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From my quiet window bench in the library, I watched Orin hold lessons for the Ever children. Blankets had been arranged on

the pristine lawns of the courtyard in a semicircle around a slender tree with emerald leaves and budding pink flowers. Dappled

sunlight filtered through the branches, and Orin leaned against the trunk as he peered at an assortment of papers in his hands.

Amalyss and Tasia shared a woven tapestry, and their gazes were downcast, their hands firmly clasped. It seemed they were

no longer confined to their “cell.”

With them sat two additional Evers: Flix, whom I recognized from the foyer, and a young boy with eyes the same shade as the first fringes of dusk. His blue-black hair was deeper than the night sky. On his neck was a smattering of indigo dots and thin lines that connected in the shape of a constellation: the family crest of the Starglens. With practiced ease, he manifested tiny stars that danced about his fingers in strangely beautiful patterns. Flix did the same, summoning a swirling orb of ink-black water that churned angrily in his palm. He was the only one who dared to reveal a sliver of his true form. His horns were proudly on display, his locks expertly parted around them.

It’s hard to isolate such a small patch.

The ghost of Tasia’s words sent a chill down my spine. She’d been so reluctant to let go of her glamour, and yet Flix had

enough control to display his horns. Was he stronger than them? Or something else? Centering myself with a breath, I called

on my power. Magic thrummed through my veins and a soft glow began to emanate from my body. I knew my eyes would be doused

in the same light, granting me the ability to see life threads.

Normally, anyway. But with Evers, there was always glamour. And glamour hid everything .

Just as it had been with Tasia and Amalyss, each Ever seemed to be coated in a thin gossamer fabric that softened the outlines

of their body. Immediately I focused on the space where Flix’s horns had punctured through the magic. They were clear and

free of glamour, a glistening black that seemed to throb with power. And right at the base, where the magic veil was layered,

I caught a glimpse of a wayward thread that had somehow snuck through. It should’ve been as vibrant as Tasia’s and yet was

a leeched gray.

The base of one of Tasia’s threads had looked like that, too.

“Edira.”

I startled and immediately recalled my power. And with Ywena once again nestled in her favorite spot, I received a fresh jolt

of electricity to go along with my erratic breath. Jerking my head toward the entrance of the library, I spied Vora standing

in the open doorframe with her brows arched toward her hairline. My pulse slowed, and I blew out a breath.

“Vora. Did you need me?”

“Shouldn’t you be training with Rorik?” she asked with a pointed nod toward Ywena.

“I know it will help.” I sighed as I stood, ignoring Vora’s disapproving glare. “But can’t someone else teach me?” I cast one last glance through the window. Orin looked up then, as if somehow my gaze had summoned his, and a warm smile claimed his lips. A flicker of heat twisted through my stomach. He tipped his chin ever so slightly before shifting his focus back to Flix, and the heat in my belly threatened to move to my cheeks.

“No,” Vora said, her words sharp. “Now go before you make Rorik mad.”

“Fine.” I turned on my heel and made for the front doors without bothering to see if she’d escort me. My emotions steadied

as I trekked toward the sacred tree where my training was held. Nothing like a little light torment to make the afternoon

pass quickly. I glowered at nothing, thinking of Rorik’s snark and hoping I really would get the chance to stand over him

one of these days. At the very least, I hoped his methodology worked to improve the length of my lifespan. Maybe I’d eventually

be strong enough to hand him his ass.

Rorik turned as I approached, and his gaze immediately dropped to my pants and boots. He smirked. “Prepared to step on me?”

“Always,” I said as I folded my arms across my chest. “Believe it or not, I actually want to get better at mending. Even if

it means spending time with you.” I came to a halt, and Ywena crawled over my shoulder to nestle more closely against my neck.

“Good, because spending your days researching or in Orin’s study is useless if your body isn’t ready.”

“At least he’s helping me.” I scowled.

“I see, so you find my time pointless.” His smile deepened to something sinister. “That hardly seems fair, considering we’ve only had one lesson.”

“Ywena has only shocked me once since you brought her back.” I placed my hands on my hips and settled into my stance. “I think

we can move on to something a little more productive.”

Heat flashed in his eyes. “How interesting that you think you have the appropriate knowledge and skill set to tell me when we need to shift our training.” He stepped toward me, halting just inches from my body. My breathing didn’t falter.

Not once. He dragged his gaze from the steady rise and fall of my chest to Ywena and, finally, to my face.

“Well?” I prompted when he said nothing. He looked down at me as he brought his face closer, as if testing the effectiveness

of his proximity on the steadfast cadence of my breath. I focused on inhaling, on drawing in every possible ounce of air,

and forcing it out with measured calmness.

“If you think you’re ready for something physical...” His voice was gravelly, rough, and it damn near ruined my perfect

control. He seemed to notice, too, and something unreadable raced across his expression. Then he chuckled darkly. “Run.”

“What?”

Rorik was a feral creature in that moment, and I swore his glamour slipped, if only for a breath. There was a flash of something

iridescent, something otherworldly and possibly beautiful, but his predatory smile—complete with sharpened canines—stole my

focus entirely. Ywena shocked me as soon as my breath caught, and that tiny jolt spurred me into motion. Without thinking,

I ran. I sprinted toward the trees marking the edge of the back lawns as Rorik’s laugh filled the air like a storm. He was

everywhere and nowhere—I glanced over my shoulder to find he’d disappeared—and I failed miserably to maintain control over

my breathing. Every inhale and exhale was accompanied by a shock from Ywena, and before I knew it a deep pang spurred in my

sides.

For fuck’s sake. I tried to breathe through it as I found the small path winding into the depths of the forest. I flew over the moss-studded stones and bolted down the dirt trail, but roots had puckered the soft soil to create a path laden with obstacles. The toe of my boot caught on one and I went tumbling forward. My hands smacked into the ground, the rough scrape of bark and jagged stones cutting away at my flesh, and I rolled to my side.

Real graceful, Edira. Just great. With a sharp wince, I flexed my battered hands and forced myself to slow down, to settle. Gingerly, I eased to my feet and

tried to get a grip on my wild breath so Ywena’s incessant jolts would subside.

“How did you get through that unscathed?” I muttered to her as I glanced at my shoulder. She fluttered her wings only once

in response.

A twig snapped in the distance of the wood, and I jerked my head toward the sound. The dense thicket of trees was impossible

to pierce. They clambered around like giants, their long limbs covered in leaves that blocked out almost all the daylight.

The ground was nothing more than pools of darkness, and a low ache simmered behind my eyes as I strained to see. The trail

was desolate—just a strip of soil and stone stretching into the shrouded abyss. A thin mist had bloomed from somewhere deep

within the bowels of the forest, and it rolled over the earth like a wet exhale. A chill swept through on a rattling breeze,

and the hairs on my neck rose. The sun had all but disappeared, as if it were afraid of the darkened, fingerlike shadows inching

across the ground to snare my ankles.

The woods were a living, breathing monster, and I’d stepped into the belly of the beast. All I could hear was my ragged breath,

my pulse thundering in my ears, and the soft chittering from Ywena as she activated her power again and again. I winced with

every prick, yet it wasn’t enough to chase away the looming paranoia.

A wet breath teased the skin behind my ear. “You’re slow.”

I jumped so high I smacked the top of my head into Rorik’s jaw. I hadn’t even heard him approach. He cursed and took a step back as I tumbled to the ground. Ywena shocked me—of course—and I let myself fall flat on my back as I stared at a patchwork blanket of limbs and leaves. The creeping shadows skittered away with my panic, and the suffocating darkness was suddenly gone. The sunlight was still weak, but not nearly as powerless as before, and I blew out an angry sigh. I’d let my mind get the best of me.

And Rorik.

“You can fuck right off,” I said to Rorik between breaths. I wanted to revel in the satisfaction of hitting his stupid jaw,

but my head was throbbing from the impact, whereas he was already crouched before me, smirking as if it’d never happened.

“Unfortunately, I can’t.” Then his gaze dipped to my hands. He snared one before I could blink and then swiped away a stray

bead of blood with his finger. “You’re incredibly clumsy.” Then my mind completely stalled as I watched him dip it into his

mouth. He snorted. “Weak, too.”

“As if you can taste that,” I spat.

“Maybe I can,” he said with a sinful grin. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. “When you can run around the estate three

times without Ywena shocking you, we’ll move on to the next drill.”

“Three times?” I raised a brow at him as I finally stood.

“You’re woefully in need of conditioning.” He turned back down the path, leading us toward the quiet, sun-drenched lawns outside

of the estate. “We can’t have you passing out when you threadmend. Which will be soon.”

I frowned, remembering the concern that had lit Orin’s eyes at the thought of me mending Tasia’s small cut. “He doesn’t want

me to try and cure anything until I’m ready.”

Rorik snorted. “And I’m sure you know my brother better than me. What, a little glimpse beneath his glamour and suddenly you

think you’re special?”

“At least he believes I can do it,” I said as we rounded the last bend of the trail. “Will I start with Mavis?”

Rorik said nothing for a long moment, instead waiting until we’d crossed the threshold of the dark woods. “No. Most likely an animal. Some of our beasts have become infected as well. They’ll be good practice.”

“Better to practice on them than the likes of you,” I grumbled.

At that, he laughed. “I would never let you practice on me. Not mending, anyway.”

My lips curled in disdain. “As if I would entertain the idea of anything else.”

He rolled his eyes. “But you would with Orin? You do realize all Evers are the same beneath the veil.”

“How do you mean?”

“Arrogant and selfish, as I’m sure you’re aware.” He brushed a stray pine needle off his pants, casting a cursory look at

the Ever tree as we passed. Likely every ancestor of his was just as vile, but it wasn’t nice to speak ill of the dead...

out loud.

So instead, I rolled my eyes. “Too bad I have no hopes of curing arrogance.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” he said with a shrug.

“As an Ever, I suppose you’re the forefront on that opinion,” I said.

Rorik gave me a sidelong glance. “I’m dying to know what slight against my kind you’re going to deliver next.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “You all are so obsessed with glamour, with hiding any semblance of imperfection. Of course an

Ever would be the one who most innately understands the concept of never being able to achieve it.

“What I don’t understand,” I continued when all he did was snort, “is why. Why hide the features that make you unique? That

speak to your power?”

“Because it’s a pain to display those but keep everything else under wraps.”

“You’re immortal. Why hide what doesn’t age?”

“Not all magic is pretty,” he responded, voice low.

He stared straight ahead, thin lines creasing between his brows and lips pressed tightly together. I doubted there was a single blemish on his skin that could compare with a mortal scar, but I knew nothing about the ramifications of the first Ever infusing magic into her bones and passing those traits off to her kind. I tilted my head slightly, itching to call on my power and see if there was any way to pierce his veil. To get a glimpse of what lay beneath. He caught me watching and grinned.

“Enjoy the view?”

“There’s not much to look at.” Lie. Ywena shocked me at the twinge in my pulse, but I fought to keep my expression even. Somehow, I imagined Rorik still knew.

Something akin to desire flickered through his eyes.

“Time for drills.” He folded his arms across his chest. “We’ll let up when the sun sets.”

True to his word, Rorik ran me through a series of exercises, each one leaving me more breathless than the last. From balancing

on one foot with my other knee raised to my chest, to lying on the ground and cycling my legs, he pushed me through it all.

Ywena shocked me the entire time. There wasn’t a single moment where my breath was steady, and by the time the sun edged toward

the horizon, I was a mess of shaking limbs and sweat.

Rorik chuckled as he tipped his head toward the evening sky. “That’s enough. Dinner should be ready soon. Shall we?”

I barely had the energy to grumble a response. We walked the rest of the way to the manor in silence, the only sound marking

our approach the crunch of grass beneath our feet. When he opened the doors to the hall, however, we were met with a swell

of heated words spoken together in a rush. Rorik tensed immediately, and the soft ease of his stance disappeared. He scowled

as he strolled forward, leading us into the crowded dining room where the rest of the family sat before empty plates and full

goblets.

“Finally. Now we can eat.” Seville reclined in her chair and flicked her hand over her shoulder. An attendant stepped away from the wall and moved about the table, effortlessly filling plates before returning to her station.

“Rorik. We were beginning to worry.” Orin looked between us as we sat.

“I highly doubt that,” Rorik said. He grabbed his glass and took a heavy pull. “What was all the commotion about?”

“Your reckless brother has just informed us that he plans to invite the Starglens and Waterstones to the silver fete,” Lydia

said, practically hissing. If she’d been glaring at me instead of Orin, I might have shrunk under the weight of her affront.

The silver fete. The exhaustion from my training fled, and I straightened in my chair. Never in my wildest dreams would I

have fathomed I’d be anywhere near it. The Ferngloves hosted it once every twenty-five years, and only the elite townsfolk

of Willowfell were permitted to join. It was a multiday affair full of revelry. Receiving an invitation elevated one to the

upper echelon of Willowfell society, and many scrambled at the opportunity to get in good with the Evers. I glanced at Orin,

but he’d already shifted his focus back to Lydia.

Beside her, Clesian gripped her hand tight. “You’ve yet to tell us your reasoning.” His rich, smooth voice was pleasing and

heady, despite the tension clearly riddling his frame. Beside him, Amalyss and Tasia sat silently with their gazes fixed on

their plates.

Orin sighed. “We need to keep our households allied.”

“I fail to see why,” Lydia spat.

“Well, you are shortsighted,” Seville purred.

“Enough,” Orin said, just as Lydia abruptly stood. Her chair scraped angrily against the floor, and an attendant quietly came to her side to scoot it back into place. Lydia slowly sank to her seat without even bothering to check if the chair had been replaced. Once she’d aimed her gaze back at Orin, he let out a long sigh. “It is vital that we continue to work with other Evers in case new magic is discovered.”

“You mean in case our threadmender fails,” Lydia said.

I stilled in my chair. None of them looked at me. I was there, and yet I wasn’t—just as important as the attendants who flitted

around them, but as voiceless as the matriarch who once ruled this house. My gaze slanted to Mavis. Sometimes it was hard

to remember she even existed. That faraway stare. The absent way her lips remained parted as if she were about to speak.

Orin grimaced as he reached for his glass. “I have every faith Edira will find a way to cure blight. But as a failsafe, yes.

We don’t know how much time Mavis has left. Imagine if the Waterstones or Starglens unearthed a new method for curing her

ailment and we were none the wiser.”

Silence followed his words, everyone’s attention riveted to the matriarch—the apparition—beside me. After a full, weighted

minute, Lydia dared to speak.

“I’m surprised the Starglens are willing to attend. It’s any wonder they even allow Briar to join your lessons.”

“We will not drag the past into this.” Rumbling anger colored Orin’s voice. Or maybe it was his magic, because at the same time as the

words left his lips, a drying heat as intense as the summer sun cooked the air, and the ground trembled. Everyone at the table

stiffened. Orin flexed his hands, as if trying to call the magic back into his body, and the tremors subsided. Then he sighed.

Rubbing his temples, he met his aunt’s gaze. “It’s time we set aside petty squabbles and find a way to deal with blight together.

There will be no more arguing about the fete. The date and time have been set.”

Rorik leaned back in his chair so the front legs lifted from the floor. He cupped the back of his head and sneered, but his

stare turned flinty. “When?”

“A week’s time,” Seville said as she twirled her fork across her plate. The scrape of metal raised the hairs on my arms. “Everyone”—she dragged out the word as she pinned Rorik with a pointed stare—“is expected to dress accordingly.”

His lips thinned in a deranged, stiff smile. “Clothing is the least of my concerns. What of Edira?”

The sound of my name jolted me, and Ywena consequently sent a shock arcing down my arm. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say

anything. They were too focused on the nearly visible thread of distaste stitched tight between the siblings.

“What of her?” Seville took a small sip from her goblet.

“She’ll attend, of course,” Orin said.

“You’ve lost it.” Rorik chuckled, and that small action eased the tautness of his frame. He let the legs of the chair fall

back to the floor as he snagged his glass. He drained its contents in one fell swoop. “Why would you put our threadmender

in harm’s way?”

“Are you suggesting we can’t look after our own?” Orin asked.

Rorik’s answer was quick. “Look what happened just a few days ago under your watch.”

Amalyss and Tasia appeared as though they wanted to melt into their chairs, and they glanced at me through the tops of their

lashes for the briefest of moments. Lydia slammed her palms against the table, rattling the dinnerware, while Clesian let

out something resembling a growl. Seville laughed, but each cackle felt more like a threat and was just as frightening as

the others’ outbursts.

Orin shot daggers at his brother with his eyes. “Edira—”

“Is a person, not an object, and can speak for herself.” I reached for my wine and took a long drink, steadying the rising

irritation in my chest. “I’ll go.”

Finally, they looked at me. I held my ground under the weight of their scrutiny, softening only a touch when I met Orin’s

stare. He exhaled quietly—a relieved, soothing thing—and his lips lifted in a grateful smile.

“It’s settled then.” He never looked away from me.

“Right, well...” Rorik rotated the stem of his empty goblet, then reached over and snagged Clesian’s untouched glass. He

cradled the cup with his fingers as he stood and made for the hall. “I have more interesting things to do.”

With Rorik’s departure signaling the end of a dinner that never even began, Lydia, Clesian, Amalyss, and Tasia followed suit.

Seville stalled long enough to force down some fruit before coming to Mavis’s side and gently escorting her from the room.

Which left me alone with Orin.

He didn’t touch his food. “I didn’t anticipate that to be so...”

“Hostile?” I offered. I nibbled at a piece of bread, suddenly too aware of the way the crumbs clung to my lips.

“Hostile is sort of our default setting.” His shoulders sagged as the last of the tension stiffening his frame dissipated.

“Still, it’s hardly acceptable.”

I set aside the bread and reached for my spoon, dipping it in my soup to twirl the broth. Orin watched without speaking, but

his eyes said more than enough. Frustrated. Defeated. It must’ve been difficult to keep his family together with the prospect

of Mavis’s death, by a disease that shouldn’t have affected her at all. Blight was an affliction they were wholly unprepared

for. The need to comfort him swelled in my chest until I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer.

“One time, when we were young, Noam got into an argument with a neighborhood kid over some bunnies.” A small smile tugged

at my lips as the scene replayed in my mind. “There was a burrow with a mom and a few babies, and this kid wanted to flush

them out so he could trap them.” I let the spoon fall against the side of the bowl as I stared at the swirling broth.

“Noam wouldn’t stand for it. He told the kid to go trap something else, to leave the family alone. And this kid just started hitting him.” I sighed as I propped my chin in my hand and glanced over at Orin. “Noam never fought back. He just sat there and took it.”

Orin had gone completely still, his eyes locked on me. “What happened?”

“I happened.” I chuckled. “Usually Nohr was the one who always stepped in, but he’d gone off to help Dad with something, and

I saw the whole thing through our kitchen window. I tried to break them up. Or maybe I didn’t try as hard as I should have;

I just remember being so angry. I saw Noam’s bloody face, and I couldn’t think of anything else.

“I managed to pull the kid off Noam, but instead of letting that be the end of it, I went after him. I wailed on him like

he wailed on my brother, until my knuckles were red and aching. That’s when Nohr and Dad rounded the corner and saw us and

put a stop to it all.”

“You beat him?” Orin’s brows raised in shock.

“Me.” I leaned back in my chair, a sad smile teasing my lips. “I wasn’t exactly sorry, either. He’d hurt Noam, and that was

enough for me. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I get it. Hostility, that is. It’s hard not to feel that way when family

is involved.”

“And the boy?” Orin was looking at me with an emotion I couldn’t place. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, and my pulse

quickened in time with my breath. Ywena jolted me in response, and I adjusted in my seat as I regained control of my emotions.

“He was fine,” I said, a creeping bitterness coloring my words. “Even so, my mother was less than pleased. And it wasn’t like

I could use my threadmending abilities without being discovered, so I couldn’t fix his injuries. Not that I would have, and

she certainly wouldn’t have asked that of me. But she had me make a salve with her and tortured me by cooking my favorite

meal—rotisserie duck with the most amazing orange marmalade—and not letting me have a single bite. Instead, I had to deliver

the medicine and food to the boy and his family.”

Orin laughed, a deep rolling sound that reverberated through my bones and straight to my heart. “Was the crime worth the punishment?”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant defending my brother.” I shrugged and pushed away from my meal. “Plenty of ducks

in the world, only one Noam.”

The corners of Orin’s eyes crinkled with his smile. “They’re lucky to have you.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “I just hope by the time we make it out of this mess, I’ll still have a few years left to spend

with them.”

“You will.” Reaching over, he grasped my hand. “I’ve never met someone as determined as you.”

Orin’s gaze hammered into my soul, and I found myself leaning toward him. Seeking comfort from his touch. He’d disrupted everything

from the moment I met him.

He swallowed thickly. “I hope you understand me orchestrating the fete is not due to a lack of belief in your abilities.”

“No, I understand the need to exhaust all avenues.” I gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Though I am curious: Is this

the first time other Ever families have attended the silver fete? I know it’s the social event for the townsfolk. I don’t really know much about it other than that.”

“There used to be more Evers, but we’ve lost touch with some over the years.”

My mind wound back to the bloodlines detailed in Fable or Fact: A History of Evers . There were so many families detailed across those pages, it wasn’t hard to believe that they couldn’t keep up with them

all.

“What happened with the Starglens?” I asked.

At that, Orin grimaced. “That is an age-old feud I’d rather not drag you into. All that aside, I do have a request to make.” His expression softened, and he smiled as he ran his thumb along my knuckles. “The tailor. Seville will take you tomorrow and have them make you a few dresses fit for a queen. You can pick any style, of course, but . . .” He seemed sheepish. Boyish. It was impossible to look away. “For the first night, maybe something green?”

I grinned. “Are you asking me to dress to match you?”

“It’s a thought.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” It didn’t matter that green wasn’t my favorite color, or that I’d never attended a fete before and

would likely make a fool out of myself. Orin had woken something in me that was warmer than hope and just as terrifying. He

made me want to think beyond the immediate future, to ponder the possibility of a life—no matter how short—with someone else.

Someone like him.

It was a tantalizing thought, so I clung to it as I walked to my room after wishing him good night. The soft, warm feeling

was almost enough to stave off the tingling sensation of watching eyes that always seemed to occur when I hit the top of the

stairs.

Almost.

A shiver raced down my spine, and I turned in place only to catch a glimpse of brassy hair fading into nothing. My heart hammered

against my throat. Somehow, I kept my breathing in check as I inched toward the fleeting image. The walls seemed to close

in on themselves as I moved. They formed a winnowing tunnel ushering me forward. The thick carpet runner beneath my feet swallowed

all sound, so that the only thing I heard was my thundering heartbeat. Or maybe it was the house’s demanding pulse.

Come. Beat.

Follow. Beat.

Find me. Beat.

Anxiety and curiosity vibrated through to my fingertips, but I couldn’t stop. Not until I neared the end of the hall and almost

ran face-first into Lydia.

“What are you doing?” she sneered. “Forget how to find your room already?”

“No,” I said quickly. All at once the nagging sensation of eyes dispersed. Lydia raised an incredulous brow as I absently brushed my hands along my arms. “I thought I saw someone.”

“Yes, how entirely strange .” She placed her hands on her hips. “Especially considering the number of people who actually live here.”

Her condescension was thick, and rather than try to argue, I simply turned away. “Right. Night, Lydia.”

“Lady Fernglove,” she called to my back, not bothering to hide the malice in her words.

I clenched my jaw tight as I picked up the pace and made it safely back to my room. Lydia’s disdain aside, I could’ve sworn

I’d seen something. Rather, something had seen me—and it’d been watching me from the moment I’d set foot in this manor. The

lines of the Fernglove family tree sprawled through my mind. Maybe an ancestor spirit still lingered in these halls. I shivered.

Regardless of its origin, I’d somehow snared its attention, and there was little I could do to change that.