Chapter 35 Evander
Chapter thirty-five
Evander
Evander Trevelyan was an escape artist.
He had escaped Ashkendor, then Largotia, then Sivanlight. This was the safest way to live when you cannot trust anyone but dragons.
Not that Evander was a coward. He had faced death and danger without batting an eyelid, but before he watched his father die, he had made him a promise to be careful.
Until he met Valenna. Despite his resistance, he had succumbed to her, had broken his promise to his father, and fallen in love with her, trusted her, abandoned his retreat from Ashkendor and death, and now both were coming for him like an avalanche—too broad to dodge, too fast to outrun.
A shiver of fear chilled Evander as they staggered toward the inn.
Valenna was his wife. She was part of him—linked magically, linked physically. Like paint poured together in a pail, there was no unmixing them.
Valenna and her beautiful, adoring eyes, the shape of her body that he couldn’t explore enough, the endless wonders of her mind and soul. She awoke something within him. Something desperate and strange. A hunger for more.
More of her.
More time.
More breath in his lungs.
More hope.
But when Valenna’s magic struck him, Evander felt something break inside his head. He couldn’t stop the irritating trickle of blood leaking from his ear. And the pain was blinding.
As they made their way through town, he tried to hide the racking agony and the way the ground pitched beneath his feet.
But Valenna knew. Her shoulder trembled beneath his arm, and she was so pale, he worried she might faint.
A croaking subsong dragged at his attention, and he squinted into the weeping sky.
Raska hunched on a thatched roof, watching him with hungry eyes.
He tensed, waiting for her to swoop down and snatch him away, but she fluttered her wings and remained where she was.
She would come for him when he was dead. Of this, he was certain.
For the first time, he considered letting Raska take him. Perhaps his mother would revive him. If she did, he’d escaped once before ...
He pushed the idea aside. The hope that returning to his mother—to Ashkendor—would save him was delusional. He wouldn’t be able to find Valenna again, and he’d be a pawn. Better to let nature have its way with him.
Somehow, they reached the inn, and Valenna helped him upstairs and to the bed.
He collapsed onto it. The room, obscured behind a reddish haze, wheeled like he was on a ship in a storm.
The ground beneath his feet felt liquid.
He wanted to vomit, but he didn’t have the strength. Lights popped in his vision.
He ground his teeth and pressed his head into the pillow. He was not going to die like this. Not today.
Valenna blurred over him, her face sliding in and out of focus. He had to get her out of the room before the darkness dragged him down. He didn’t want her to watch him die; better for her to return to his body still and peaceful than to endure his last throes.
She was speaking to him, and he heard the words, but it was as though his brain had forgotten how to interpret language.
“Can you close the windows?” he slurred.
Her footsteps sounded on the floor, and the room darkened. This helped the pain, which was immense now. It racked, but it was stable—no longer mounting.
He sank downward. He tested the dark to see if it was death or sleep, and found he could wake up if he tried. It was just sleep.
“Vander.” He understood her now, barely. “Don’t fall asleep. Please, stay with me.”
He felt her hand in his, a cool cloth on his forehead.
“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m just … just resting a moment.”
“No, you need to stay awake. Please, for me. Stay for me.”
He wanted to stay. Oh, he so deeply wanted to stay, but this time, he couldn’t escape. This time, he would have to look the obstacle in the face. He could not slide around it like oil or slip through it like sand. But he was going to fight all the way down.