Page 115 of Sword & Shadow
Deckard shook his head. “Blount will recognize Night magic when he sees it.”
Evylin and Ethenn shared a look. Night magic—that’s what the purple-black masses of shadow and crystal were. That’s why Deckard had acted so differently—so aggressive and terrifying, so ready to kill. He’d connected with the most violent resource, wielding it as though it were breathing.
While Deckard and Ethenn set the tavern ablaze, moving with haste, Evylin waited with the horses. A few villagers appeared at the fringes of the square, peering at the scene. None of them interfered. Whether it was due to indifference or fear, she didn’t know. Even when a gray-coated guard wandered by, he immediately turned around to pace away, as though disinterested in getting caught up in the crime.
Scanning the dreary village, Evylin’s thoughts rolled through her head like rocks down a hill. Deckard was a Night Mage, connected to the most brutal, vile form of magic. The sort of magic she should fear above all. Yet, it inspired the deepest ache within her, the strongest desire she’d ever felt. Was she going mad?
No, this wasn’t madness. This was magic.
It was her magic that had drawn her to him. It was as intoxicating as the Day Relic, his power and hers melding together, coursing through her veins. Her whole being felt alive.
Smoke began to seep out of the tavern windows and door.
A shuddering breath slipped out of Evylin. This was a longing she couldn’t tolerate. This magical pull was more menacing than Blount and all his Mages put together. If it could induce this reaction from her, if it could make her forget everything she’d lost and throw caution to the wind, she had to defend herself against it most of all. Because now that Deckard was a Mage, he was all the more dangerous to her. Now that their hearts could be fused in an unbreakable Bond, she was at risk of more than losing someone she cared for. She was at risk of losing part of her very soul.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hours passed in a blur as they tore through the Waulden countryside. Rain bit into their exposed skin as they journeyed toward Ilain’s location. Deckard stared at the horizon in a daze. The Night Relic sent coils of power through him, drawing at his magic again and again, but he quelled it with an inner self-fury. His insides quaked with the knowledge of what he’d done, of all those people he’d killed.
What had become of him? He didn’t recognize the monster who so ruthlessly took those lives. Even as a soldier on the border of Ephria and Wauld, he’d counted every death at his hand. Twenty-one. That number increased in the fight against Blount and his Night Mages, but only by a fraction.
Now, it’d risen by nearly twice that original number.
And the worst part was: The magic felt good.
The power of it, surging through his whole being, shocked him. He’d felt alive while under the magic’s grip. His heart beat steadily, his head cleared, and his body thrummed with control. It provided an illusionary authority, a boldness to do whatever came to mind, regardless of the consequences.
Deckard could finally understand the megalomania of the Mages. He now knew what drove the Mages of Auld to viewthemselves as deities. It was little wonder they were always cast as the villains. Magic like that couldn’t be trusted.
Perhaps that’s why he’d been opposed to his magic from the start. Maybe he’d felt the aggression and chaos it spurred within him. Innately, he’d felt a villainous power welling up inside of him and sought to quell it all along.
Ilain was right; the magic was finding its way out. First, with Hewitt’s ghost. Now, with this murderous display. He had no control over his power. He never had.
Deckard’s gut trembled with discontent. He’d seen the fear and shock on Ethenn and Evylin’s faces. He could feel the immediate distance she’d placed between them after that damning kiss.
The horror of his mistakes lanced through him. His rage to save Evylin overrode his good sense. He’d given himself over to the darkness of Night, letting it wield him rather than using it as a tool. He’d lost control. The magic was intoxicating, deluding him with its power. The moment he kicked that door open and his eyes met Evylin’s, all hope of containing his feelings had flown out the open window and into the vast gray skies of Wauld. It moved at the speed of lightning, arcing down to strike the terrae. He’d taken the leader’s sight with a flick of his wrist, shadowing his vision in pure night. The guards were down next. Then Evylin caught the knife, her magic flaring. He hadn’t had time to consider any of it. Suddenly, he was across the room, and she was in his arms with no regard for anything but one another.
Kissing Evylin always caused his body to heat unnaturally and sent his head into insanity. But this time, as magic burned through both of their veins, it increased every sensation tenfold. He didn’t think he would have had the presence of mind to stop if she hadn’t shoved him away.
And it was that mindless, lustful act that made him feel all the more vile.
Magic made him the worst sort of villain. He’d killed thirteen men without thought. Then he’d forced himself on the woman he loved.
The forests of Wauld thinned as they rode, the bordering mountains looming ahead. Deep gray storm clouds capped the mountains and drifted to block out the gloomy evening sky. Ethenn slowed his horse at the front. They’d attached Auden’s horse, where they’d carefully bound the Mage to the saddle, to the young hunter’s mare, and he led the two steeds to the side of the road.
“We should be close,” Ethenn said, his hood obscuring most of his face. “But we didn’t set a meeting point.”
Deckard struggled to find his voice or his willingness to command. After his crime, he felt as though the leadership of their troop should be taken from him. “Can you track them?” he asked, the words coming out in a strangled tone.
Ethenn nodded, then untied Auden’s horse from his. He handed the reins to Evylin. “I’ll be faster on my own.”
Evylin took the reins reluctantly, her gaze flashing toward Deckard. He could sense her fear in the look. She didn’t want to be alone with him.
The three of them pulled deeper into the small, wooded area, unwilling to risk any potential incursions or questions about the unconscious body on a horse by fellow travelers. Then Ethenn went off to scout for their troop. In the near half hour of his absence, Deckard didn’t bother to attempt a conversation with Evylin. He left her to her thoughts as the Night Relic continued to plague his.
He should have given it to Ethenn. But they’d been in such a rush to leave, he hadn’t considered parting with it until this moment. His head and stomach roiled, his limbs trembling with the struggle of containing the power within. Was this what it was like for Evylin? No wonder the Day Relic was so intoxicating toher. If its joy and life had filled her with the same urgency as the Night Relic’s tug on his dark, twisted thoughts, then he couldn’t blame her for wishing to keep it.
Finally, Ethenn returned and led them to the small camp, farther up the road and well into the woods. The sky was black above them now, and the rain had turned into a torrent. When they came upon Thom, Rafferty, and Ilain, the trio was huddled together beneath an indentation in a rock formation. The tiny alcove couldn’t be considered a cave, but at least it was dry.
