Chapter Fifty-Seven
Evylin
“Fire & Night” is an epic fantasy romance serial novel, released one chapter at a time. If you’d like to read previous chapters check out the Table of Contents here.
21st Day of Galatae, 1574
Time cried out all of Evylin’s tears, and now she sat on the shadow an empty shell of agony.
At first, she’d thought one of the Mages carried her away as a captive. But through the night, she’d come to her senses enough to realize it was a horse beneath her and the person at her back. Then she’d caught sight of a second rider dashing along beside her. The moonlight caught flashes of red hair and a long, dark brown coat revealing that it was Auden who rode with them. He’d made it free with her and the man who held her on their mount.
That puzzle wasn’t hard to figure out either.
Deckard’s arm pressed against her stomach, keeping her bound to his chest as he whispered into her ear, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The pain in Evylin’s chest didn’t allow her to respond. Instead, she gasped in horror, fresh tears coming to her eyes any time she thought of Hewitt’s broken body.
Evylin’s whole face was wet with tears that wouldn’t stop coming. It no longer made sense to her. Somehow her eyes kept pouring out all while she sat frozen and silent. Her body seemed stuck in this cycle of overwhelming sorrow and complete stillness.
Unable to fathom how she could hold so much misery within her and not split right apart, Evylin stood paralyzed. She had no control over her body, muscles tense while her face contorted in pain one second, then lost any hint of emotion the next.
The same two thoughts pounded through her mind as the horses rode on through the darkness.
Hewitt is gone.
You’re alone.
As the light of dawn crept through the trees, the men slowed the horses, deep in the woods. Deckard leapt down from behind Evylin as Auden dismounted and ran over. Both men reached up and pulled her shaking form from the horse.
Deckard held her close while Auden took her hands in his. She thought for a moment that the Mage was trying to comfort her, but then she discovered he was prying her hands open. She’d clung to her sword their whole trip. The muscles of her fingers ached as Auden pulled them apart, removing the weapon from her grip.
Once he’d tossed it to the ground, Auden stepped back and Deckard drew Evylin closer, pressing her face into his chest as he apologized repeatedly. Another wave of anguish shook her body and her knees buckled. Deckard dropped to the snow with her, holding her tighter still.
With no strength to pull away, Evylin tensed every muscle tighter.
She didn’t want him to hold her.
She didn’t want anyone but Hewitt.
For the first time, her cries became audible to her ears. The sobs made her entire body tremble. “No,” she moaned into Deckard’s chest. “No.”
Eyes shut to the world, darkness absorbed her as she saw Hewitt’s body again.
She hated the image that sprang to her mind. Torn and weeping blood, his torso melded with that branch. His gray eyes were still open, gaze glassy and lifeless as his mouth hung ajar as though trying to tell her to run once more. She couldn’t stand that they’d left him there. That his body would stay like that for however long it took for nature to reclaim it.
Evylin couldn’t believe that it was happening again. That after losing her best friend, she’d now lost the man who had saved her. The one person who had made her whole after the world broke her into pieces.
Hewitt had been everything. All she’d ever learned, she’d learned from him. He’d defined who she’d become. He’d woven the entire fabric of her world into the canvas that she’d designed her hopes on. Without him, did she even exist anymore?
The whole of her life, Evylin had looked to Hewitt for her answers. She’d relied on him to teach her and show her the more of the world. She’d only reached for that more because he was so much more than everyone else himself. And all she’d ever wanted was to prove to him that she could be so much more, too.
She’d driven him from safety and out into adventure all so that she could prove herself to him.
Now he was dead, and she had nothing left.
No hope.
No direction.
No desire to experience adventure ever again.
Deckard’s hand rubbed circles across her back, reminding her of his presence.
Her whole body cringed at his touch, remembering the real cause of Hewitt’s death.
Nothing would have changed if Deckard hadn’t come to Whickam Village. She’d still be working at Hewitt’s side in the smithy. Or they’d be on their way to Trollens Town for market. They would have celebrated Dolia’s wedding with her. They would’ve been there for every holiday and birthday. They would never have abandoned Ryen and Irena but visited them on each anniversary of their death. They would still train, laugh, and manage to be happy together.
But instead of that modest happiness, she lay in the arms of the man who took her from her family. Who brought her uncle to his death.
Pushing herself free of Deckard’s arms, Evylin scooted back in the snow.
Deckard stared at her, arms still open from where she’d been. Tears filled his blue-green eyes.
No, Evylin decided, he didn’t get to be sad. He hadn’t lost anyone. He’d only taken Hewitt from her.
“Evylin,” Deckard whispered, reaching out to her, “I’m so—”
“No!” she yelled at him, the word tearing through her throat as it pulled a sob along with it.
Somehow Deckard’s expression grew even more sorrowful as his forehead wrinkled and his lips parted. But this time Evylin didn’t find the pinch between his brows charming in the slightest. This time, it made her angry.
“You don’t get to be sorry,” she charged, shaking her head.
His mouth moved but nothing came out aside from breath, fogging in the frigid air around them. He reached for her again, and she pulled away.
“Don’t!” she cried, the tears back with a vengeance. “I don’t want you! I want Hewitt, and you’ve taken him from me!”
The words hit Deckard, but it took a few blinks before his brow lowered over his deep-set eyes, telling Evylin that she’d hit her mark. “I don’t understand,” Deckard said, gravel ripping all gentility away from his voice.
Evylin backed farther away from him, unable to bear his presence. The snow burned the palms of her hands. “All—all of this,” she muttered, her heavy breathing creating gaps as she spoke. “All of . . . all of it . . . is your fault.”
Tears still pooling in his eyes, Deckard swallowed as he stared at her.
“We wouldn’t . . . wouldn’t be here if . . . you hadn’t agreed,” Evylin accused. “He wouldn’t be. . . .”
It all hit her again: Hewitt’s emptying stare as he faded away. The slowing of his breath until it didn’t rise again. The truth that she’d never see him again.
Agony tore through her at the thought.
Evylin would never see Hewitt again.
The impossibility of such an idea had never occurred to her.
How could someone so important fail to exist?
Evylin lowered herself to the ground, the weight of his loss too heavy for her to carry.
She didn’t care that the snow cut through her coat or that it soaked through her socks. Let the cold take her, she thought. No pain could be worse than this.
Deckard rose from the snow, his steps carrying him away from her. The farther he went, the greater the relief from his presence and yet the larger the tear in her soul. It hurt to be near him—and it hurt to have him go away.
Black boots shuffled past her after Deckard. “Jonn,” Auden said, somewhere to the side. “She’s just upset.”
“No,” Deckard gasped out. “She’s right. It is my fault. I’ve failed every step of the way. I was a fool to think it’d be any different now.”
The justification her anger felt at that moment welled up.
Evylin was right. It was all Deckard’s fault. He’d agreed to Hewitt’s proposition and their marriage. He’d failed to secure five hundred men. He’d made them save the prince. He’d brought them here. And now he’d let her uncle die because he couldn’t protect her himself.
And yet. . . .
Evylin’s heart didn’t feel the same conviction of his guilt.
She’d agreed to it all herself. Didn’t that condemn her to the same sentence?
The pain resurfaced, but for a whole new reason: It’d been her fault all along. Everything that Hewitt did, he did for her. She’d wanted to experience adventure, so he’d created the opportunity. And he’d left his home and family in the process.
A tear dropped off her lashes, streaking down her cheek.
Why had she wanted this? She didn’t even know. All this time, she’d begged the world to offer her more and she didn’t even understand what that more might be.
And in her struggle for this nothingness, she’d killed the only person in this world that she trusted.
Evylin stared at the whiteness of the snow. Patches began to melt in the rising sun, the temperature rising with it. She heard Auden and Deckard talking in hushed and argumentative tones, but she couldn’t understand them at her distance.
She ought to go to Jonn, she thought, to tell him the truth of the matter. But it hurt too much to move, driving her back to tears. The right side of her face was numb from the icy ground. She wondered if she might be able to melt into it along with the snow. Could she too fade away and let the world swallow her up?
“Stop, Auden,” Deckard demanded, a small scuffle sounding from their direction. “Leave her alone.”
Evylin heard a thump and tilted her head to see Auden push Deckard off him. “We don’t have time for this,” the Mage yelled, his green eyes full of fury and his accent thicker than ever before. “Those men took my sister! I won’t lose her!”
The urgency in Auden’s voice brought Evylin back to reality. Here in these woods, a brother feared for his sister’s life. The pain that she felt now Auden would feel too if Ilain died. He could only have one resolve: To save his sister.
Evylin pushed herself up from the snow, limbs shaky with grief. The men were glaring at each other, but Deckard caught her movement and watched as she stood. He looked as broken as she felt, darkness circling his eyes as his mouth turned down. She’d never seen him look so defeated.
“How do we stop them?” Evylin asked, her voice still tight from crying.
Auden turned to her, his green eyes wet at the edges. He seemed surprised to find her so calm, taking a step back to settle himself. “They’ll be going for the Water Relic,” he said, then sighed. “We should too.”
Warily, Evylin met Deckard’s eyes. They’d turned pure blue in the early morning light, reminding her of Thom. “You both have family that they’ve taken,” Evylin said, walking over to them. Her legs trembled as she took her small steps. “We have to save them.”
Running his hands through his flame-bright hair, Auden stared at the ground. “This is more than that,” he muttered, as though he was trying to convince himself. “If they get the Water Relic, we’ll be too far behind. It won’t matter that we’ve saved them if we can’t keep the Relics out of their hands.”
“We don’t know what they want with them,” Deckard offered, voice hollow.
“After this, do you doubt that their intentions are selfish?” Auden demanded, shaking his head. “We have to focus on the Relics.”
The suggestion of abandoning their friends burned in Evylin’s chest. But Auden had a clear, terrifying point. If they didn’t stop whoever these people were from gaining a second Relic, there was little chance they’d be able to stop them from taking over the whole continent.
“Why can’t we do both?” Deckard asked, grasping for hope.
Auden’s eyes didn’t leave the snow, his hand rubbing along the back of his neck. “We don’t know where they’ve taken them. And we have no way of pinpointing their location either.”
“But they took them,” Deckard said, stepping closer to Auden. “Which tells us something. Why wouldn’t they kill us all if they wanted us out of the way?”
Auden raised his head as he considered the thought. “They need us,” he muttered in awe. “They have been following us. This whole time they’ve been on our trail, and we weren’t paying enough attention. They don’t know where the Relics are, so they’re using us to find them.”
“Why attack then?” Evylin asked, throat sore. “Why not just follow us around and steal the Relics out from under us?”
Auden’s eyes darted around at the trees in thought. “I’m not sure,” he said, shaking his head. “We might be moving too slow for them. Or they might think we’ll give up if they keep getting to them before us. It could concern them that we’re catching on to their plans. Whatever the case, they need us, and they weren’t going to give us a chance to get away.”
“You mean they need you and your sister,” Deckard said, his jawline tight. “The rest of us are expendable.”
Auden met his gaze, surely aware of the danger that would put Thom and the others in. “I’m afraid so.”
Nodding, Deckard crossed his arms. “So it would make the most sense that they would take them to the Water Relic’s location, right?”
“Possibly. They may have taken them somewhere else entirely to keep them from interfering.”
“But they don’t know that we’re headed for Virwoud,” Evylin interjected. “If they think Ilain knows the location, they’ll make her lead them there.”
A small grin tugged at the side of Auden’s mouth. “And she’ll give them hell for it to be sure,” he said, confidence seeping back into his words. “Ilain will know that we made it free and that we’ll have the chance to stop them. She’ll lead them to the Water Relic, but she’ll take her time with it. She’ll give us the chance to catch up.”
“You’re sure that she knows we’re out here?” Deckard asked, hand rubbing his jaw.
“I’m sure,” the Mage replied, his eyes falling to the snow. “We made eye contact as they took her down. I was already on the horse when the rocks hit her. She fell, unconscious. But she’ll wake and she’ll know I made it out when I’m not there with them. And with me, she’ll know that I have both of you.”
“We might be able to beat them there,” Evylin said, clutching onto this promise of saving their friends. It might be a flawed hope, but it kept her mind from the loss she’d already suffered. If she could prevent anyone else from dying, she would put her whole being into it. “If we leave now, we can get to Virwoud and wait for them to arrive. Then we can save our friends and get the Relic ourselves.”
Auden began to pace. “There were too many Mages at the camp,” he said, his accent thick. “We’ll have no chance of getting through that many with the three of us alone. It will be a suicide mission to take them head-on.”
“Then we take them by surprise,” Evylin pursued, reaching with everything in her for a distraction. For action to keep her mind from returning to sorrow. “If they can ambush us, we can ambush them. When Ilain takes them to the Relic, we wait for them to go inside. Then we follow, just like they did to us.”
Narrowing his eyes, Auden began to nod. “I can’t cover all three of us in Night magic. I don’t have that much control over it. But you’re onto something there,” he said, pointing to Evylin. “They won’t take Ilain and the others inside. Instead, they’ll go in and ensure she led them to the right location first. While some of them go in to obtain the Relic, the others will stay outside to watch their prisoners.”
“So we save our friends and charge in behind them,” Evylin suggested.
“No,” Auden countered. “We split up. It will be better to go in two waves. They won’t leave many people behind with Ilain and the others, so Jonn should be able to take care of them. Evylin, you and I will go into the Keep and follow. I can’t cover both of us in Night magic, but I can shade us enough to make it through unnoticed. It’ll let us sneak up on them. At least for a while. Once you’ve freed everyone, Jonn, you and our team will come in behind and take them by surprise.”
Deckard’s eyes glanced at Evylin before he turned to Auden. “Why wouldn’t we save our friends and then charge as one?”
Evylin had wondered the same thing. But hearing the question out loud next to Auden’s suggestions, she understood. “Because if we all go together, we only have one shot,” she said. “By splitting up, we increase our chances of getting the Relic. If Auden and I go in and die, at the least we can take some Mages down with us. Then it will be easier for you and Ilain to come for the Relic. We’re a diversion.”
A flash of fear tore through Deckard’s now-green eyes. “I’m not all right with that plan,” he insisted.
“It’s the only way to ensure that we get the Relic and save our friends,” Auden said, his voice flat.
“Then I’ll go with you,” Deckard demanded, taking a step toward the Mage. “Evylin can save them, and I’ll be part of the diversion.”
“No,” Auden said, his expression soft though his words were firm. “Evylin is a Warrior, and I need her skills. It is a fact of magic that a Warrior and a Mage paired together are stronger than either one alone. If I have her with me, our chances increase exponentially. With you, they are nonexistent.”
“Then we should ensure that if anyone dies, it’s me,” Deckard insisted.
His statement cut into Evylin, and she blinked back more tears.
“I’m not important,” Deckard continued. “She is! If the two of us go into that Keep and die to preserve the lives of the others, wouldn’t it be better to ensure that Ilain and Evylin live? That way there is a Mage and a Warrior left together. If she goes with you, we’ll only have one Mage left.”
Auden remained silent, his eyes scanning over Deckard’s face. In his quiet, Evylin thought he was trying to figure out with what to say. Then she realized that wasn’t it at all. Auden was studying Deckard, looking for something in the depths of his expression. He took one step forward, head tilting to the left.
Deckard’s breath rose and fell as he waited for the response.
Torn, Evylin fought against the desire to let Deckard sacrifice himself, and the urge to take his hand and apologize. To tell him she was the one who deserved to die. That she wanted to die. She had no purpose without Hewitt. What could she do—what more could she reach—when the very source of her more had left this world behind?
A sigh pulled free of Auden, and he set a hand on Deckard’s shoulder. “I'm sorry, Jonn,” he said, a soft, compassionate tone to his voice. “I’m afraid I can’t agree with you.”
Deckard pulled away from the man, turning to Evylin. “You can’t do it,” he pleaded. “You can’t go in there to die.”
Though he hadn’t moved toward her or even tried to reach out for her, Evylin felt the intimacy behind his words and the softness of his gaze. The tears at the edges of his eyes made his feelings clearer than ever before: He didn’t want to lose her.
Letting out a shaky breath, Evylin fought her desire to crumble back to the ground. It was all too much. This fury inside of her, this anger at the pain she felt beat against her chest. Yet it mingled with absolute fear mirroring Deckard’s. She didn’t want to lose him either.
“We don’t have a choice,” Evylin heard herself whisper. “If you believe that I’m a Warrior as Auden says, then you also must believe that he’s right about this. For us to succeed, I need to go with him.”
“No,” Deckard breathed, beginning to shake his head furiously as he stepped toward her.
“Jonn,” she said his name like it was a curse, taking a step back. “Don’t.”
He glared at her, his brows pressed painfully close together as his lips trembled. He looked ready to fight her—to scream at her in rage—yet he remained silent. Did he know, then, that she no longer cared for this world? Could he understand that she wanted nothing more to do with it? That she found this to be a perfect and final redemptive act to abandon it?
Evylin turned back to Auden, her body shaking from the cold and the pain. “We should go.”
The Mage’s green eyes shifted between Deckard and Evylin as though trying to decide if it were wise to leave things so unsettled. He nodded, then stepped away toward his horse. “Virwoud is about five miles away,” he said, patting his mare’s neck. “Once we arrive, we’ll scout the area to be sure we’ve beat them there. Then we can find the Keep.”
Evylin nodded and looked back to Deckard. He’d closed his eyes, breathing deep yet staggered breaths in and out. When he opened his eyes again, the feeling there had changed. Though still damp with tears, a dullness had settled in. Walking past her, he gestured for her to follow, though he didn’t look at her. “Come with me,” he muttered.
Following him to the black mare, Evylin worried about how the day would end. Regardless of her conflicting feelings about his hand in Hewitt’s death, she knew for certain that she didn’t want to leave this world behind fearing he held any resentment toward her. Though she thought it unlikely that he wouldn’t. Hadn’t Hewitt warned her of this last night? Deckard had given her everything she’d asked for: A chance to leave Whickam Village, adventure and excitement, an independent life, and even a husband who cared for her. And what had she returned to him?
Evylin couldn’t think of one good thing.
Reaching into his saddlebag, Deckard pulled out a coat and boots—Evylin’s coat and boots. “I grabbed these before we left,” he explained. “It’s all I had time to get.”
Evylin stared at the clothing. Part of her wanted to demand how he’d had time to gather her clothes while Hewitt had died. Another part of her realized what it really was: Deckard taking care of her once again.
Between the conflict, she forced herself to take a deep breath and whisper a thank you.
After slipping on the coat, Evylin sat in the snow and took the right boot in her hand. Reaching inside, she found the small knife that Hewitt had given her to always keep there. She turned it over in her hand, the silver flashing against the morning sun.
Evylin fought the fresh tears that threatened her as she tugged the boots over her wet socks. It felt like none of this should matter. Not when someone so important disappeared from the world. Shouldn’t it all freeze over like these woods? Stop and observe the great loss that had taken place.
And yet, she understood that the world would never stop. It would never quit needing and taking. Today, they would try to save their friends and gain the Water Relic. If it saved Ephria or not, they would try. But even amidst it all, they were likely about to lose even more.
Evylin tightened the laces, then slipped the knife back into her boot. Deckard and Auden were both on their horses, waiting for her. She bent down and took up her sword, still waiting in the snow.
The cold metal bit into her hands even through the leather wrap on the hilt. Melting snow wept off the blade, dripping down to the earth. As though it was crying for the man who had forged it just as she was.
Evylin sheathed the sword next to the knife at her hip. She reached up for Deckard’s hand and hopped up onto the horse behind him. She settled in, wrapping her arms around his waist loosely. As he nudged the mare into a light canter, Evylin promised herself a promise that whatever happened in their next few hours, she’d do what was necessary to ensure that no one else in her team died today.
No one, but her.
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