CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
As soon as they entered their bedroom, Evylin glided across the floor and threw herself onto the bed. “Oh, the comforts of home,” she exclaimed, sprawling on the blankets. “Why do we ever leave?”
Deckard laughed, shutting the door behind him. He crossed to set their saddlebags on the end of the bed. “I’m afraid my wife only married me on the promise of adventure,” he teased. “And lounging about in bed all day doesn’t make it into the great epics.”
Evylin let out a grunt of discontentment. “Your wife is a fool.”
“I wholeheartedly disagree.”
She rolled onto her side, propping a hand under her head to watch him as he began to unpack.
Still dressed in his travel clothes, he looked far less like a soldier and more like a mercenary with his scruffy beard.
She smiled at the image. “Even if it’s only for a day,” she said softly, “I’m glad we’re here. ”
Pausing, Deckard leaned forward, pressing a hand to the bed in order to kiss Evylin on the forehead. “I’m glad too,” he whispered.
“I know,” she replied teasingly. “I can feel it.”
Deckard chuckled, then straightened to return to his work.
Though they’d be leaving in the morning, he emptied their saddlebags entirely, one object at a time.
She presumed he’d wash the clothes, repack their other goods, replenish some of the papers, and remove other extraneous items from his stores.
After kicking off her boots, Evylin sat cross-legged on the bed. She grabbed her remaining saddlebag before he could and unceremoniously dumped her belongings in a pile. She rummaged through the disorganized stack, separating the dirty and used up goods from the rest.
Deckard raised a brow at her haphazard rifling. “I thought you were going to take a nap,” he remarked.
“I will,” Evylin said, focused on her task. “I just want to find something first.”
“What?” he asked, gathering her dirty clothes along with his. As he lifted one of her tunics, it unfurled, something small and hard tumbling out.
“Aha!” Evylin reached out to claim the object. “There it is!”
As Deckard began to ask what it was, he paused when Evylin opened the leather pouch.
She pulled out the oval vignette, which was no larger than the palm of her hand.
It was the painting he’d given her for her birthday, a nearly perfect replica of the Wayford countryside where they’d celebrated one month of marriage and he’d made his promises to her, the place where they’d shared their first real kiss.
“You still have it,” Deckard murmured in awe, a softness in the air around him.
Evylin smiled up at him. “I found it in my bag after we escaped Renaul,” she explained. “Thanks to Emmaas, we didn’t lose everything after all.”
Though they’d had to leave behind the Fire, Day, and Time Relics, the retrieval of her painting was a reminder: They hadn’t lost what truly mattered. They’d all made it out with their lives, and that was enough.
“Where should we put it?” Evylin asked, holding the painting with reverence.
Deckard shook his head. “Wherever you like, I suppose.”
“Hm.” Evylin looked around the room, gaze lingering on her nightstand. She already had a picture there—a painting from Dolia depicting the rolling, ivy-covered hills of Whickam Village—along with her jewelry box, its lid open to reveal an unruly stack of small slips of paper.
Evylin retrieved another slip from the leather pouch. “This,” she proclaimed dramatically, “will go in here.” She placed the note in the jewelry box on top of all the others. “For safekeeping.”
Deckard pressed his lips around a broad smile, and she knew he recognized the papers.
They were all the notes he’d left her through their earliest days of marriage.
Most of those letters were menial at best; their contents ran along the same lines: “He was sorry to miss her; he’d be gone, but he hoped to be back soon.
” Yet, she’d kept them all because she couldn’t bear to part with them.
Deckard’s gaze turned desirous as his mood shifted, and Evylin bit her lip slyly. She could tell he wanted to kiss her. So she slipped demurely off the bed and made her way toward him. His hand reached out to grip her arm and pull her close just as a knock came at their door.
They both halted and stared at the door.
Deckard sighed, releasing her.
Evylin smirked, rolled onto her toes to kiss his cheek, then resumed her pursuit of a new home for the vignette.
When Deckard opened the door, Rafferty was on the other side. “Am I interrupting?” he asked, peeking around Deckard.
“We were just unpacking,” Deckard said. “What do you need?”
He raised his white-blond brow. “You do realize we’ll be leaving on the morrow, should all go well, don’t you?”
Deckard gave him a dull stare. “And in the meantime, we’ll be more comfortable in our home. What did you need?”
“It isn’t what I need, Your Magefulness,” he said, thumping a hand to his chest. Then he waved toward the stairs. “Lord Carlile’s here, and he’d like to talk to you.”
Instantly, Evylin and Deckard abandoned their unpacking and followed Rafferty out the door.
They wound down the three flights of stairs, finding the king’s advisor waiting in the parlor with the rest of the troop standing around awkwardly.
Only Ilain and Auden appeared at ease, talking casually with Carlile.
The old nobleman’s white hair fluffed around his head with untamable whimsy.
Otherwise, he was the perfect image of a gentleman.
He wore a navy coat with a patterned blue waistcoat, as was the current fashion.
His silk cravat mimicked his stark hair, though crisply tied with a pleasant drape.
Hands clasped behind his back, he stood with unexpected comfort in their meagerly furnished home.
Upon Deckard and Evylin’s arrival, the parlor’s occupants turned to them. “Ah, Colonel Deckard,” Carlile said merrily. “Pleasure to see you again. And Private Deckard,” he winked at Evylin in a conspiratory manner, “as impressive as ever.”
“Milord,” Evylin greeted with a curtsy that felt strange in her trousers.
Deckard suggested they take a seat, though there weren’t enough available in the room. They made do, letting Evylin, Ilain, and Isla take the sofa while Brea perched on the arm and Carlile took the wingback chair. The rest of the men stood around the room, listening expectantly.
“Well,” Carlile said, inspecting them each in turn, “I am here to extend an invitation on King Ephren’s behalf. He requests you join him for dinner, where you may debrief him on the status of your mission.”
“Dinner, eh?” Rafferty asked, leaning against the stair railing. “Count me in. What time shall we arrive to dine with his royal fatness?”
Carlile gave the weasel a quick, appraising glance.
Though they hadn’t known of Carlile’s place in the Alliance upon their first meeting, Ilain and Auden had assured them that he had no more affinity for King Ephren than the rest of them.
However, Evylin wondered if the advisor disapproved of the disrespect to their sovereign.
“Seven,” Carlile answered, ignoring the quip. “There will be two carriages sent for you, though—” He looked at Vayden, Isla, and Brea as he said, “I’m afraid the invitation is only extended to the Order of the King.”
“I can’t say I’ll miss meeting His Majesty,” Brea said flippantly.
“It bodes well that you’ll be staying here,” Carlile continued, “as we’ll require Mr. Calder to carry the Relics while Highlady Freye and Lieutenant Lohen act as his guard.”
Evylin glanced over her shoulder at Deckard with wary apprehension. Being in Ephria once again, where magic’s very existence was touted as a heretical legend, the Relics were far safer than before. But leaving them with only two guards made her uneasy.
Deckard cleared his throat and asked, “His Majesty didn’t consider delivering this message to be a waste of your time?”
Carlile’s eyes glimmered with humor. “Not when I suggested I should bring his most honored guard a few gifts.” He gestured to a medium-sized trunk that could be seen in the entry. “After so long on the road, His Majesty thought you’d appreciate some grander clothes for the occasion.”
Ilain brightened. “You brought me a gown?” she asked excitedly.
“I did, Highlady.”
She failed to contain a squeal, pressing a hand to her lips and looking very much like she was ready to bolt off the sofa to peruse the trunk.
“But my real reason for coming,” Carlile said, “was, of course, on behalf of the Alliance. I’d like to hear your plans and offer what advice I can. About this evening and beyond.”
He looked at Rafferty then. “My first bit of advice is to keep that tongue in check. King Ephren is fond of jokes but not at his expense. We don’t need to offend the king or alert him to our cause.”
The setting sun cast shadows across the wooden floor, marking the short period remaining between the present and their dinner.
Deckard spoke again, hastily suggesting, “Perhaps we’d better inform you of our plans quickly, as it will take some time to make ourselves presentable for His Majesty’s company. ”
“Certainly,” Carlile said, prompting Deckard to begin his explanation.
With steady progress, Deckard went through the plans.
They would seek out the Space Keep in the morning, retrieve the Relic, and begin their journey to Estshire posthaste.
He explained how they hoped to subvert Blount by obtaining both Relics before him, even at the risk of going out of order.
Once they accomplished that phase of the mission, they didn’t have much of a plan in place, hoping the Alliance would give them directions on the best way to recover the remaining four Relics from Blount himself.