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Two days passed in blissful solitude. The only Ever I encountered was Orin as he occasionally checked in on my progress, but

it seemed like the rest of the family had, in fact, heeded his warning. Even when I took breaks or strolled the grounds to

clear my mind, I passed by only attendants going about their duties. I wasn’t required to attend family dinner. What the Ferngloves

were doing or where they were, I didn’t know. I didn’t much care. The journals held all my attention.

Unfortunately, I moved through them quickly. Despite the years the threadmenders had spent at the estate, their diaries were

lucky to exceed fifty entries. All of them. I’d started taking notes on my own, jotting down ideas and methods to try first.

One of the earliest threadmenders had penned an idea for cutting versus stitching, and that gave me pause.

Isolate the affected life thread with your nondominant hand. Then focus your power to the palm of your dominant hand. Will it to take the shape of a knife or scalpel, and then aim the sharp end at the base of the thread. Go for a clean cut to create neater ends in the life thread and reduce the chances of unnecessary fraying.

I’d yet to test slicing away at someone’s strands, Ever or human. Would the pruning help or hurt? Would they die like a withered

plant too far gone, or would new growth sprout, free of infection? Perhaps it would, but that wouldn’t eradicate the disease

that seemed to stem from somewhere deep in the body. Pruning might temporarily alleviate their symptoms, but one unknown remained:

me. If I endured the actions of what I inflicted, would I survive healthy strands being cut away from my core? Or would I

propel myself toward death that much faster?

The former threadmender didn’t explain in detail, but his final entry was illuminating enough: Don’t cut.

Another threadmender, the one before Rowena, had the idea to somehow pinch threads while utilizing his magic, but for what

purpose, I couldn’t tell. He’d left a sketch in his journal illustrating a forefinger and thumb holding a thread that had

been shaped into something like a needle. It was his final entry, and a ghostly chill ravaged my skin. I hoped he hadn’t tried

it only to die in the process. But... I underlined the idea and made a note on my papers. Perhaps.

By the second morning, I’d set their journals aside and turned to the surrounding shelves. A few of the threadmenders had

mentioned reading other books for inspiration, but they’d left little notes about the texts themselves outside of the titles.

“Where are you?” I murmured, squinting at the spines as I inched along the bookcase. Dusty, old tomes with gilded leather

and worn bindings were packed neatly on the shelves, many of which had obscure titles or were stamped with ancient sigils

I had no hopes of deciphering. But finally, I found the three books that had been mentioned in the journals: A Collection of Rare Flora , Sloan’s Guide to Curses and Poisons , and Fable or Fact: A History of Evers . Returning to my seat, I started with the latter after a quick glance at the tome’s contents revealed the passages were at

least written in modern tongue.

The very first entry was a short myth involving Death and a woman whose words were full of magic. She’d become Ever after

escaping his clutches, and both her and her kin were granted eternal life. Apparently, blight didn’t give a damn about Death’s

promise. Mavis was still dying, despite being a descendant of the original immortal woman.

I flipped through the chapters and made notes of what to revisit until I reached the end. The last portion of the book was

reserved for a sprawling lineage chart that spanned several pages, complete with the names and locations of Ever families.

So many. I lost count of their ancestors, of the hundreds of branches in the chart that all somehow tracked back to the first Ever

centuries ago. Their origins were ancient. Some offshoots seemed far removed, and the majority of families did not have a

crest above their names. But those that did were penned in a bolder, larger font as if to give the family more weight. Importance.

Power.

Within Glaes’s borders, only four families were inked in that manner: the Ferngloves, the Waterstones, the Starglens, and

a fourth I hadn’t heard of. The Embergraves. Frowning at the name, I flipped back through the pages hoping to find details

about any of the families present, and yet nothing. I hummed wordlessly to myself, making a mental note to ask Orin about

it, more out of curiosity than anything, when my gaze drifted to the passage I’d stalled on.

The First of our kind spent decades understanding the nature of fire, even going so far as to bathe in the flames until her skin no longer charred and the power took root in her veins. There, she learned how to extract heat from within and ignite sparks from her fingers. In an effort to strengthen her powers, she searched the world for rare creatures that possessed magic similar to that of the original stone—and was greatly rewarded. She embedded parts of ancient beasts into her being and gained additional strength and power in return.

Because of this, Evers are born with fantastical traits of their own. And while our magic derives from the original Ever,

it manifests differently for each family offshoot, some stronger than others.

Maybe that’s why the Ferngloves were bolded and marked with a crest. They were simply stronger. No doubt that’s what made

their threads so resilient. Thumbing through the pages, I paused when I discovered one of the corners had been neatly folded.

It was so firmly creased, pressed entirely flush with the text, that I’d almost missed it. Frowning, I scanned the page.

Heartbonds are formed when two Evers agree to share their intrinsic magic with each other. When this happens, a ribbon of

magic—visible only to the pair in question—will appear and wrap around their arms. Once accepted, it becomes a permanent,

invisible bond between the two. This cannot be reversed, and even upon one Ever’s death, the former partner will continue

to have access to that wealth of power for their own use. As such, this level of power sharing and commitment is revered and

only to be undertaken after careful consideration.

I was so engrossed in the description that when I heard the soft creak of the wood floors announcing someone’s arrival, I didn’t bother to immediately look up. If Orin was back with more tea, I’d gladly take it—and ask him to stay and clarify more about the nuances in their power. Pressing one finger to the worn page, I held my place as I glanced at the doorway. And then froze.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” Lydia’s voice was cool, her gaze sharp. Thinly veiled ire sparked in her blue-green

stare, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was the last person I wanted to encounter. My heart rammed against

my chest as I set my book down on the coffee table.

“Hello, Lydia.”

She took a deliberate step forward. “Do you know what my children are doing at this particular moment in time?”

Warning bells crested in my ears. “No.”

She reached the edge of the sofa. “They’re paying for your mistake.”

“Mistake?” Irritation flared in my voice. “They tricked me.”

“And that’s within their right. You are property of Fernglove.” She gripped the lip of the couch, and her nails scraped against

the wooden frame. “Explain to me how it’s fair for you to sit here and leisurely read while my daughters have been locked

away until my dear nephew deems it appropriate to release them.”

My blood ran cold. “I didn’t ask for that.”

She inched closer, and I stood, backing away from her until I bumped into one of the bookshelves. Her haughty chuckle seemed

to hang in the air. At that moment, Vora rounded the corner of the hallway and came into full view of the open library. She

took one look at Lydia, and her grip on the serving tray she carried tightened. Turning on her heel, she left without offering

to help, a flurry of skirts billowing after her.

Great.

“You’re under Orin’s protection now, but if you cause even a modicum of discomfort for either one of my daughters again”—she

closed the distance between us, her tense frame vibrating with malice—“I will not hesitate to hurt you.”

“I am not responsible for their actions,” I seethed. My hands formed fists by my sides, and my back stiffened. “And if you threaten to harm me again, it won’t be just your daughters suffering through discomfort.”

“How dare you.” She hooked my chin with one finger and yanked it upward. She wasn’t even taller than me. It was all a show,

all a move of power. And it made the anger churning in my veins spike even higher. “Foolish mortal. You’re utterly incapable

of harming me.”

My hands itched to prove otherwise, but I never got the chance.

“Careful, Aunt Lydia. Wouldn’t want Orin finding out you’ve been pestering our threadmender.” The amused drawl filtered through

the room, and Seville stepped into the library. She sauntered around the couch and then parked her hip against it, crossing

her ankles and smiling wryly at my predicament. “And right after he permitted you to visit Amalyss and Tasia, no less.”

If Lydia was angry before, she was downright furious now. She jerked her hand away and swiveled sharply in place to glare

at her niece. “Seville. Your presence is wholly unnecessary. As usual.”

Seville gasped and lightly draped her hand over her mouth. “Auntie, my goodness. Is that an age spot I see? You should get

that checked, darling.”

A sharp hiss scraped through Lydia’s teeth, and she instinctively placed two fingers along her seemingly clear cheekbone.

“One day you and your brothers will learn your place. Assuming I’m kind enough to let you stick around.”

Seville laughed. A brittle, callous sound. “Be off now, Auntie. Return to your heartbond and your ill-behaved children.”

Lydia opened her mouth to respond, then slammed it shut. Something malicious flashed in her eyes, and she held Seville’s gaze

for a heated breath before storming away. When Lydia’s retreating footsteps faded, Seville let out an exaggerated sigh.

“It’s any wonder her daughters acted out.” She shoved off the sofa and looped an arm loosely about my shoulders. “Come, come. Orin will want to hear about this.”

I allowed her to guide me down the hall while she aimlessly chattered about things I clearly had no ability to contribute

to: the awful shade of Lady Starglen’s newest gown and the peculiar quietness of her son, the horrid design choices of the

Waterstones’ foyer. Nothing was pleasant. I doubted Seville found anything other than herself to be beautiful.

When we arrived at Orin’s study, she didn’t bother to knock, instead waltzing in as if it were her respite and not her brother’s.

Orin sat behind his desk bent over stacks of paper and lightly twirling a pen between his fingers. He glanced up at us and

stilled when his gaze met mine.

“Did something happen?”

“Just Lydia voicing her concerns about the treatment of her daughters.” Seville abandoned me for a candy jar nestled on a

shelf. She selected a ruby-colored morsel and popped it into her mouth. “I took care of it.”

“I see.” Orin’s gaze never left mine. “Seville, will you give us a minute?”

“Sure thing.” She snagged another candy before heading for the exit. “I’m expected at the Waterstones’, anyway.”

“Please see me when you return.”

She offered a flippant wave over her shoulder as she disappeared. Orin set aside his pen and braided his fingers together.

“Did Lydia harm you?”

“She’s an absolute nightmare, but no.” I sighed. “I’m fine.”

The tension left his shoulders, and he offered a dry smile as he gestured to the empty armchair across from his desk. “My

aunt is difficult, to say the least.”

“I’m not sure that’s saying enough,” I muttered.

At that, he laughed. “No, you’re right. She’s downright abhorrent, but I try not to push her too hard. When my parents passed, she expected to inherit the estate. Instead, it fell to me, and it’s been a bit tumultuous navigating that relationship ever since.”

Sinking into the armchair, I clasped my hands in my lap. “How did they die?”

“It’s...” He swallowed thickly, his eyes downcast. “I still have trouble discussing it.”

I could relate all too well. A ghost pain flickered through my chest, and I instinctively reached for the pocket of my trousers

hoping to find my mother’s leather scrap. Of course, I came up empty, and the ache in my heart deepened. “I understand.”

“My father was brilliant, though. A truly intelligent businessman.” He reached for a miniature golden hourglass near his pens

and turned it over. Fine sand began to trickle into the empty base. “Always stressed the value of time and the importance

of words. He fell in love with my mother the moment he saw her.”

The sprawling lineage chart bled to life in my mind. “Was he human? Or from a different Ever family?”

“He was an Ever, though his family had little magic. Mavis thought he was only after my mother for our power.” His eyes darkened

as he glowered at nothing, but after a breath he brushed it off with a slight wave of his hand. “Anyway, my mother’s grasp

on our familial magic was stronger than Lydia’s, so she became head of house until she passed. Lydia assumed she would take

over, but because my parents were heartbonds, my father still possessed all my mother’s abilities.”

I watched the sand fall as I marveled over his words. “Ever magic is fascinating.”

He grinned. “Glad you think so. But enough about me. I’ll speak with Lydia. I’d already told her not to seek you out, and

she clearly went against my word.” Orin leaned back in his chair and cupped the back of his head with his hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “She was just concerned for her daughters. They’re being punished?”

“Amalyss and Tasia have never respected my authority.” He blew out a sigh. “But Lydia makes it sound far worse than it is. They are being confined to a room with fewer luxuries than their quarters, but they’re not in a cell or anything.”

“Pity,” I said.

Orin’s lips jerked up in the corners.

I’m interested to hear what other quips might slip from that tongue of yours. A warm blush crawled over my cheeks as his words from market filled my mind. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was just my

quick wit or my tongue he was curious about. As if hearing my thoughts, his gaze dipped to my lips.

“That aside,” he murmured as he came around the desk to lean against the corner. One of his legs brushed against mine as he

adjusted. “I am curious to know how your research is going.”

“I’ve made a few notes for different methods I’d like to try when the time comes, but...” My mind rewound to my aunt’s

journal. Did he know about the missing page? What if it was nothing? A torn sheet used for note-taking much like I’d been

doing for the past few days. I doubted he—or anyone else for that matter—had taken anything from the journals. They wanted

me to succeed just as much as I did.

“The journals are informative,” I said finally. “But I was hoping for more details about their work with Mavis’s blight specifically.”

“Not all of them had the chance. A few had been threadmending before they joined us, so their lifespans were already shortened.”

He’d spoken softly, and his smile turned tired. Sad. “And the one or two who did... Well, I didn’t make documenting their

experience mandatory. In hindsight, I should have made it part of our agreement to aid future threadmenders in their efforts.”

Despite myself, I hated the way he looked so defeated, as if he’d failed somehow in the face of this strange illness. Ultimately, I was glad he hadn’t forced the threadmenders to relive what was likely the last few moments of their lives. So instead of fixating on something we couldn’t change, I offered him a teasing smile. “Going to make an amendment to our terms of employment?”

“No.” The hint of a grin tugged at his lips. “I have faith there will be no need for future threadmenders after your work

with us.”

I was suddenly too aware of the heady beat of my heart. Of the hushed tone of his words, of the closeness of his body. He

reached out with one finger and lightly grazed my hair. It was only a whisper of a touch, and yet my body thrummed with electricity.

I couldn’t help but study the planes of his face and the depths of his eyes.

I steadied myself with two breaths before continuing. “Your faith in me is unwavering.”

“I’m certain you’ll be able to help us.”

“Us?”

“Mavis is part of our family.” He lifted a single shoulder as his hand fell away from my face. “Curing her would most certainly

help all of us. We don’t want to see her like this anymore.”

His voice was soft, his eyes downcast. He seemed so vulnerable. Real. I didn’t know how to process his emotions when I’d spent

my whole life convincing myself that Ferngloves were nothing more than self-absorbed Evers.

“Mavis’s glamour,” I finally managed to say. “Can you remove it?”

“Will it help?”

“Yes.”

“I...” He was breathless and his cheeks flushed. Why was he breathless? He wetted his lips and shifted closer. “Before

she fell ill, Mavis was very proud. She didn’t like to appear weak, and when it grew too taxing to maintain her glamour, we

elected to do it for her.” He absently tapped his fingers along his leg as he stared into nothing, as if reliving a memory

I wasn’t sure I’d ever be privy to. “Stripping it from her when everyone in this manor has the power to flawlessly sustain

that magic... Something about that feels wrong. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Gently, I angled toward him. Not because it was instinctual. Not because I wanted to soak up his heat. But because something in his tone gave me pause. “What about your glamour, then?”

“Mine?” He blinked at me.

“Yes. You said everyone here uses it. I read that your bodies are a product of ancient beasts being embedded into the first

Ever.”

Orin’s brows flicked up in surprise, but he didn’t interrupt me.

“I’m curious to know what that looks like, if that magic somehow is responsible for your threads being so unusually difficult

to work with.”

He hesitated for several breaths, his endless gaze peering directly into my soul.

When he didn’t respond, I leaned in closer. I needed... wanted him to trust me. I didn’t dare examine why. Softly, I asked, “Is there a reason you’re hiding, too?”

“Oh, I’m not hiding.” His smile grew impossibly wide, and a flush of power rippled around his frame and heated the small space

between us. “I’ve always just found that a more demure appearance is easier for mortals to digest.”

Orin dropped his veil like a slow-moving sheet falling to the earth in the wind. It fluttered and rippled until it faded away,

and then he was there. Unfiltered and raw and heart-stopping in every sense of the word.

Four bone-white horns sprouted from his forehead and wrapped his hair like a crown. His ears elongated, along with the points

of his nails and teeth. Glistening emerald scales lined his temples and disappeared into his hairline, and I caught a hint

of more peeking from beneath the collar of his tunic. A thin tail that ended in an arrowpoint unfurled from his waist and

fell to the backs of his calves.

“Orin.” It was all I could manage.

His grin deepened. “See what I mean?” With light fingers, he grazed the crown protruding from his forehead—fitting for the head of his household.

“Courtesy of the first Ever, right?” I stared at the horns, fighting the urge to reach out and touch their bone-like surface.

“I love that you read our history.” Pure joy lit in Orin’s eyes. “What else do you know?”

“I only got through a handful of passages before Lydia rudely interrupted me.”

“You’re correct, though. Those original modifications, if you will, were for bolstering her abilities. As her descendants,

we get slivers of that ancient power to boost our familial magic. For Ferngloves...” He twirled his fingers in a circular

fashion, and the air warmed like it’d been kissed by a summer sun. The fragrance of wildflowers and rich soil filled the study,

and a faint shimmer of green particles bloomed above his palm. “The earth answers to us, as well as its creatures. But it

takes decades to master that kind of skill.”

I stared in awe at the magic collecting in his hand. “And other Evers?”

“Our powers are tied to our bloodlines. But even within families, we all present differently. Seville has the most beautiful

wings, whereas I have none. It’s just how the power chose to mark us. Some Evers like to flaunt their unique appearance. Others

feel more inclined to walk with mortals rather than look down upon them.”

I laughed, thinking of the way Seville and Lydia would forever consider humans “less than,” regardless of their perfect glamours.

“May I?” I stood and reached toward the cluster of emerald scales peeking out of his hairline. Something heated flashed in his gaze, but he nodded and pressed his lips together. I grazed their slick surface, and a trail of gooseflesh rippled over my arms at their cool kiss. We fell into silence as I moved from one feature to the next, quietly studying. There was a definite thrum of magic that vibrated outward from his being, and it didn’t seem like something he could simply shut off. It had to be affecting his threads, too. It was all so foreign and captivating, and the power rolling off Orin in heady waves was intoxicating.

Orin stared at me the entire time, longing coloring his eyes something fierce. My heart hammered against my rib cage as the

world seemed to slip away. We were in our own private bubble of shared breaths and unspoken words, and something was happening.

Something I wasn’t sure how to comprehend and certainly didn’t want to acknowledge.

My fingers brushed his lips, and he stiffened beneath my touch. “Curious what those can do?”

Heat bloomed across my cheeks as I stared at his chest. “I’m not adverse to learning.”

Slowly, his hands went to my waist. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You were the one who mentioned performictum.”

At that, I laughed. “I probably have some stowed away in my cases.”

“Hardly necessary.” His grin stretched wide, and I marveled at the beauty that was him. I searched his face, lingering on

every unique feature and display of Ever magic. He was so open. It was strange to feel breathless at the sight of him, knowing

everything he wanted from me. How he was fine with ushering in my death at the expense of saving Mavis. And yet, I understood.

Saving my family, caring for my brothers, was all I’d been doing for as long as I could recall.

I’d never wanted to see someone’s life threads so badly.

Without warning, I summoned my power from the depths of my body and willed it outward. Orin’s eyes grew wide as his gaze shot to my now glowing fingertips, and all at once his glamour slammed back into place. The sudden wall barricading his magic was a forceful, cold sting, and I jolted, just as a loud knock hammered into the door.

My hand remained frozen over Orin’s chest, and he clamped it tight before pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “I apologize. I

sensed someone coming and reacted without thinking.”

Was that all? I struggled to find words but capped my power and nodded. Half-baked thoughts skittered through my mind, forming

and disappearing like a faint breeze.

“Come in,” Orin called without breaking my gaze.

The door swung inward with far too much force, and Rorik strolled into the room. He took one look at our joined hands and

rolled his eyes.

“Rorik. To what do we owe this pleasure?” Orin asked.

I broke away immediately. A wry smile pulled at Rorik’s expression, but it felt stilted, and his eyes were cold. Even the

ease with which he leaned against the doorframe was a pretense, a picture of nonchalance that wasn’t quite right. Ywena was

perched on his shoulder, and her wings fluttered once as her antennae twitched.

“I came to return Ywena to Edira,” he said. “It’s been three days. Seems I’m the only one concerned about her resuming training.”

Orin straightened. “We were merely discussing her needs.”

He barked out a laugh. “Of that I have no doubt.”

“Did the Starglens accept?” Orin asked, ignoring his jab entirely.

“Yes. I still think it’s a foolish idea, by the way.” He sauntered toward the desk and braced his hands on the back of the

armchair. “Not safe in the slightest.”

“Noted.” Orin tipped his head toward me. “Edira, would you give me and my brother some privacy, please?”

“Of course.” I quickly skirted around Rorik. As I did, Ywena took flight and found her home against the crook of my neck. The familiar tickle of her feet sent goose bumps down my back.

“We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow.” Rorik smirked as he met my gaze. “You know, with our individual training. Don’t

forget your pants. Again.”

Heat threatened to tinge my cheeks pink at the same time Orin stiffened.

“One of these days, Rorik, I’ll pin you to the ground beneath my boots, and you’ll pray I’m wearing a skirt so you at least

see something nice before I spit in your face.” I spun on my heel and made for the door. “See you tomorrow.”

I didn’t bother to turn and examine Rorik’s expression, instead smiling to myself as Orin’s robust laugh followed me out.