Page 65 of Sword & Shadow
His brow furrowed as though trying to understand what she meant.
Evylin worked to explain without being too blunt. “You were right. My time with the Day Relic...that wasn’t me. Everything that happened wasn’t real.”
Deckard’s chin rose, her meaning becoming clear. Their kiss, her affection, her comfort with him—she wasn’t ready to be that person with him again. “I told you,” his deep voice was steady, “we can figure out the future later. I will never rush you or require you to choose before you’re ready. That’s a promise, Evylin. Take all the time you need.”
His sincerity almost made his kindness cruel.
Evylin whispered her thanks, but the words felt empty. Guilt tore at her already ragged throat. She shouldn’t do this to him. He was everything good, generous, and understanding, and she could only offer him rejection and hurt. No matter what came, whether they survived their mission with the Calders or not, they would never be safe. There was no safety. And one day, Evylin would lose him too.
Better to protect what was left of her scarred heart.
Better to learn to live without him now.
Better to never love him at all.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Inferiority clung to Thom like a leech, sucking all the life from his veins. For twenty-seven years, it’d been like this. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough. Today was just another reminder of that fact.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Evylin’s breakdown in the woods. He’d tried so hard to help her through it. He’d had soldiers go through similar bouts of panic after their first time in battle, struggling with the weight of death dealt at their hands and the threat of their own immortality.
Seeing Evylin face a similar crisis wasn’t completely unfathomable, nor was it even unexpected after her improved mood over the last several days. It seemed she’d been shoving down her grief over Hewitt, and it had finally caught up to her. Thom didn’t judge her for it, nor was he surprised by it. Everyone dealt with grief uniquely. Helping Evylin through her panic was the natural course of action.
But all his heartfelt efforts failed.
Thom would never forget that feeling of inadequacy, watching her tremble and fight for every breath. He’d wanted to take her in his arms, to comfort her every pain. He would have given her the very breath from his lungs if he could.
Calling for help was a gut punch in and of itself. But Thom figured that if anyone could help Evylin, it would be Auden and his ability to heal through Day magic.
It turned out that Rafferty had made the right choice.
When Deckard showed up, Evylin had practically shoved Thom aside to leap into his brother’s arms. She’d clung to him like he was the shore and she, the sea, desperate to become one with the sand. Deckard hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t done a thing. His presence alone seemed to be enough to soothe Evylin’s aching heart.
Thom envied that most of all. How did Deckard do it? How was he so blessed that his mere existence made people feel cared for and secure? It was yet another proof in the comparison of his life that he could never meet the standard established by his older brother.
The small campfire sat in a heap of embers as they ate their meal. They took caution with all their fires, not wanting to risk being spotted by random travelers. Though they camped well off the road, there was no telling if Blount had Mages or even the army out looking for them.
Thom picked at his meager bowl of roasted hare and steamed barley. Despondent and embittered, he’d returned to camp with Rafferty, leaving Evylin in Deckard’s care. He’d hated leaving; it felt like admitting defeat. But he’d hated watching them entwined in one another’s arms more.
He knew it was wrong, feeling the way he did about Evylin. No man should want his brother’s wife as his own. What sort of scum did that make him, wishing she would choose him over Deckard? Yet, he always reminded himself that it wasn’t exactly his fault.
From the moment he’d first seen her, Thom knew Evylin was special. Beautiful, quick-witted, strangely comfortable in a smithy, and the valued niece of a military legend—what womancould boast all those accolades? She wasn’t some tedious girl whose only aspirations were the accumulation of pretty dresses and a husband. Those things were nice, but Evylin wanted more.
Then Thom had seen the way his brother looked at her and spoke to her. And the way she looked and spoke back. He’d been disappointed, to say the least. But he hadn’t been dissuaded.
What recommendations did Deckard have that he didn’t? In fact, given all of Deckard’s merits, Thom had them in heaps more. Perhaps Thom was shorter by four inches; he was built more muscular and broad and, therefore, stronger. He had hair so dark that it was almost black, contrasting with his subtle tan and sharp blue eyes—a quality many women had told him made him devilishly handsome. He felt more deeply, lived with greater passion, laughed more readily, and sought out more daring experiences. What more could a woman desire from a lover?
Deckard lived lightly. He didn’t seek adventure or feel with zealous fury. Fun wasn’t a word in his vocabulary. His whole existence was dedicated to service and implacable perfection. No flaws, no mistakes, no fervor. And who could love a man so dull?
No, whatever Evylin thought she saw in his brother, Thom hadn’t been concerned. Once she got to knowhim, she’d forget all about Deckard.
On their final night in Whickam Village, Thom decided to ask to write to Evylin. He’d been planning it out since he discovered his brother’s interest. If he asked her first, he’d ensure Deckard never got the chance. Then Hewitt had gone and ruined it all.
Why had he picked Deckard? That was what Thom never could figure out. Hewitt hadn’t liked Deckard to begin with, yet he’d treated Thom with a nearly mentor-like hand from the start. So why Deckard? His captaincy wasn’t that much more impressive than Thom’s rank as a lieutenant. And Thom showed more military promise than his brother, so his future was clearly brighter. Why wouldn’t Hewitt want to attach hisniece to someone who could actually be her match? Someone whose path ensured lifelong adventure and whose temperament exuded passion.
While they still traveled with the Third Volunteer Company, Thom had been brave enough—or, more accurately, drunk enough—to once ask Hewitt that very question. “Why Deckard?”
Hewitt hadn’t even needed clarification. He’d already known. “Because it was her only chance.”
