“Carlile,” Evylin said. “We rested in the antechamber until nightfall. Ilain gave Rafferty directions, and he snuck through the palace to find Carlile’s office. He orchestrated our return without the king’s knowledge.”
“And how did I get all the way to the third floor?”
Evylin gave him a gentle grin. “You can thank Ethenn, Rafferty, Vayden, and me. Thom would have helped, but he’s still recovering.”
Deckard’s heart squeezed at the thought of his brother. “How is he? Can I see him?”
“He’s all right,” she promised. “He’ll have a scar and several days of recovery ahead of him, but he’s just fine thanks to Ilain. Though walking is a bit of a struggle, so you’ll have to visit him in the parlor. He’s on the sofa.”
“He can’t walk?”
She shook her head comfortingly. “His leg is just tender,” she corrected. “It will take several days for the swelling to go down, but Ilain managed to heal the break. She offered to heal it the rest of the way once she’s better recovered. For the moment, he just needs support getting around.”
Deckard took a restoring breath. His brother was safe and alive. He had to focus on that.
“And what does Thom think of Brea’s potential...regard for him?” he asked.
Evylin wore a bemused smirk. “I really don’t know,” she admitted. “I haven’t exactly gotten the chance to speak with him privately, but he hasn’t appeared to notice Brea’s avoidance. Neither has he acknowledged Ilain’s accusation.”
Deckard let out a disappointed huff. “Do you think he intends to ignore it?”
“Actually,” Evylin’s grin turned proud, “I think he’s just giving them space. He was mortally wounded, so perhaps it’s the result of blood loss, but he’s kept a level head through it all. It seems he’s simply trying to behave maturely about it all.”
Despite the heartbreak and guilt in his chest, Deckard found himself smiling. “He’s growing up,” he said fondly.
Evylin nodded. “Seems that way.”
“What now?” he asked. “Is everyone else well enough to travel?”
“Yes. Perhaps we’re all emotionally fragile, but I think continuing our mission will give us purpose,” she said. “Something to do other than wallow in our misery.”
Knowing he’d need to apologize profoundly to Ilain, Vayden, and Isla, as well as to the rest of their troop, Deckard decided to start with the most important confession first.
Taking Evylin’s hands in his once more, Deckard sat up straighter. Another well of power tugged at his core, but he focused on the task at hand. “Evylin, I’m sorry,” he said.
“I already told you it isn’t your fault.”
“No, listen,” he insisted. “I’m not apologizing for the consequences of my actions now. My apology is for leaving you.”
A twist of dismay cinched the air around them. Evylin’s eyes filled with tears again, and he drew closer. “I’m so sorry, Evie,” he whispered. “I wanted to be stronger for you. I’m sorry I became someone you couldn’t trust and that I abandonedyou when you needed me most. Although unintentional, it was wrong. I don’t know how, but I promise you, I will figure out how to control this. I will never leave you like that again.”
The first of Evylin’s tears slipped free, and she rested her forehead against his. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. She cried silently in his embrace. Love, sorrow, fear, and relief all fluttered around them, tugging on his soul.
“Please forgive me,” he begged, the words a mere whisper.
“Always,” Evylin said into his collar.
Deckard pressed a kiss to her temple and held her as her arms coiled around him. They were too overcome with emotion to move. Her tears soaked the shoulder of his tunic while his own fell into her hair. The anguish of his inadequacy and the damning weight of his lack of control cut through his stomach, leaving him raw and aching. He had failed them miserably. If only he hadn’t given in to the magic, if only he could have waited until they made it to the Chamber. . . .
Evylin pulled back in his arms, a sad smile on her lips. “How long are you going to blame yourself?” she asked.
“Forever,” he admitted.
She sighed. “Will you never accept absolution?”
“I can’t,” he whispered hollowly.
Evylin brushed her thumb along his cheek, sending an arc of magic under his skin. “You are a bloody martyr,” she said with a mix of affection and vexation. “And I love you.”
