Deckard raised a brow at her haphazard rifling. “I thought you were going to take a nap,” he remarked.
“I will,” Evylin said, focused on her task. “I just want to find something first.”
“What?” he asked, gathering her dirty clothes along with his. As he lifted one of her tunics, it unfurled, something small and hard tumbling out.
“Aha!” Evylin reached out to claim the object. “There it is!”
As Deckard began to ask what it was, he paused when Evylin opened the leather pouch. She pulled out the oval vignette, which was no larger than the palm of her hand. It was the painting he’d given her for her birthday, a nearly perfect replica of the Wayford countryside where they’d celebrated one month of marriage and he’d made his promises to her, the place where they’d shared their first real kiss.
“You still have it,” Deckard murmured in awe, a softness in the air around him.
Evylin smiled up at him. “I found it in my bag after we escaped Renaul,” she explained. “Thanks to Emmaas, we didn’t lose everything after all.”
Though they’d had to leave behind the Fire, Day, and Time Relics, the retrieval of her painting was a reminder: They hadn’t lost what truly mattered. They’d all made it out with their lives, and that was enough.
“Where should we put it?” Evylin asked, holding the painting with reverence.
Deckard shook his head. “Wherever you like, I suppose.”
“Hm.” Evylin looked around the room, gaze lingering on her nightstand. She already had a picture there—a painting from Dolia depicting the rolling, ivy-covered hills of Whickam Village—along with her jewelry box, its lid open to reveal an unruly stack of small slips of paper.
Evylin retrieved another slip from the leather pouch. “This,” she proclaimed dramatically, “will go in here.” She placed the note in the jewelry box on top of all the others. “For safekeeping.”
Deckard pressed his lips around a broad smile, and she knew he recognized the papers. They were all the notes he’d left her through their earliest days of marriage. Most of those letters were menial at best; their contents ran along the same lines:“He was sorry to miss her; he’d be gone, but he hoped to be back soon.”Yet, she’d kept them all because she couldn’t bear to part with them.
Deckard’s gaze turned desirous as his mood shifted, and Evylin bit her lip slyly. She could tell he wanted to kiss her. So she slipped demurely off the bed and made her way toward him. His hand reached out to grip her arm and pull her close just as a knock came at their door.
They both halted and stared at the door.
Deckard sighed, releasing her.
Evylin smirked, rolled onto her toes to kiss his cheek, then resumed her pursuit of a new home for the vignette.
When Deckard opened the door, Rafferty was on the other side. “Am I interrupting?” he asked, peeking around Deckard.
“We were just unpacking,” Deckard said. “What do you need?”
He raised his white-blond brow. “You do realize we’ll be leaving on the morrow, should all go well, don’t you?”
Deckard gave him a dull stare. “And in the meantime, we’ll be more comfortable in our home. What did you need?”
“It isn’t whatIneed, Your Magefulness,” he said, thumping a hand to his chest. Then he waved toward the stairs. “Lord Carlile’s here, and he’d like to talk to you.”
Instantly, Evylin and Deckard abandoned their unpacking and followed Rafferty out the door. They wound down the three flights of stairs, finding the king’s advisor waiting in the parlor with the rest of the troop standing around awkwardly. Only Ilain and Auden appeared at ease, talking casually with Carlile.
The old nobleman’s white hair fluffed around his head with untamable whimsy. Otherwise, he was the perfect image of a gentleman. He wore a navy coat with a patterned blue waistcoat, as was the current fashion. His silk cravat mimicked his stark hair, though crisply tied with a pleasant drape. Hands clasped behind his back, he stood with unexpected comfort in their meagerly furnished home.
Upon Deckard and Evylin’s arrival, the parlor’s occupants turned to them. “Ah, Colonel Deckard,” Carlile said merrily. “Pleasure to see you again. And Private Deckard,” he winked at Evylin in a conspiratory manner, “as impressive as ever.”
“Milord,” Evylin greeted with a curtsy that felt strange in her trousers.
Deckard suggested they take a seat, though there weren’t enough available in the room. They made do, letting Evylin, Ilain, and Isla take the sofa while Brea perched on the arm and Carlile took the wingback chair. The rest of the men stood around the room, listening expectantly.
“Well,” Carlile said, inspecting them each in turn, “I am here to extend an invitation on King Ephren’s behalf. He requests youjoin him for dinner, where you may debrief him on the status of your mission.”
“Dinner, eh?” Rafferty asked, leaning against the stair railing. “Count me in. What time shall we arrive to dine with his royal fatness?”
Carlile gave the weasel a quick, appraising glance. Though they hadn’t known of Carlile’s place in the Alliance upon their first meeting, Ilain and Auden had assured them that he had no more affinity for King Ephren than the rest of them. However, Evylin wondered if the advisor disapproved of the disrespect to their sovereign.
