Thom raised his brow. “I’m afraid my commanding officer ordered me to help get the troops settled.”
“I believe I can persuade him to give you a pass.”
With a smirk, Thom called to Ethenn. “Take Deckard and Evie’s things, too, would you?”
“Sure,” Ethenn said, his voice rougher than usual.
Thom turned to Evylin again. “Let me put our things up in Hewitt’s old space, and we can be off.”
“I’ll come with you,” Evylin offered.
While Vayden, Ethenn, and Rafferty carried the other bags to the Glaas house, Evylin led Thom up the back of the smithy to the apartment. It wasn’t locked, as Hewitt hadn’t left anything of value when he’d left, but the door stuck slightly when they opened it. Dark and dusty, the room was stuffy from the warm spring air. Evylin helped Thom open the windows to let the space air out. Then they retreated down to the paddock.
“Care to have a go?” Evylin asked, slipping over to the practice swords that Hewitt had left behind.
Thom eyed her curiously. “Looking to relive the glory days?”
“I’d hardly call them glorious.” She tossed a sword to him. “But I do enjoy beating you.”
Together, they stepped into the paddock. Evylin expected to feel something at being back in the place where she and Hewitt trained together—a thrill of sorrow or a nostalgic wistfulness. Yet, there was nothing—just a vague sense of peculiarity, as though she were walking through a dream.
Determined to clear her head, Evylin twirled the sword and set up to face Thom. He took a deep breath before dropping into his stance. “This isn’t going to be fun,” he quipped. “For you or for me.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“We haven’t sparred in almost a month, Evie. You’re going to beat me in ten seconds flat.”
She smirked. “That’s a lot of confidence for a man going up against a Warrior.”
He gave a mock laugh, then tightened his grip and attacked, slashing down with his sword. She defended with a resoundingclack. The first strike settled her mind, proving that dueling was going to be the perfect distraction for her disjointed thoughts and feelings.
They ranged around the paddock. Though holding back a little to prolong the bout with Thom, Evylin channeled all her frustration into the practice. All the anxiety she felt for Deckard, currently dealing with her father’s demands. All the grief from saying goodbye to Hewitt. The disappointment that still clung to her from Auden’s death. The fear of what was to come. The concern toward Deckard’s attachment to Space and his seeming discomfort with touching her.
The vibration of each hit charged through Evylin’s arm and into her chest, shaking off every thought but the moment before her. Her focus narrowed on the blade in her hand and the one Thom held. At first, she won every fight with ease, just the waythey’d expected. But soon, she eased her effort, allowing Thom to get in good practice of his own. It turned out to be a solid exercise for her as well, reining in her skills and increasing her endurance.
After a bout that lasted for a full, tiring five minutes, Thom backed away. “All right,” he heaved. “I need a break.”
Evylin grinned, sucking in a deep breath of her own. She’d only just begun to get winded, her body warm and her skin tingling. “You really are out of practice,” she teased.
“It doesn’t help that you’re naturally better than me,” Thom said, taking a seat on the paddock fence. He dropped his head back and took a labored breath.
Evylin hopped up next to him. The afternoon sun created a small flare against the window of the smithy. Metallic clanging rang through the open doors as Devaan worked inside. Evylin had yet to say hello, having only met her brother-in-law a handful of times in the past.
Evylin wondered if the rest of her in-laws would ever return. After seeing Druan in Loclight, she held a glimmer of hope that her sisters’ husbands would find their way back to their wives. It made her realize just how important their mission was. The Centurial War would not end if they didn’t end it themselves. Families would be torn apart for generations more until the entire countryside was left vacant.
But how many men would wish to return to their quaint lives after having explored the country? Would something so small and mundane be enough?
“Thom,” Evylin said, staring at the smithy door, “do you think you’d ever want to move home?”
He looked down at her, brow furrowed. “Like to Stocburrough?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She met his sharp eyes. “Why not?”
“It isn’t my home anymore, Evie,” he said. “It hasn’t been for five years.”
