“I fail to see the logic in that.”
“I don’t need friendship to get a job done,” Brea said. “And if I’m going to be accused of romantic inclinations every time that I save someone’s life at the expense of another’s, then I’d liketo protect myself from foolish and petty accusations. Whatever Ilain or anyone else thinks of me, I do not love your brother. I chose to save his life because that is who I am—a protector. I would have done the same for you, for Vayden, for Ilain, and indeed for any of our party. It has nothing to do with emotion or infatuation. And I don’t care to be condemned for my actions.”
Deckard held Brea’s stare through her explanation. He watched her, looking for any sign of emotion or falsehood. Yet, he found none.
“I appreciate your candor,” Deckard said, straightening away from the footboard. “But I would request you find a way to be amicable at the very least. It makes life awkward otherwise.”
Brea gave him a dutiful nod.
He moved for the door, placing his hand on the brass knob. “One more thing,” he said.
She lifted her brow, attentively listening.
“I don’t believe you,” he said.
Brea’s shoulders tensed, but it was the flicker of fear that passed through her dark eyes that truly gave her away. “Pardon?” she said, the mask of her typical stoicism slipping quickly into place.
Deckard pressed his lips together. “You watch him too carefully,” he said. “You smile at him too easily. And you speak that pet name of yours too fondly.”
Her fingers tightened on her arm, resting folded in her lap.
“You may not love my brother,” Deckard concluded, “but you do have feelings for him. And I would advise you to quell them. For his sake.”
Brea didn’t reply. Instead, she sat upon the bed, fierce gaze locked with Deckard’s. Her expression was stolid and unreadable. With her dark skin, dark hair, and dark clothing, she looked like a raven tucked among the mundanity of furnishings and linens.
“Goodnight, Lieutenant,” Deckard said, then exited the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
While her husband went off to handle whatever task was on his mind, Evylin and Thom remained at the table with Rafferty. The conversation remained casual, helping distract them from the weight of the past two days. Evylin felt strangely sensitive to Auden’s death, having gone through a similar experience to Ilain and Vayden’s grief two months ago.
The knowledge of Hewitt’s impending release didn’t help matters.
After some time, Thom nudged Evylin, informing her that the thirty minutes Deckard had asked them to wait had expired. Leaving Rafferty behind, they headed up the staircase and down the simple, clean hall to her and Deckard’s room. He was already inside when they entered, reading one of the books Obel had given him.
“Were you just reading this whole time?” Thom asked.
Deckard shook his head. “I had a conversation with Brea first.”
“Oh.” Thom shut the door behind him, his movements suddenly stiff. “Did that, uh...go well?”
Evylin shared a knowing look with Deckard. She removed her coat while he replied, “It did. Now,” he closed his book, “sit down, and we’ll have a talk with Hewitt.”
Doing as ordered, Thom sat in the upholstered chair tucked into the corner. Evylin perched next to Deckard on the edge of the mattress. And not a moment later, Hewitt was there, standing amidst the furnishings and papered walls.
His bushy eyebrows rose as he took in the three of them. “How long has it been this time?” he asked, voice a low rumble.
“What do you mean?” Deckard asked.
“Well, time’s different over here,” he explained. “I can’t tell how many days it’s been, but this stint was longer than the last.”
“Over there?” Thom repeated curiously. “What exactly is it like...wherever you are?”
Hewitt looked to a vacant corner in thought. “Empty. It isn’t a place so much as a shadow. There’s no time, no use of the senses, no nothing. I’m just waiting.”
“That sounds horrible,” Evylin whispered. She couldn’t fathom being left so isolated and cut off from the world. It made her want to cling to her uncle and never let him return to that awful place.
Casually, Hewitt shrugged. “It isn’t so bad. It gives me space to rest and think. And as I said, I can’t tell how many hours or days pass between our meetings, so I don’t mind.”
