes, highlighting an unexpected somberness within. “Jonn,” she murmured, “I’m sorry—for everything.”
Reaching up, Deckard cupped her face. “There’s no need.”
“But there is,” she said. “Auden was right—well, not about our time with Renaul, but the rest of it. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t insisted on splitting up—”
“That was Auden’s suggestion.”
“But I pushed for it,” she argued. “All because I was afraid of how I felt about you.”
Brushing his thumb along her cheekbone, Deckard gave her an understanding smile. “And do you really think staying together would have helped you overcome that fear any sooner?”
Evylin hesitated. “Well . . . No.”
He chuckled and leaned forward just enough to kiss the tip of her nose. “Then there’s no reason to worry about it.”
“But it didn’t matter,” she lamented. “We weren’t attacked; we weren’t followed. There was no reason to split at all.”
“We don’t know that. It’s possible that our splitting is what kept those things from happening.”
She raised her brow with a dry tilt. “Jonn, I’m trying to take responsibility for my actions. It would be nice if you’d let me.”
Her words—albeit teasing—reminded Deckard of what Thom had said to him earlier. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m sorry, but you slough it off as though what I did doesn’t matter.” Was this a fault of his—being too apt to reject others’ apologies in an attempt to absolve them?
He held Evylin’s adamant stare. She was trying to apologize, and he’d immediately shut her down to make her feel better. Instead, he belittled her sincerity.
Deckard drew his hand down her back. “You’re right,” he whispered.
“It appears that splitting may have been of no use. And yes, you impeded our happiness because you were too afraid to love me sooner. But I don’t blame you for any of it.
Not when I know the reason for the fear that drove you away from me. ”
She chewed on her bottom lip, her gaze dropping. Her thoughts muddled her expression, and Deckard wondered if she was thinking about Hewitt or Ryen.
“I owe you the truth,” she said softly.
“About what?”
Her eyes met his. “About my past. About what I lost.”
Deckard gave her a gentle smile, then drew her to lie fully beside him.
He brushed the wisps of hair off her cheeks, grateful to be this close to her once again.
“I would very much like to hear whatever you want to tell me,” he promised, then let his lips lift in a sly grin.
“But perhaps we can have this discussion at a later time when my body doesn’t feel like it’s been trampled by a dozen horses. ”
She returned his good humor with a melodramatic sigh. “If we must.”
“Good.”
She slipped her arm around him, letting it drape over his chest. He rested a hand on her arm, pressed a kiss to her forehead, then settled into her comfort. The gentlest warmth spread through Deckard. His magic rose, not urging but soothing. It was a tether between him and Evylin.
Past the canvas tent, he stared up at the depth of the night sky.
The ivory and shadow moons beamed as bright as ever.
The stars twinkled golden and silver. The heavens lay above them as the future lay before them, infinite and unknowable.
Deckard was strangely content at the thought.
His fingers began to draw little circles along Evylin’s back, eyes locked on the rich black expanse shining deep purple around the celestial bodies.
His lids grew heavy as peace soothed his exhaustion.
Evylin’s nose tipped up, brushing his chin. “Jonn,” she whispered.
“Hm?”
Her lips pressed against his neck, gentle and teasing. “I wish we were alone.” The whisper of her breath raced across his skin in a heated tingle. His chest contracted in a silent laugh.
“I do too,” he mumbled in reply, turning his face into her hair.
Evylin burrowed deeper into him. “I love you.”
Deckard closed his eyes, giving in to sleep as the words slipped out. “I love you.”