Deckard remained silent, a wry grin on his face as he spooned his dinner.
Thom clucked his tongue, unwrapped the object, and blinked. “Are you serious?” he asked.
“Don’t lose it this time,” Deckard said in a kindly manner.
Evylin peered across, trying to get a view of what Thom held. Given the shadows, she couldn’t be sure, but she thought it was a wooden horse.
Thom tapped the toy’s back. “I didn’t lose it,” he said good-naturedly. “Meria broke it, and she made me promise not to tell you because she was terrified that you’d be angry with her.”
“She was right to be terrified,” Deckard said. “I spent weeks making that bloody thing for you, and I was furious you’d lost it. I’m surprised it took you twenty years to rat her out.”
Understanding dawned on Evylin at that moment, the unexplained pieces of the strange scene coming together. “It’s your birthday?” she asked Thom.
Everyone stared at him, and Thom let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Uh, yeah,” he said, holding the toy fondly. “It is.”
A chorus of well-wishes was instantly passed around, and Thom graciously received them. Though he ducked his head bashfully, his side grin spoke of his happiness at being recognized. Evylin immediately saw why Deckard had made a spectacle of giving his gift.
Turning to her husband, Evylin whispered, “You did that on purpose.”
“Did what?” he replied with false modesty.
She eyed him knowingly. “You can’t fool me.” She poked him in the chest. “I can feel what you’re feeling, remember? And you’re decidedly smug.”
“I’m never smug,” he said with a smile. “I’m simply glad to know that my brother feels loved and celebrated on his birthday.”
Evylin nodded but didn’t press him. Instead, she kissed his shoulder. “You’re a good brother, Jonn Deckard,” she said.
His expression softened, and he shifted closer to her.
The dinner fell to discussing Thom and the topic of birthdays after that. He recounted his favorite birthday: The day Deckard gave him the first iteration of the carved horse named Valor. Then he told them about his least favorite: The day he dislocated his pinky finger after punching the side of the house because he lost a sword fight with Deckard.
And while the conversation was charming and chipper, Evylin found herself frowning internally. This was her first time hearing these stories, just like the rest of the troop. She hadn’t even known that Deckard did woodworking. And while she was rather certain that he was thirty-two at the time of their marriage, she suddenly realized that she’d never learned the date of his birthday. They’d been married for almost half a year. Had it already passed?
Once again, Evylin was faced with the reality that she didn’t know her husband. It was disheartening. How could she make him happy when she didn’t know what he wanted out of life? How was she supposed to love him—well and with care—when she couldn’t even think of an appropriate gift to give him once she did learn the date of his birth?
And for Allore’s sake, she couldn’t even recall their anniversary!
While the conversation around them continued, Deckard leaned close to her. “Are you all right?” he whispered.
Blinking herself out of her worried thoughts, Evylin forced herself to nod. “Yes,” she assured him. “Yes, I’m just thinking.”
“I guessed that,” he said lightly. “But it felt like you were...frustrated, maybe? I’m not sure. I can’t quite tell the emotions apart sometimes.”
Evylin couldn’t help smirking. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who struggles to interpret them.”
“Most certainly not.” He brushed his hand comfortingly across her back. “Sometimes, I can’t even tell whether they’re yours or mine.”
“I’ve been doing that too,” she said, pressing into his side. “Do you think it’s normal?”
“I have no idea.” He dipped his chin, giving her a determined look. “But back to what you were feeling. Was it frustration?”
Uncertain if she should reveal her true thoughts here in the presence of others—be their conversation overheard or not—Evylin hesitated. She wanted to be honest with Deckard. They’d had too many misunderstandings in the past because of her withholding. But she didn’t want to discuss the subject here.
“Not now,” she said quietly. “I promise I’ll tell you another time, but...”
When she glanced toward the others, he nodded, understanding. “Another time,” he agreed.
Setting her empty bowl on the ground, Evylin glanced at Hewitt. “Could I talk with Hewitt?” she asked.
