“He doesn’t want any part in it.”
“Fool,” Hewitt said through a scoff. “The man is offered what he bloody desires, and he rejects it.”
Evylin tugged on her rings. “Being royalty is not what he desires.”
“No, I suppose you’re right,” he admitted. “He aspires to become a legend, someone this world cannot forget. But the role of governing royalty would almost certainly ensure that.”
She felt her brow draw low in thought. “So you think he really does want the role, but is, what? Too afraid to admit it?”
Hewitt’s steely gaze was contemplative as he stared unseeingly toward the camp. “Perhaps his fear isn’t so different from your own,” he said. “You were afraid of losing him, so you convinced yourself you couldn’t love him even though you already did.”
Hewitt met her stare. “Thom told us from the start, Evie: Every choice Deckard has ever made is in pursuit of being perfect. His mind is set on morality and humility, determined to become a paragon of ideal virtues. Therefore, his personal aspirations—his desire to become someone of importance and ultimate worth—are seen as selfish flaws. I’ve spoken to him about those ends, and he blatantly rejects them on principle. Yet, it doesn’t change the fact that he holds out hope that he may someday be as important to the history of Terraeus as Euon Sergus. He just wants to work toward that goal in such a way that he cannot be seen as self-seeking.”
Evylin crossed her arms against the cold breeze, listening intently as Hewitt continued, “Deckard is afraid of his ambitions, of giving into his baser self. So, like you, he’s convinced himself he doesn’t want it even though he longs for it more than anything in this world.”
The truth was clear, though Evylin had a hard time relegating such motivations to her husband. Deckard was always soconsiderate and honorable. Every day of his life, he lived with unflagging nobility, denying himself for the sake of others. He’d even deferred their entire future to her whims, proclaiming he’d abandon their responsibilities to make her happy.
“My life is yours, Evylin.”
But Deckard’s life couldn’t be hers. Not when it belonged to so many other people too. Jonn Deckard had always been a servant—to Thom, their parents, their sister and her family, the Ephrian Army, his ideals, and now, to the coming Allundan nation. No matter what he said, he could never be happy following her from one adventure to the next. It wouldn’t be enough for him, just as it wasn’t enough for her.
Evylin dropped her face into her hands and let out an exasperated sigh. “Why is this so difficult?” she complained, letting her arms flop down to her sides. “Uncle, tell me what to do. Tell me how to make him happy.”
Hewitt scowled. “How should I know what will make him happy? He’s your husband.”
“And yet, you know him better than I,” Evylin said as if the words were an accusation. “How is it that you know his heart’s deepest desires, and I don’t even know his birthday?”
“You don’t know his birthday?”
“Don’t start with me.”
Hewitt gave her a knowing smirk. “I listen to people, Evylin. Not to what they say but to what they mean. I’ve always been able to discern a lie, manipulation, or pretense from reality because I’m not interested in the surface. I aim to know the truth, ugly as it may prove to be.”
Evylin pursed her lips. “And I’m content to take what people say at face value,” she realized. “Which is probably why I didn’t see Thom’s jealous attentions for what they were.”
“It isn’t a fault,” Hewitt said. “You and I are different people. We always have been. It’s what made us such a good team.”
The deepest urge welled inside of Evylin, her arms aching to hug her uncle just once more. As she could never wrap her arms around him again, her eyes filled with tears instead. “I want you back,” she murmured.
Hewitt’s expression softened. “You can’t have me back. That’s the way of life.”
“Life is unfair.”
“As unfair as it ever was.”
Evylin sighed. “I still don’t know what to do,” she said with good-natured bitterness.
Hewitt smiled, taking a step closer. His dark gray eyes bored into hers with all the affection and warmth he held back from everyone else. “You’ll figure it out,” he promised, then tipped his head toward camp. “Together.”
The deepest gratitude filled her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For him. For everything. Even if this journey has brought me a broken heart, even if it took you from me...I don’t think I’d go back.”
“I wouldn’t let you.”
Evylin took a deep breath, the heartbreak of losing him remaining but easing slightly. “We never said it very much, but I love you, Uncle, just as I loved Ryen. He was my everything, and so were you.”
Hewitt dipped his chin, notably and surprisingly bashful. “I never deserved such admiration,” he said. Then he smiled, large and full, for the first time in what might have been thirteen years. “But even in death,” he spoke through a growl choked with emotion, “I will endeavor to deserve it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
