Page 214 of Sword & Shadow
Deckard lifted his chin, beginning to understand what sort of leader Caustin was.
“Third,” he went on, “no struggling. Should you break any of these rules, there will be unpleasant consequences. Understand?”
Clearing his throat, Deckard gave a singular nod.
“Excellent. You’re down to three minutes to finish your meal.”
Deckard ate quickly, making sure to clear his bowl entirely. His stomach twisted, the food repugnant since it had been empty for so long. Yet, the meager meal would have to suffice.
Once he was finished, Deckard was led back to the wagon. They gagged him and tied his wrists again, then guided him up the steps to the back of the bed and bound his body to the bars once more. Then they took Evylin.
Deckard sat, tense and anxious, during her short turn. He allowed himself the reprieve of releasing the Night Relic’s disguise, and immediately, his body trembled, and his eyes fluttered as he struggled to retain consciousness. It felt as though his desperation and focus were all that kept him awake.
Quickly, he glanced down, assured the Relic’s glow couldn’t be seen. Still, he didn’t relax until Evylin returned. The men tied her in place, then took Rafferty.
Evylin slipped her foot back under Deckard’s leg. He met her gaze, satisfied by the calm alertness within.
With his head threatening to tear itself apart, Deckard rested it back against the bars. He closed his eyes at last. He felt Evylinprop her knee on his leg. He smiled. After two weeks, this was not how he’d imagined spending their first night back together.
Disappointment tugged at his heart, but sleep dragged him into its depths as he wondered if he’d ever get to hold Evylin again.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
34TH OF CHRONOS, 1574
It was his fault. That was the conclusion Thom had come to. If he hadn’t been such a monumental ass, none of this would have happened.
But he’d goaded Ethenn, he’d stalled them in the forest, and he’d caused the delay that allowed Caustin and his men to capture them. Now, they rode in the back of a wagon to their certain death, and all he could do was sit in his own filth.
A scout. That was how Caustin’s men had discovered them. Thom had realized the origin of their discovery while they were all bound and loaded into the wagon.
“Where are the other two?” Caustin demanded of a small, lithe man—the Waulden version of Rafferty.
The scout led him to Deckard and Evylin then, and Thom knew they’d failed in their surveillance of the Keep’s land. They’d looked for a band of Mages or mercenaries. A single man had slipped easily through their nets. And once they’d entered the Keep, the scout returned for his comrades.
Caustin and his men were lying in wait. Sent away by Hewitt’s ghost—a fact Thom still couldn’t process—Thom, Rafferty, and Ethenn followed the Calders back to the camp where their horses remained. On the walk back, Auden took pity on Thom,healing his broken nose but refusing to fix any of his other injuries. “On principle,” he’d said.
Thom hadn’t even bothered to roll his eyes. He didn’t need reminders of his failings. They were already cutting lines of guilt through his gut.
Then the mercenaries attacked. Or whatever they were. Thom supposed they might be more officious with how efficiently they were run.
Over the past day and a half, Thom had more than enough time to ruminate. He reflected on every action in his life that had brought him to this point. And he officially concluded that, yes, it was all his fault.
Not in a technical capacity, he supposed. It wasn’t as though he alone missed the presence of Caustin’s scout or allowed Blount to follow them through Ephria, sight unseen. Those things weren’t really anyone’s fault.
No, the disastrous division within their troop was his fault. All because he couldn’t get over his petty jealousy.
That was the crux of it, Thom now realized. With hours and hours to contend with his demons, with a bruised face and aching muscles as tormentors, he could suddenly see with brutal clarity. Everything he thought and everything he felt over the last three months was spurred by envy. None of it was real.
Glancing to the far side of the wagon, Thom caught sight of Deckard and Evylin. They sat across from one another, staring longingly into the other’s eyes. Her legs were propped on his as though they were on some splendid holiday ride. Their silent affection was enough to make a man sick.
Yes, it made Thom blisteringly jealous. But not because he wanted Evylin. Because he wanted what they had.
He wanted whatDeckardhad.
Thom stared down at his lap, long hair falling into his eyes. Yes, hewasjealous of his brother. Yes, he resented hisgoodness and perfection. But at the core of it all, he knew it was only because, more than anything, Thom wanted to be like his brother. He wanted to be good enough for his brother. He wanted to be worthy of his respect.
And instead of earning it, he’d tried to steal that respect—makinghis brother see his value.
