Deckard smiled, and a wave of true contentment washed over her, confirming its authenticity. “I’m absolutely certain.”
“So we’ll accept it?”
“Yes,” he said, kissing her. “We’ll accept it.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Thom tossed and turned throughout the night. Over and over, he ruffled his hair, his head in his hands as he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. Although he knew he must have fallen asleep at some point, he had no memory of doing so. Instead, he drifted through a series of wakeful moments until he finally sat up on the edge of his bed, the rising sun casting an orange glow across the room.
What a bloody idiot you are,Thom thought.
He pushed off the bed, unable to bear his reproachful, embarrassed thoughts any longer. He’d been such a fool. What man in his right mind made such an egregious overture to a woman who had only moments before pointedly told him that she thought he should marry another? Whatever feelings Brea had held in the past for him, it was clear that she had no intention of forsaking her vow to the Alliance for any reason, let alone forhim.
Grumbling at his insanity, Thom dressed in a hurry. He hoped the others weren’t up yet. He could grab a quick breakfast and sneak out of the apartment, avoiding Brea until after their appointment with the Administration later that afternoon. Then he’d work up the courage to apologize to her and congratulate her on whichever Mage she chose to marry.
The good news was that, shortly, they’d likely live on opposite sides of the continent. Whichever of the Mages she Bonded with, they would take her away. Wilkinsone’s affinity was to Water, Humes’s was to Wind, and Grames’s was to Terrae. Even if, by some miracle, Deckard and Evylin took the position in Loclight, he’d be weeks away from any of the other Orders, meaning he wouldn’t have to worry about awkwardly running into Brea any time soon. And after a few years, they could laugh it off like the joke it was.
Tugging his cravat looser than was strictly standard, Thom stepped out of his suite. He entered the parlor to find Mrs. Wilumson setting the small dining table with a smorgasbord of breakfast. It smelled of hearty sausage, herbaceous potatoes, buttery bread, and fragrant tea. The room was filled with light, as the windows were open to the early morning breeze. Songbirds crooned from their perches.
And Thom regretted even waking as he took his first step into the parlor.
Seated at the table, Brea thanked Mrs. Wilumson for the cup of tea she’d just handed to her. She’d braided her tight black curls back this morning in thick plaits before pinning them into a bun at the base of her neck. Dressed in a subdued tunic, vest, and skirt, she appeared more Warrior-like as usual. The sunlight caught on her brown skin, making her look like a radiant angel.
As Mrs. Wilumson moved to depart, Thom silently mouthed a particularly vile curse. Though Brea was seated facing the wall, there was no doubt in his mind that she already knew he was there. The woman heard everything—thus the silent curse rather than a muttered one.
Forcing himself to man up, Thom steeled his bravery. If he could face down dragons,vængebjörn, bloodwolves, and all other manners of mythological creatures, he could handle an awkward conversation with the woman he loved.
Thom drew back his shoulders and approached the table. “Morning,” he said casually. He took the seat across from Brea—though not directly—and reached for the teapot.
“Good morning,” Brea replied with a polite smile.
Throat as dry as the wind outside the stone palace, he inquired, “Did you sleep well?”
Brea blinked, pausing for only a moment as she filled her plate. “I did,” she said. “These beds are rather luxurious.”
“Like everything here,” Thom noted.
“Yes.”
Hearing the curious tilt to her tone, Thom sipped his tea, then settled the cup back on the cotton tablecloth. “So,” he began, “I think I should probably address the, uh...rather unintentional statement I made last night.”
Brea’s sharp brow arched, but he kept talking before she could reply. “We were drinking, and though I was not drunk, wine is known to make me act in less than the wisest manner at times.” The words came out stilted and forced. He cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is—”
“Good morning!” Calyn called in a cheerful singsong as she flounced into the room in a bright pink dress.
Thom did curse audibly then.
Calyn narrowed her eyes reprovingly. “That’s not polite, Thom,” she said.
“You scared me,” he grumbled as she took the seat next to Brea.
Tucking a few of her brown waves behind her ear, Calyn wrinkled her nose. “I merely said good morning.”
Brea patted her hand. “He’s a miserable grouch when he wakes,” she said by way of explanation. “I had the unfortunate pleasure of experiencing that daily while we traveled.”
“Can something be an unfortunate pleasure?” Calyn asked, gathering her own breakfast.
Brea smirked, lifting her teacup to her lips. “I can’t think of any better way to describe him.”
