“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 trulysee 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.
