CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Given how long it took to get to Bewold, there was no time for training that night.
Having lost two days due to their time in Loclight, the troop had to move with urgency to reach the Terrae Keep before Blount. However, they all agreed they couldn’t push so hard as to wear down the horses, which they couldn’t afford to replace regularly, nor themselves.
With the final Keep and the confrontation with Blount looming in their future, they need to arrive with full strength, prepared to take on the Night Mage.
Even if Blount beat them to the Relic, they all needed to continue their training, magical and otherwise, to ensure their success against the prince.
And if his dream and the constant luring pulse of Space from the Relic around Evylin’s neck were any indication, Deckard needed that training more desperately than them all.
The village of Bewold was reasonably sized, larger than both Stocburrough and Whickam Village.
As one of the few waypoints to and from the capital city, it boasted three separate taverns that doubled as inns.
This provided them with the extra rooms they needed, and they reserved one for each couple, one for Thom and Rafferty, and one for Brea alone.
She insisted on paying for her room, and Deckard allowed it, but he carefully observed the location of the room the barkeep assigned to her.
Despite the late hour, there were many patrons in the tavern.
Ilain was clearly too emotionally run down to sit among the loud chatter, so she and Ethenn ordered their meals and left to eat in their room.
Rafferty found a table big enough for the seven remaining members of their party near the back of the room, but Brea slipped away, choosing isolation as well.
Deckard watched her go but said nothing.
And thus it was that the four Ephrians and two Calders ate their hearty beef, potato, and rutabaga stew with a semblance of quiet comfort. Their corner table gave them distance from the rest of the patrons. An oil lamp flickered overhead, its flame glinting off their glazed ceramic tankards.
“How’re you holding up there, Vaydy?” Rafferty asked, his signature flippancy softened by the genuine concern in his tone.
Vayden took a deep breath as he stared into his stew. “As well as can be expected when one loses their brother, I suppose,” he said. “It’s hard, but . . . I don’t feel it the same way Ilain does. I’d rather be among people and remember what Auden died for than process my grief in solitude.”
Deckard’s stomach twisted, the beef sitting heavily. “If there’s any way we can be of service, let us know,” he offered.
Vayden gave an appreciative smile but said nothing more.
At his side, Isla squeezed his forearm in support.
The couple had always bemused Deckard. Despite Isla’s youthful appearance, he couldn’t fathom having a wife so much his senior.
It rankled against his sensibilities. There was enough disparity between being a man and a woman; wouldn’t a great gap in age make it even more difficult?
Though he supposed many men married women twenty years their junior, and that didn’t often bother him.
To take issue with the woman’s maturity was hypocritical.
“So,” Rafferty said, turning to Deckard and breaking into his wandering thoughts, “how’d you manage to teleport?”
Everyone paused, spoons raised, looking at Deckard.
He shifted uncomfortably in his wooden chair. “I don’t know,” was his placid answer as he returned to his stew.
Evylin’s hand brushed his under the table. It sent a thrill of magic through his veins, and he fought the urge to flinch as Space took the opportunity to whisper in his mind.
“Well, however you managed it,” Rafferty continued, “it was bloody incredible.”
Thom gave a wry grin while Evylin chuckled softly. Wishing to avoid the topic, Deckard shoveled another spoonful of meat and potato into his mouth.
Isla leaned forward with curiosity. Though it was clear that she, too, was mourning, her grief had proved far more tempered. It was almost as though her additional years had helped mature her control over her emotions. “You don’t know how you did it?” she prompted.
Deckard gave her a quick, apologetic glance. “No.”
Her dark eyes narrowed. “You just came up with it on your own?”
Realizing that she wouldn’t let it go and, if nothing else, her question presented an opportunity to learn more control of his magic, Deckard replied, “No, I was flipping through one of Lord Obel’s books, and I saw it referenced.”
“You studied it?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t have time.”
“You didn’t read it?”
“Only the header.”
Isla’s brow rose, and Vayden let out a low curse.
“What?” Evylin asked, concern clouding her energy. “Is that bad?”
After a mumbled string of Schonese, Isla said, “It is not bad. It is strange.” She met Deckard’s gaze. “Jonn, you managed to accomplish a magical feat that would take other Mages years of study to fully comprehend. Off a header.”
Too afraid to do much else, Deckard stared back at her.
“You connected with Space in a way that is so intimate that it did exactly what you wanted without any effort on your part.” Isla shrugged. “That’s good. And it’s bad. Your connection to Space is strong, but you’ve proved to have no control over the amount of power flowing through you.”
The way each member of the group looked at Deckard made it clear they were either worried or mystified by him.
He fought not to slump under the weight of their inspection.
He was a danger to their party; it was becoming clearer by the day.
Not only had he gotten Auden killed, but if he didn’t get his magic under control, next time, he might kill them all too.
“Excellent choice of conversation, Raff,” chided Thom lightly.
Rafferty huffed. “How was I supposed to know it was a touchy subject? I’m bored.
While the interpersonal conflicts of the lot of you are generally entertaining, we’re going through a bit of a crisis, if you hadn’t noticed, Thommy.
Who am I supposed to poke fun at when Loxley’s off consoling his highlady, eh?
Brea’s not even here for me to tease about her love for you. ”
Isla and Vayden exchanged looks while Thom kicked Rafferty’s shin under the table.
“I told you,” Thom said sharply, “Ilain was mistaken.”
While his brother took a long swig of ale, Deckard continued to study Isla and Vayden. They kept their attention conspicuously on their meals. He murmured something in Schonese, to which she snorted in quiet amusement.
“Fine, then. Here’s a less touchy topic: What do you think?” Rafferty began. “Will Lox and Lain’s wee bairns be dark like him, or will they come out freckle-faced and red as a tomato?”
Thom scowled dramatically. “I don’t want to think about that.”
Evylin propped her arms on the table, intrigued by the idea.
“Actually, I know this answer. My eldest sister, Euna, looks most like my father, with a lighter complexion and bright green eyes. Even her hair is more of a golden brown than dark, like mine or the rest of my sisters. But her husband, Druan, is dark-skinned with black hair and deep brown eyes. They had four daughters, and Euna was with child before he was drafted; all their girls look far more like Druan with brown complexions and dark hair, despite Euna’s fairness.
My mother said that’s because the darker colorings are the dominant trait,” she said, then gestured to Vayden and Isla.
“Think of Reyana. She’s paler than Isla, but otherwise, she more closely resembles her mother. ”
“I am Schonese,” Isla reminded. “Our features are more pronounced. However, it is unlikely that Ilain would have redheaded children due to the strength of Ethenn’s complexion and coloring.”
Evylin lifted her brows in Rafferty’s direction to prove her point, and he rolled his eyes.
Deckard appreciated the weasel guiding the lighthearted conversation, letting it wind into silly debates about genealogy and questions about Isla’s heritage and family in Schon.
It allowed him to process his weighty thoughts while his comrades were distracted.
Even when Rafferty made a point of teasing that Deckard’s own children were bound to come out ruddy and paler than snow, he stuck to his wandering thoughts.
He had too many things to figure out and too many responsibilities to ponder to engage in casual banter.
And that ominous murmur of Space still thrummed in his ears, making every thought harder to control.
Let me out.
When they finished their meal, Vayden and Isla departed. Deckard rose as well, telling Thom to join Evylin and meet him back at their room in half an hour. Then they could talk with Hewitt. “I have to take care of something first,” he said, excusing himself.
Though Evylin’s gaze questioned him, she let him go, remaining at the table with Rafferty and Thom.
Climbing the rickety staircase and striding down the dimly lit halls, Deckard wound his way to the back of the second floor. He scanned the wooden doors, noting the numbered plaques hanging from each doorknob. When he reached room thirteen, he knocked.
The door opened a fraction before it swung wide. “I wondered when you’d come to see me,” Brea said by way of greeting. She gestured for Deckard to enter, then shut the door behind him.
“You expected me?” he asked.
Taking a seat on one of the two single beds in the room, Brea crossed her arms. “I have no designs on your brother,” she said flatly. “You need not worry.”
A small smile lifted the corner of Deckard’s lips. “You’re rather blunt.”
“I see no reason to mince words. It would be a waste of both our time.”
Brea’s dark gaze held his with a forthrightness, and he had to admit she was beautiful in an intimidating way. In addition, she had a confidence that few other women carried. Deckard could understand the appeal, though he couldn’t help but notice the underlying hardness in the woman’s bearing.
Deckard leaned against the footboard of the bed opposite Brea. “That’s not why I’m here,” he said.
A cynical smirk filled her expression. “No,” she agreed. “You’re here to do your duty as a commanding officer.”
“I thought you’d understand.”
“I’m a soldier, Colonel. I recognize a censure when I receive one.”
Deckard cocked his head. “This isn’t a censure,” he said. “I merely wish to understand your side of the events in the Keep.”
Brea lifted her chin, taking a slow inhale.
“It’s rather straightforward,” she said.
“I saw Captain Deckard fall with a mortal injury, and I did what any fellow soldier would: I went to his aid. I pulled him from danger as best I could, but he was worse off than anticipated. In defending him, I was forced to leave my other comrade unaided. Auden died because I was unable to be in two places at once. An unavoidable fault, not an intentional abandonment.”
Deckard nodded. “As I thought.”
“Ilain does not see it that way,” Brea continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “She will not accept it. No matter what I say, she will take this as an affront to her and her family. In her eyes, I betrayed Auden.”
“She’s grieving,” Deckard said. “The wound is fresh, but Ilain is not unreasonable. She will come to understand the truth in time.”
Her smile grew hard. “No, she won’t,” she said with surety. “But that’s just fine. Ilain and I don’t have to get along. We just have to work together. And you can trust that I will do my job, Colonel, no matter the personal conflicts I face.”
Deckard believed her. Though he disagreed—he did think Ilain would come to see reason—he accepted that Brea would follow through with her job on this mission to the fullest extent of her ability.
However, there was one matter yet unresolved.
“Why are you avoiding Thom?” he asked.
Brea didn’t so much as flinch. “Because it’s better this way.”
“I fail to see the logic in that.”
“I don’t need friendship to get a job done,” Brea said.
“And if I’m going to be accused of romantic inclinations every time that I save someone’s life at the expense of another’s, then I’d like to protect myself from foolish and petty accusations.
Whatever Ilain or anyone else thinks of me, I do not love your brother.
I chose to save his life because that is who I am—a protector.
I would have done the same for you, for Vayden, for Ilain, and indeed for any of our party.
It has nothing to do with emotion or infatuation.
And I don’t care to be condemned for my actions. ”
Deckard held Brea’s stare through her explanation. He watched her, looking for any sign of emotion or falsehood. Yet, he found none.
“I appreciate your candor,” Deckard said, straightening away from the footboard. “But I would request you find a way to be amicable at the very least. It makes life awkward otherwise.”
Brea gave him a dutiful nod.
He moved for the door, placing his hand on the brass knob. “One more thing,” he said.
She lifted her brow, attentively listening.
“I don’t believe you,” he said.
Brea’s shoulders tensed, but it was the flicker of fear that passed through her dark eyes that truly gave her away. “Pardon?” she said, the mask of her typical stoicism slipping quickly into place.
Deckard pressed his lips together. “You watch him too carefully,” he said. “You smile at him too easily. And you speak that pet name of yours too fondly.”
Her fingers tightened on her arm, resting folded in her lap.
“You may not love my brother,” Deckard concluded, “but you do have feelings for him. And I would advise you to quell them. For his sake.”
Brea didn’t reply. Instead, she sat upon the bed, fierce gaze locked with Deckard’s. Her expression was stolid and unreadable. With her dark skin, dark hair, and dark clothing, she looked like a raven tucked among the mundanity of furnishings and linens.
“Goodnight, Lieutenant,” Deckard said, then exited the room.