CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE #2
Deckard’s heart squeezed at the thought of his brother. “How is he? Can I see him?”
“He’s all right,” she promised. “He’ll have a scar and several days of recovery ahead of him, but he’s just fine thanks to Ilain. Though walking is a bit of a struggle, so you’ll have to visit him in the parlor. He’s on the sofa.”
“He can’t walk?”
She shook her head comfortingly. “His leg is just tender,” she corrected. “It will take several days for the swelling to go down, but Ilain managed to heal the break. She offered to heal it the rest of the way once she’s better recovered. For the moment, he just needs support getting around.”
Deckard took a restoring breath. His brother was safe and alive. He had to focus on that.
“And what does Thom think of Brea’s potential . . . regard for him?” he asked.
Evylin wore a bemused smirk. “I really don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t exactly gotten the chance to speak with him privately, but he hasn’t appeared to notice Brea’s avoidance. Neither has he acknowledged Ilain’s accusation.”
Deckard let out a disappointed huff. “Do you think he intends to ignore it?”
“Actually,” Evylin’s grin turned proud, “I think he’s just giving them space. He was mortally wounded, so perhaps it’s the result of blood loss, but he’s kept a level head through it all. It seems he’s simply trying to behave maturely about it all.”
Despite the heartbreak and guilt in his chest, Deckard found himself smiling. “He’s growing up,” he said fondly.
Evylin nodded. “Seems that way.”
“What now?” he asked. “Is everyone else well enough to travel?”
“Yes. Perhaps we’re all emotionally fragile, but I think continuing our mission will give us purpose,” she said. “Something to do other than wallow in our misery.”
Knowing he’d need to apologize profoundly to Ilain, Vayden, and Isla, as well as to the rest of their troop, Deckard decided to start with the most important confession first.
Taking Evylin’s hands in his once more, Deckard sat up straighter. Another well of power tugged at his core, but he focused on the task at hand. “Evylin, I’m sorry,” he said.
“I already told you it isn’t your fault.”
“No, listen,” he insisted. “I’m not apologizing for the consequences of my actions now. My apology is for leaving you.”
A twist of dismay cinched the air around them.
Evylin’s eyes filled with tears again, and he drew closer.
“I’m so sorry, Evie,” he whispered. “I wanted to be stronger for you. I’m sorry I became someone you couldn’t trust and that I abandoned you when you needed me most. Although unintentional, it was wrong.
I don’t know how, but I promise you, I will figure out how to control this.
I will never leave you like that again.”
The first of Evylin’s tears slipped free, and she rested her forehead against his. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. She cried silently in his embrace. Love, sorrow, fear, and relief all fluttered around them, tugging on his soul.
“Please forgive me,” he begged, the words a mere whisper.
“Always,” Evylin said into his collar.
Deckard pressed a kiss to her temple and held her as her arms coiled around him.
They were too overcome with emotion to move.
Her tears soaked the shoulder of his tunic while his own fell into her hair.
The anguish of his inadequacy and the damning weight of his lack of control cut through his stomach, leaving him raw and aching.
He had failed them miserably. If only he hadn’t given in to the magic, if only he could have waited until they made it to the Chamber. . . .
Evylin pulled back in his arms, a sad smile on her lips. “How long are you going to blame yourself?” she asked.
“Forever,” he admitted.
She sighed. “Will you never accept absolution?”
“I can’t,” he whispered hollowly.
Evylin brushed her thumb along his cheek, sending an arc of magic under his skin. “You are a bloody martyr,” she said with a mix of affection and vexation. “And I love you.”
Deckard forced himself to return her tender smile, though he knew his expression fell woefully short. “I love you,” he promised.
With a heavy sigh, Evylin pulled away. “We should get going,” she said. “It’s late, and if we want to make good time, we need to get out of Loclight as soon as possible.”
Deckard nodded, then paused. “Evie,” he murmured. “Are you wearing the Space Relic?”
Her chin raised in surprise. “Yes.”
He pressed his lips together. “I can feel it,” he admitted.
“Oh?”
“It’s . . .” He ground his teeth. “It calls to me.”
Evylin furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
He met her eyes. “It wants me to use it,” he explained. “Every time you touch me, I feel it, here—” He pressed a hand to his sternum. “It tugs on my magic but not like your touch usually does. It isn’t something I can easily ignore or let go.”
Deckard stared at her collar, at the place where he knew the Relic hung. “It’s a demand,” he said tightly. “A compulsion.”
The scream in his dream reverberated through his mind. Let me out.
Evylin watched him warily as he continued, “Even now, I can feel it, like a presence looming over my shoulder. It wants me to touch it, to wield it. It wants to consume me.” He met her gaze, confessing his darkest truth. “And I want to let it.”
Caution and worry glided around Evylin, muddling her lighthearted personality. “I don’t understand,” she said. “We’re Bonded.”
Deckard waited, unsure of her point in bringing that up.
She leaned closer. “Jonn, the Alliance wants Bonded couples to carry the Relics because they are the only ones who can carry them without being affected by their pull,” she said. “You and I are Bonded. The Relic shouldn’t affect you.”
The damning fact became clear to Deckard then. “Perhaps I’m too weak,” he said. “And perhaps that’s all the evidence we need to reject the Alliance’s desire for us.”
Though Evylin didn’t seem convinced, she didn’t contradict him.
Rubbing his hands together, Deckard ignored the agitating weight of his moonstone ring. “I’d like you to give the Relic to Rafferty,” he said. “We can’t risk my error again should I prove too weak to resist.”
Evylin began to nod, then paused as though in thought. “No,” she said.
Deckard flinched at the unexpected refusal. “What?”
She held his gaze with determination. “Jonn, you need to learn to control your magic,” she said with finality, “to control your impulse. You can’t do that if you take the temptation away.”
“Evylin, it’s dangerous.”
“Everything we’re doing is dangerous,” she said, a hint of playfulness back in her tone. Then she set her hand on his cheek, sending a jolt of power through him once more. “You can control it.”
“I don’t trust myself,” he admitted.
“I trust you,” she said. “Let that be enough.”
Deckard tightened his jaw but saw that she wouldn’t be convinced. So he dipped his head in acquiescence. Perhaps he could talk Ilain or Isla into forcing her to give it up. But for now, he’d have to be careful with how much he touched her, how close he let himself get.
Rising from the bed, Deckard offered her a doubtful grimace. “I hope I don’t disappoint your trust,” he said.
Evylin’s expression was so full of love and affection that his heart almost broke at the thought of failing her. “You never have,” she said.
But Deckard knew that wasn’t true.
No matter what Evylin wanted to claim, he’d failed her too many times to count. He’d broken her trust on numerous occasions. The Space Keep was just the most damning among them.
And even as he prayed that it would be the last time, he was certain it would not.