CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
As he drew her to stand by the windows, Evylin looked over her shoulder.
Most of the attendants began to talk amongst themselves, but a few watched the couple with interest, Lord Obel being one of them.
His gaze was calculating rather than voyeuristic, as though he was trying to work out the sum of their strength.
The light weight of her husband’s hands on her shoulders drew Evylin’s attention back to him.
His green-blue eyes held hers, the same intensity in them as they’d carried the night of their agreed-upon marriage.
“Is this what you want?” he asked gently.
“Now that we know, now that we have information about what this entails that we didn’t have this morning, do you still want to do this? ”
Evylin pulled in a breath to reply, then paused. A cool tingle raced across her skin as his thumbs brushed against her shoulders, his touch stirring her magic even through her clothes. If he already had this effect on her, what would it be like after they Bonded? Marvelous. Unbelievable. More.
Adoration welled in Evylin as she reached up to touch his cheek. “Yes,” she whispered back. “Three months ago, I chose you without understanding my heart. Today, I choose you again, this time giving you all my heart and my very soul.”
A slow, relieved smile softened Deckard’s features. “In a thousand lifetimes,” he said, “I could never choose another. I love you.”
“I love you.”
Deckard closed the distance, pressing two short but ardent kisses to her lips. Then he drew back, took her hand, and guided her back to Ilain. “We’re ready,” he announced.
Standing at Ethenn’s side, Ilain’s nose wrinkled happily with her bright smile.
“Wonderful,” she said, instructing them to take their places.
She patted Ethenn’s shoulder affectionately before joining them.
She had them clasp each other’s right hands, facing one another. “We’ll start with the oath.”
Gazes locked, Evylin and Deckard drew in breaths to steady themselves simultaneously. His thumb brushed along the back of her wrist, sending a flurry of tingles across her skin.
“Listen to my words,” Ilain began, her voice serene, “and let them guide you into your magic.”
The shadows in the room seemed to press in around them, heightening the intimacy of the moment. The amber glow of fire and chandelier blended with the silver moonlight. With the cool light of night at his back, Deckard’s face was radiant in warmth.
“Fire, Day, Water, Night, Wind, Time, Terrae, and Space,” Ilain recited.
“This is the foundation of Terraeus, the resources of life. From the dawn of creation, Allore formed Warriors and Mages from his very soul, setting them as gatekeepers and anchors of his power, charging them to be caregivers and servants to all. The union of a Bond between Warrior and Mage is the perfection of that charge.”
As Ilain’s words echoed in the room around them, Evylin held Deckard’s gaze, secure in his steadiness.
His temperate smile soothed her, and her breathing slowed in response.
A faint shiver spread up her arm from where Deckard clasped her wrist. She wished to hold him closer, to fall into his embrace and tuck her head beneath his chin.
She wanted to feel the fullness of comfort and care that his arms always provided.
“The Bond is a responsibility to uphold the natural order of Allore,” Ilain continued. “As he granted us power, so we honor him by reflecting his essence: creation, devotion, and life. To Bond is to release who you are alone and fasten to who you are together.”
Deckard’s grip tightened incrementally, sending a fresh spike of tingles into her skin. Her magic was rising slowly in response to him and the urging of Ilain’s voice.
“Warriors are the champions, the guardians, the advocates, and the shields of Terraeus. They are justice and equity. They are strength and stability.”
A stillness worked its way into Evylin’s mind and body, whisking away all extraneous thoughts like a sweep of wind.
Tranquility trickled down from her scalp, along her neck, and across her shoulders.
Gooseflesh spread along her skin as the coolness of magic rose from the depths.
Her thoughts calmed, though her heart remained passionate with longing for Deckard.
The magic clarified and sharpened her senses as it settled into her core.
The burning firewood singed the air, popping with sharp snaps.
Silver moonlight beamed through the windows with a blazing shine, chilling the air around the panes.
The tiles beneath her pressed against the soles of her boots.
Wax dripped from the candles like teardrops along their tapers.
Ilain’s voice took on a purity of sound, allowing Evylin to hear every nuance within, feminine and genteel in tone but deep and raspy at its core.
“Mages are the creators, the scholars, the philosophers, and the visionaries of Terraeus. They are intellect and wisdom. They are insight and inspiration.”
As if manipulated by her words, Evylin watched Deckard’s eyes shift to a rich green.
His hair, which always appeared more brown than red when cut short, took on a copper tinge in the dim light.
A vein pulsed on his neck when he flexed his jaw.
Though the corner of his mouth still tilted up pleasantly, his expression took on a more serious, focused manner.
Impassioned yet sober, intense yet contained.
In stark contrast to the chill that permeated Evylin’s veins, heat began to flow through Deckard’s touch. It seeped from his palm, through her sleeves, numbing her wrist before spreading up her arm.
“As individuals,” Ilain continued, “Warriors and Mages are two halves of a whole. Bonded, they are no longer two souls but one, inseparable and complete. No more are they for themselves. They are a weapon, a tool created to serve the people, perfected in the balance of their magic. Not double-sided but never-ending—both singular and whole.”
Ilain paused, shifting in Evylin’s peripheral. “I ask you both: Do you accept the responsibility of this union?”
“Yes,” Evylin and Deckard said in unison, their voices blending as they spoke.
The smolder of his magic pulsed again into her arm, drawing her a step closer.
“Do you release the hold of who you were alone?”
“Yes.”
The heat traveled into her chest, weaving with the cold to create an impossible sensation of freezing and burning simultaneously.
“Do you accept one another in the Bond of Warrior and Mage?”
“Yes.”
That last word was a gasp of breath from each of them. Deckard’s brows tugged low in concentration as a sense of vertigo wound through Evylin’s body. The cold grew ruthless as the heat seared white hot. She shivered even as sweat beaded along her spine.
Evylin couldn’t tear her eyes from Deckard’s, locked in a trance-like state.
Yet, her magic revealed the whole of the room to her as though she no longer resided in her own form but in the very air around them.
She watched as Ilain turned to face the Warriors.
Brea moved first, Ethenn following her lead.
They opened the boxes, the gold and silver filigree on them a scrollwork of flora.
The Warriors reached in to take the moonstones from monochromatic velvet cushions.
“Raise your left hands,” Ilain instructed. “Palms up.” It took a moment for Evylin to realize she’d meant the words for them.
Lightheaded and her heart beating at a strange pace, Evylin and Deckard did as directed. It felt like moving through the deepest ocean.
Ethenn and Brea stepped forward under Ilain’s guidance and placed the moonstones on their palms: white for Deckard and black for Evylin.
The stone felt like glass to the touch. Silver filaments diffracted the light across the semi-opaque obsidian-colored gem.
Deckard’s moonstone bore the same variegation but in gold.
“Now,” Ilain said gently, “let your magic overtake you, drawing your souls together, and channel it into the moonstone.”
While Ilain, Ethenn, and Brea stepped away, a fleeting concern niggled at the back of Evylin’s mind. How was she going to accomplish such a feat? Ilain hadn’t taught them how to infuse a gemstone with their magic. How could they ever manage it in this strange, altered state of consciousness?
Then the worries floated away. Deckard’s grip on her was firm and bracing.
The Warrior’s magic pulsed inside her like a heartbeat all its own.
Without effort, her focus narrowed in, shutting out the rest of the world as her senses sharpened and refined their attention on Deckard alone.
The room faded to black, her vision absorbed by her husband.
She saw every detail of his being: the fibers on his coat, the light patches of hair on his hands, the blend of red and brown in his stubble and brows, the seams in his clothes, the ridges on his lips, the lines around his mouth and eyes, and the thin sliver of blue that remained in his ever-deepening green irises.
She heard everything he was: the rhythmic pumping of his heart, the blood flowing through his veins, the brush of his thumb over the fabric of her sleeve, and the steady catch and release of his breath.
She smelled the very atmosphere of his presence: the fresh scent of new clothes, the tallow soap on his skin, the leather of his boots, the hint of perspiration in his grasp, and the intrinsic fragrance of him—warm and natural.
She tasted the essence of him on her tongue: the salt of his sweat, the metallic make of the buttons on his coat, the dry threads that stitched together his clothes, and the faint traces of wine that lingered on his breath.
She felt everything, down to his soul: the weight of the white moonstone on his palm, the tight sleeves that pressed into his arms, the instinctive tension of his muscles, the pressure of the dagger he wore in his right boot, the callouses on his hands, and the heat emanating from his body.