Page 69 of Sword & Shadow
“Then why mention it?”
Hewitt’s gruff growl struck Deckard differently now. It was a sound he’d never thought he’d hear again. A sound he’d thought he’d imagined over the last several weeks.
“I couldn’t have known that you told Evylin to consummate our marriage,” Deckard said.
Hewitt lifted his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I didn’t expect you would.”
“You also told me that it took a month after Ryen’s death for her to smile. I couldn’t have known that either.”
“Believe it or not,” Hewitt quipped, “I know many things that you don’t.”
“That’s just it,” Deckard replied. “You shouldn’t be able to tell meanythingI didn’t already know.”
“How arrogant of you.”
Deckard took a step closer. “You’re real.”
Hewitt’s left eyebrow rose derisively. “Of course, I’m real. What, did you think you were talking to yourself this whole time?”
“Yes!” Deckard exclaimed. “But you’re arealghost.”
“Seems that way,” he said casually. “One minute I was dead, and the next I was in those woods, talking to you. Which, might I add, if given the choice of people I’d like to spend my afterlife with,youwould be at the bottom of the list.”
Deckard laughed at the ridiculous comfort of having Hewitt insult him. “How are you here?” he asked in bafflement.
“How should I know? In a world of Warriors and Mages, it seems that ghosthood isn’t as far-fetched as one would like to believe.”
“This is incredible,” Deckard muttered. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. “You can help me care for Evylinandwin her back.”
“Win her back?” Hewitt scoffed. “I thought we’d already determined that she was in love with you.”
Deckard grimaced. “We were wrong. Now that I realize you aren’t a figment of my imagination, I suppose I have some things to explain to you.” He went through the past several days, the discovery of Evylin’s dependence on the Day Relic, his insistence that she gave it up, how strongly she fought against it (though he kept out the bit about her offering herself to him), her breakdown the previous day, and her newly established separation from him.
Hewitt took it all in with a bland expression as he stroked his unruly beard. “She was self-medicating with a Relic?” he commented, a layer of incredulity in his tone. “Just when I thought I couldn’t hate magic more.”
“It appears there’s a great deal we don’t understand about magic,” Deckard replied, gesturing to the ghost himself as proof.
Hewitt grunted. “While it would give me no greater pleasure than to help Evylin out of this mess, I fail to see what I can do. It isn’t as though I can chat with her to convince her how wonderful you are. You’re the only one who can see or hear me.”
“I did consider that, but that’s not the help I need.”
“Then what assistance are you hoping for?”
“She needs to heal,” Deckard said. “Your death broke Evylin, as Ryen’s did thirteen years ago. You helped her through that time. You helped her to heal. Tell me how to help her now.”
A cool breeze cut through the trees, and the hail lightened, returning to a regular rainstorm. Despite his seeming corporeality, none of the weather affected Hewitt. He stood there, his clothes and hair as dry as on a sunny day.
“I don’t know how to help you with that,” Hewitt said regretfully.
Deckard frowned. “You did it before.”
“I waswithher before,” the ghost said. “She didn’t heal from Ryen’s death. Neither did I. We remained broken in our mutual grief, finding solace in one another because it felt like being with him. I imagined Evylin to be mine because she was the closest thing I could get to having my son back. She attached herself to me, trusting me more than anyone else on Terraeus because I was the closest thing she could get to her best friend. We didn’t move on. We only pretended to.”
Deckard’s instinct was to apologize. The grief they both must have felt and the way they’d let it linger for over a decade must have tainted even their happiest memories together. He thought back through all the times when Evylin chose Hewitt over him, the jealousy and rejection he’d felt. He now realized that it wasn’t Hewitt she was choosing. It was the past. It was Ryen.
“I beg your forgiveness if this is insensitive,” Deckard began, desperate to understand. “But why was Ryen so important to her? I know they were like siblings, but...even if one of my siblings died, I can’t fathom it so irrevocably ending my happiness.”
“Ryen wasn’t just like her brother,” Hewitt replied. “It was as if he were her twin. They were born barely a month apart. She didn’t remember a day without him. And he was the only one who understood her. While her sisters played house with their dolls, she played pirates with Ryen by the stream. They built up dreams together. They made a vow to travel the world, experiencing one adventure after the next.”
