Page 68 of Sword & Shadow
“Then whatareyou doing?” he demanded.“’Cause from where I stand, it looks like nothing.”
They glared at each other, their old resentments and animosity charging the air.
Thom took a confrontational step closer. “I don’t care about your sanctimonious ethics. I will dowhateverit takes to protect her.”
Deckard’s expression shifted into one that was deadly and emotionless as he looked down his nose at his brother. He leaned forward, his deep voice flat as he said, “She’s not your wife.”
Without another word, Deckard walked away, leaving Thom alone in the trees. His hands shook from holding them curled tightly for so long. His muscles protested as he flexed them at his sides.
Thom didn’t watch his brother leave. Instead, he glared into the forest’s depths and whispered, “But she should be.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
6TH OF CHRONOS, 1574
There was one good thing that came of Evylin’s time with the Relic: It seemed to give her a new resolve. Despite her descent back into the well of depression, she’d gained a strength that wasn’t there before. And Deckard was proud of her for that, even if she did exercise it by facing away from him in her sleepwithouthis arms around her.
She’d made her request when he’d returned from that absurd conversation with Thom. Ilain and Ethenn were already at their post for the night, while Auden and Rafferty were bedding down in separate alcoves for safety from the rain. When Deckard moved to take his place at Evylin’s side, she set a hand on his arm before he could get settled.
“Could you—” She paused then, taking a deep breath to steel herself. “Could you let me sleep on my own?”
The rejection twisted Deckard’s gut. “If that’s what you want,” he whispered back. “But...do you mean you’d like me not to hold you or that you’d like me to sleep elsewhere?”
Evylin considered that. “The others will be suspicious if we sleep separately,” she concluded. “You can lie next to me, but...I need space.”
Though Deckard doubted her ability to rest well without his warmth or the closeness they’d grown used to, he would honor her request. “Of course,” he said, then lay down facing away from her. He wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, knowing it could only provide so much comfort on the rain-soaked ground.
And while he hadn’t expected her to lie awake all night, he heard more than felt Evylin’s breathing steady into sleep long before him. In fact, though she managed to capture her rest within half an hour, he stared into the darkness for half the night.
But he could only attribute her shutting him out to part of his restlessness.
In the course of his day, Deckard had been so focused on Evylin that he’d altogether forgotten about the nagging sensation of the other day. The one that told him something was wrong in his conversation with his vision of Hewitt. Once he bedded down, the solitude of the night provided ample time for consideration.
And as he lay there for what felt like endless hours, Deckard finally figured out the truth that whispered in the back of his brain. A truth he wasn’t entirely sure how to process.
The following day passed in the same plodding through rain and mud. The troop’s usually cheerful mood was fully tempered by the torrent of bead-sized hail that journeyed with them. It wasn’t dangerous enough for them to stop, but the horses snorted unhappily as they were pelted over and over, and the troop huddled, grimacing with each stinging strike of solid ice.
The weather put everyone on edge. When they arrived to make camp, several disgruntled arguments broke out. Deckard managed to set them all to rights, but Ethenn sulked as he prepared the meal, and Ilain refused to assist Auden with the fire on the grounds that he was “being a tedious crag-hag.”
Deckard wasn’t sure what a crag-hag was, but after every impossible thing the Mages had brought into their lives, he decided he didn’t care to find out.
While Thom and Ilain sat side by side, passing flirtatious insults at one another, Deckard decided he’d had enough. “I’m going for a walk,” he said, not caring that they’d all agreed to avoid going out alone.
Gratefully, no one questioned him. Rafferty and Evylin sat together under the boughs of a hazel; he appeared to be teaching her how to make a coin disappear. She wasn’t smiling, but she wore a faintly amused expression. It gave Deckard enough security to leave her for an extended period.
Deckard moved through the trees, his hood as far over his head as it would reach. The hail that made it through the thick tree cover pecked at his shoulders like a hen at its feed. With the heavy, charcoal gray clouds that filled the sky, the forest was already dark, as somber as the mood in his heart.
Satisfied that he’d gone far enough, he came to an unceremonious stop between two pines. Hewitt was there, his burly frame filling the enclosed space. His iron-gray eyes scanned Deckard, mouth pulled taut in a disgruntled manner.
“Something’s wrong,” he surmised.
Deckard allowed several seconds to pass as he surveyed the man. His dark brown hair and beard were as unruly as ever, silver streaks showing the early signs of aging at fifty-five, according to his army contract. He still wore the gray coat given to them by King Ephren, marking them as members of the Order of the King. Weapons hung from his thick belt, and a hand rested on the sword there.
“This is exactly how you looked before you died,” Deckard noted.
Hewitt’s brow creased. “Is that important?” he asked.
Deckard shook his head. “Not particularly.”
