Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

The lykin ducks into the tent. He has a single, dark eyebrow quirked slightly with a questioning expression. His attention darts between us but I can't keep his gaze.

This can't be happening. Aurora can't honestly be suggesting what I think she is…

"Evander, can you find Faelyn a quiet tent where she won't be disturbed for…" Aurora looks to me expectantly.

"Ten minutes—no, five, five should be fine." I'm fairly certain I'm going to melt, puddling onto the floor with embarrassment.

There is no shame in personal pleasure , I insist to myself. It is a normal, understandable need; I have no reason to hang my head. Even if I personally wouldn't usually talk about it so brazenly with others. Especially not people I still hardly know…

"Somewhere she won't be disturbed for five minutes?" Aurora finishes her question.

"I can probably manage that," Evander says uncertainly. His eyes dart between us. I purse my lips, not about to offer any additional explanation. "Conri is still held up meeting with the alpha of this pack. He should be distracted for a good while yet."

"Good. But don't do it too early. She should have her time as close to when you return her to Conri as possible."

The furrow of Evander's brow deepens. He is clearly confused by this request and I can't decide if I want to laugh or decide that I need to go for a long, long walk far away from here, right now.

"Very well," he relents finally when neither Aurora nor I say anything more. "Let's go."

"Now?"

"Yes, it's best if I have more time to maneuver you through the camp to shake any wandering, curious eyes, otherwise it might look suspicious if we leave here and you go immediately to my tent."

"Send Conri to me if you need to buy time," Aurora says as I stand. "Tell him I need to revitalize his magic." Her eyes dart my way and she gives a wink. "Don't worry, I won't actually."

"Thank you," I say as Evander leads me out of the tent. Aurora gives me one more look of encouragement, one I leech off of as best I can and hold close to my heart. My gut tells me I'll need it.

"We'll take a walk around the camp," Evander announces. "Give you a lay of the land."

"Won't the camp change every time we move?"

"Some of it will, but much remains the same. The tents are set up in the hierarchy of the pack…" He explains how Conri's tent is always set up adjacent to the central area of camp—but not quite on the inner ring that circles the bonfire. His preference. Next to Conri's tent is the pack alpha—or alphas, in case of multiple packs gathering at once. In circles out from there are the knights and favorites of the leaders. Then families. Then the footmen and more knights on the outer edge to protect the pack.

That's where we end up: on one outermost edge, staring out at the grassy sea as the sky turns a blazing orange.

"Is there anything Conri doesn't control?" Everything Evander said was hedged with, "so long as Conri wishes."

He shakes his head, staring over the grasses. "The king is just that…a king. He rules all of us. The one true alpha, caretaker and life giver for all the packs. All he asks for in return is complete, and utter, subservience."

I note how he doesn't say loyalty. "Is that all?" I mutter.

Evander huffs with slight amusement at my dry tone. "That's it."

"Tell me, what was it like before the wolf king?" I think of Aurora's story, that there was a time before the packs were united as one. That Evander was born in one of the last such dissenting packs.

"I wasn't born then. I'm not that old." He must be thinking the same thing.

"Are you sure? Given how curmudgeonly you are, I'd guess you're at least a few thousand years."

He snorts and shifts his weight, facing me. "How old do you think I am, Faelyn?"

I bring my attention to him, making a leisurely assessment from toe to head. He boasts the physique of a man in his prime. Those black trousers trace the contours of his formidable strength, an asset that would elude both younger and older men. The scars on his chest and back are old wounds, turned white, puckering along the skin and crafting constellations that tell stories of traumas long past. His face is mostly unmarred by the lines of age, though a shadow of stubble graces his jaw.

But it is his eyes that my attention sticks on and refuses to move from.

They are alight with the intensity I've come to associate with him alone—an insatiable hunger that I have no doubt has been gnawing at him for decades longer than he's even been alive. As if he's been searching for something, or someone, he will never be able to find. Left forever needy and yearning. Gifting him with a wizened gravity that men half a century his elder could scarcely even dream of.

"Answer me one question first," I finally say, before giving my guess. He raises his brows and says nothing. "Do lykin age in the same way as humans?"

He hums. "I'm not sure if I should answer that."

"You should, if you don't want me guessing you're in your hundreds."

Evander grabs his chest, fingers pressing into the bare skin. "You wound me. Hundreds?" He chuckles, shrugging it off at my smile. "All occupants of Midscape live and die in the same way as humans. None of us are blessed with lifespans greater than your kind. Save for Aurora in her unnatural state."

"Then, I would say you are…twenty-eight."

He grabs his chest again, more sudden, and sways back as though he has been physically struck. "You wound me again. I look so old?"

"Twenty-eight is not old." I laugh from the bottom of my stomach. I'm reminded of a time when I was younger, when I told Grandma that I couldn't wait to be "old"—and, by old, I meant in my twenties. She howled with laughter to the point that I thought the roof shingles of our hut shook.

He grins, recovering from the mock offense. "I'm twenty-three."

"Only a year older than me?"

"Is it that surprising?" He looks back out across the grasses.

"You seem…older."

"Now you're making a game of offending me."

"More grizzled than a man of twenty-three."

"You know, you're not helping the situation." He glances at me from the corners of his eyes.

I try to fight a sly little smile and lose. "Some men would be pleased to hear they come off as mature and stately."

He huffs. "I am not ‘some men.' I have nothing to prove to anyone."

"No? No partners in your life?"

"I swore to Conri I would take no bride and father no children," he answers, all levity vanishing like the last vestiges of daylight. "It was the deal I made—to keep my life, I had to sacrifice the ability to make life."

"You…gave up your ability to have children?" I can't help it; my gaze falls to his groin.

He snorts. "All the parts are still attached." His slight amusement at my boldness doesn't reach his eyes. "The bargain was of a more magical sort when I swore myself to him and became his knight."

"I…see." It's a cruel cost to ask of someone, if such things were among their priorities. I can't bring myself to ask Evander if children were something he wanted. That pain might be too much to bear.

His expression turns grave once more. "Not that I would be a deserving father or husband in any case."

"What makes you say that?" My chest tightens slightly on his behalf. I can't help it. The words he says are filled with such pain and turmoil.

"I am not a good person, Faelyn. Everyone whom I love ends up getting hurt. It is a kindness for me to not have to worry of such things."

"A kindness for you, or what you perceive as a kindness to others?" I take a slight step forward, angling myself to look him in the eyes.

"Both." He shifts to face me once more, meeting my gaze. For the first time, his expression is open. Evander isn't hiding behind anger or brutishness. For the first time…I think I truly see the man behind his prickly demeanor. "I do not deserve that sweet, nearly sacred touch of a woman in love. Not anymore." His voice drops slightly as he speaks. The way Evander looks at me is almost as if he seeks my forgiveness. As though I could be a proxy for every woman he's ever hurt—every woman alive.

"Evander, I…" I don't get to finish.

A group of wolves crests the slope of the hill in the distance, ten of them. They race back to camp. Each of them has a limp animal hanging from their mouth. As they near, I can make out a fox and two hares.

"Dinner." Evander starts back into camp, trusting me to follow.

I do, and we leave the conversation at our backs.

Everyone gathers in the center of camp, where a large fire has been erected. The flames burn in the center of a collection of small stones that in no way could keep the fire from jumping…were it natural. However, this fire is not natural. Much like the bonfire at the beach, it doesn't burn any kind of fuel.

I'm overcome with a vague sense of familiarity, even though I don't see a pair of golden eyes in the roaring fire. It's a sense of looking at something you've seen before, even though it's different from anything you've ever laid eyes on. Squinting slightly, I slow to a stop a bit farther away from the fire, trying to settle on what this sensation is before drawing nearer. The sensation is clearer than on the beach, easier to parse out.

"It is a spirit," Evander affirms my suspicions. "His name is Devlan. He's a fire spirit much like your Folost."

"But much larger."

"There are many types of fire, many types of spirits." He takes a step forward to approach the flame with the gathering pack.

I catch his wrist, a bolt of clarity surging through me. "This spirit, was he the one you used to set fire to my barriers and burn down my home?"

Evander's eyes widen a fraction, but are quickly narrowed again by his furrowing brow. His expression borders on disgust. Hatred, even. My grip slackens.

"I told you that I am not a good person." He leans forward slightly. "Don't be surprised when you are presented with proof of it."

Evander rips his wrist from my grasp and starts toward the bonfire. But I am rooted. Stuck. Staring at the broad back of the man who was capable of burning down my home even after he had Aurora. I rush forward, stepping around him before we reach the rest of the pack. We're still in a mostly secluded place between two tents. Not private, but no one seems to be focusing on us—they're all too drawn to the flame and the food being placed before it.

"Why? You had her, didn't you? Why burn down the house? Did you do it because you wanted to—because you could? Or because he told you to?" I demand to know, even though nausea is rippling through me, riding on waves of fear at the answer.

His rage at being stopped again dissipates instantly at my questioning. It's a slipping of his angry mask once more, betraying the more guilty man beneath. Brief, but there.

"It doesn't matter," he mutters, looking away. His body language, expression, tone…it's all the answer I need.

But I want to hear it anyway. "It does to me."

"It will be easier if you hate me," he whispers, deep and low.

"I'll decide who and what I hate."

Evander presses his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Goddess help me. You are relentless."

"I know." Why does that bring a tired smile to my face?

Evander looks around, somewhat nervously. There must be no one he can see or sense to be alarmed about because he finally says, as quietly as possible, "Conri commanded it. He saw you that night when you took Aurora. He wanted to hurt you. I tried to refrain, but Bardulf had heard the order. We had…a minor disagreement over it. But there was no getting around it."

A minor disagreement … The bruise I saw on his cheek when I first laid eyes on him is so faint it's hard to see now. But it looks like someone might have punched him.

"Were…" The thoughts take a second to form in my head. They're darker than I imagined and my mind doesn't want to believe them. "Were you supposed to kill me?"

He says nothing. Once more, it's my answer. My blood is cold. I will be forced to marry a man who had ordered my death.

"Were you going to tell him that you had done the deed when he asked? That you had killed me?"

"Bardulf knew the truth." Evander shrugs. "I would've said you weren't there—the truth. Conri wouldn't have faulted us for not pursuing you when our focus was Aurora and we had her."

"And if Bardulf hadn't been there?"

"What does this hypothetical matter?" He sighs.

"It matters very much to me." It matters if you're protecting me or not, in your own way.

"I told you, I have done horrible things. Things that would make your throat burn with nausea. I will continue to do horrible things, so long as that man is in power." The words are direct and angry. Yet, as soon as he finishes his outburst, his expression softens. "But…it is not because I want to. I desperately, desperately cling to whatever shred of decency I can. Because…"

"Because?" I breathe, hanging on his words.

He takes a small step forward, voice dropping even further. "Because I like to dream that, one day, I might be free of him. And, when I am, I would like to be a man that can sleep at night."

The words slowly sink into me. His expression is somewhere between tortured and desperate. Seeking. Asking me for a forgiveness that I would've never even contemplated giving a man who had wronged me in the way he has.

But…things suddenly don't seem so simple.

"We should join the rest before they wonder." Evander breaks the moment by backing away. "If I'm going to sneak you away later, we can't have people already suspicious of us, and there are enough eyes on you already."

"One more thing." I stop him for a final time. "Really, it's the last thing," I assure his agitated expression. "My barrier, how did you?—"

"You suspected correctly. I used the fire spirit to burn through it," he says, matter-of-fact. Never have I hated being right. "Almost couldn't do it, though. No physical items worked and the spirit was nearly not strong enough."

"So my magic wasn't bad," I whisper.

"Quite the contrary." The corners of Evander's lips tug slightly, as though he is fighting a smile. The expression is quickly abandoned. "Now, let's move along."

"Right," I murmur as he steps around me.

Once more I'm looking at his back. At those scars that match Conri's massive paws, the wolf king who leaves nothing but damage and heartache in his wake. Evander might have been the one to break my barrier, take Aurora, and burn my home to ash, but it was at the direction of the wolf king. As he tells it…he almost was trying to protect me the entire time.

But can I believe him? I answer my own question when it occurs to me that Aurora trusts him, too. At least some amount. Evander was the one to free her, more or less.

I start to walk, falling in at Evander's side, our strides matching in length and gait. I fight the urge to look up at him. To continue studying this strange man that I only think I'm just beginning to know.

Unbidden, the sensation of his fingertips running down my arms and wrists, settling on my hands, crosses my mind. I'm back in that dark tent on my first night here. My skin puckers.

There's a gentleness to him. But also a hunger. And a darkness that is equal measures intriguing and terrifying.