“Mm.”
Deckard’s smile softened. “And my wife talks to me.”
Ethenn narrowed his gaze, waiting.
“I would advise you to reconsider the end of your betrothal.”
Drawing back, Ethenn sucked in a tense breath, but Deckard held up a hand, forestalling his reply. “She makes you better,” he said, raising his brow. “And you makeherbetter. Whether or not you see that, it’s true. You’ve been together for a month. It took twice that for Evylin and me to grow comfortable in our marriage. It took three times that for us to figure out our relationship.”
“This isn’t about comfort,” Ethenn said. “It’s about what’s best for her.”
“Is it?” Deckard pierced him with a keen gaze. “Or are you protecting yourself?”
Ethenn frowned.
“I’m married to Evylin, remember?” The colonel grinned knowingly. “Warriors don’t seem to trust easily.”
“It isn’t about trust either.”
“It’s about fearing that you aren’t enough for her,” Deckard surmised. “That, despite everything you feel, she’ll never return your devotion. You’ll only ever be a tool for her to use. A weapon. You fear that she’ll make you a killer of her own design and for her own selfish purposes, is that it?”
Ethenn faltered for words. How had the colonel seen so clearly what Ethenn had yet to realize for himself? Yes, he feared that all Ilain wanted from him was his magic. In her hands, under her influence, she could make him into the most frightful killer the world had ever seen. And all he wanted was to sink into obscurity, hiding away from the power that made him a vile heathen.
“These burns are nothing to the fiery fate that awaits you.”
Vernon Loxley was a devout Allorian, proud of his piety. He and his family lived beyond reproach. They were the picture of perfect morality. That’s what they claimed.
Ethenn was their one cause for shame.
“Your father would roll in his grave if he knew what you’d become.”
On the clifftop, Ethenn’s hands shook, and the heat crept up his spine. He hated his uncle. The man was cruel. He punished through false claims of superiority. He abused those he deemed lesser.
Ethenn never blamed the other religious men and women in the town. He saw how they lived their lives. Most were genuine, like Deckard. It was only the self-righteous who became hypocrites like his uncle.
But Vernon’s affected piety didn’t change the truth: Ethenn was a sinner, a killer, and a disappointment. His parents would be devastated if they saw what he’d become.
Ilain was meant to be his redemption. If he could love her well, perhaps he could absolve his sins. Now, he knew how wrong he was.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke him out of his reverie.
“I am a weapon,” Ethenn concluded, turning back to Deckard. “No matter what, that’s all I’ll ever be good for.” Though Deckard’s expression said he disagreed, Ethenn rose quickly. “Brea’s here,” he announced.
Appearing over the rise a short distance away, Brea wore her dark braids loose, their length falling across her back. She’d left most of her weapons behind, it seemed; only her sword hung at her hip. Though she presumably wore many hidden daggers.
The men met her under the tree. “Is something wrong?” Deckard asked, leaning toward her with worry.
“Why would something be wrong?” Brea asked.
“You’re supposed to be with Thom and Ilain.”
She grinned. “I don’t like sitting in one place for long periods of time,” she said. “I thought I’d check in with you two. Have you seen anything?”
The men shook their heads. “Nothing,” Ethenn said. “It’s been absolutely quiet.”
Brea pursed her lips and hummed, disappointed. “I suppose it’s to be expected. There’s a chance Blount won’t show up today at all.”
“What do we do in that event?” Ethenn asked.
