Deckard flinched. He’d forgotten about the Deep, the madness that could afflict a Night Mage. Ilain assured him that not all Night Mages succumbed to the Deep’s hold, but Auden was certain he would. After unintentionally summoning a ghost, Deckard already seemed stronger than he should have been, given his experience and training. And that didn’t bode well for his sanity.
“Well, that’s why I need to meet with the highlord that Isla mentioned,” Deckard concluded. “If he’s truly able to help train me, surely he’ll be able to help me avoid that fate too.”
Evylin sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, her hesitation clear. “And...what about Hewitt?” she asked.
That made Deckard pause. “He asked that I release him,” he said gently. “If Highlord Obel can teach me how...I feel I must honor his request.”
“We leave tomorrow,” she said.
Deckard waited, unsure where she was taking the conversation.
“If this highlord teaches you how to release him,” the faintest glimmer of sorrow shone in her eyes, “will you do it immediately?”
“As promptly as I can,” he confirmed. When her chin dipped, he added, “But not before you’ve had the chance to say goodbye.”
She let out a relieved breath, leaning into him once more. “Thank you.”
Deckard held her close, whispering, “Always,” against her temple.
They remained there for some time, breathing and existing together. Deckard closed his eyes, relishing the moment that had felt so impossible only days ago. Her soft hair tickled his cheek. She smelled of the faintest, exotic vanilla from the oils after her bath, a departure from the typical scent of loam, grass, and sweat from their travels. Somehow, he couldn’t decide which he preferred.
In Deckard’s mind, Evylin was vaster than reality. She was grander than anything Terraeus could be worthy of. Luxurious perfumes were a worthy, if meager, means of displaying her magnificence. And yet, Evylin was also wild. She was a Warrior, at one with the terrae and the world around her. To mask her natural scent was to dampen her, diminish her.
Evylin’s fingers trailed from Deckard’s hand to his wrist. “Jonn?”
“Hm?”
“Do you want to know why I asked to Bond with you?”
“Do you want to tell me?” He felt her nod against his shoulder. “Tell me, then.” Deckard loosened his grip to let her turn to face him. The morning light gilded her cool brown hair.
“Well, yesterday,” she began, her eyes on his collar, showing her embarrassment, “I was thinking about everything—you know, about the Alliance, your promise to Auden, about Blount, and...all those things. And I wondered, what would I say if the Alliance asked us to Bond?”
He wrapped his arm around her waist as she played with a button on his shirt. “In that moment,” she continued, “I realized I’d say yes because Bonding with you would be a privilege. What’s more, it would make me happy—veryhappy—knowing I’d get to spend nearly two centuries at your side.
“So there we were in the meeting, and they were worried about Blount, and I thought, why are we fighting this? The answer was so obvious. I couldn’t stay behind because we have to win this war; wehaveto defeat Blount. Still, they were right. We couldn’t risk him taking me. Even if it didn’t give him power immediately...I would have given in. One day, perhaps after decades of torture, I would have. And I couldn’t risk that.”
Finally, Evylin met Deckard’s gaze. “So it seemed the only answer left was the one I wanted most anyway.” She smiled. “Because I want a life with you, Jonn, not just a few months. And it seems to me that Bonding is the best way to ensure that.”
Affection spread through Deckard’s chest. He opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find words sufficient enough to express how her admission made him feel. Everything inside him desired the same thing. Not months, but years—centuries of life—with her. He’d told her back in the countryside of the Shiresthat he intended to be a good husband to her, to do everything in his power to make her happy, no matter what that looked like. That was the promise he’d made her. And he intended to spend every moment of his life fulfilling that vow.
Forsaking words, Deckard kissed his wife. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he drew her onto his lap.He trailed his fingers across her thighs to slip under the hem of the shirt she wore. These were the slow, tender kisses they shared most often, testing, exploratory, and gentle. Even as their touches grew more intimate, their lips were unhurried in their caresses.
Evylin sighed as his hands slid up her bare back. He fought a smile, determined not to cause any impediment to the continuation of their kisses. She settled a hand on his jaw, growing more intense in her ardor. He was scarcely less eager.
A sudden, irritating trio of knocks sounded on their door.
They froze, lips still pressed together as their eyes flew open.
Another knock, and Evylin pulled back. They turned to glare in the offending sound’s direction.
“Jonn,” Thom called from the other side. “It’s me. Open up.”
Evylin quirked her brow at Deckard, a twinkle coming into her eyes.
Deckard didn’t return her amusement.
Thom started knocking again. “Jonn, I have to talk to you.”
