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The next morning, I woke with the sun, well before most of the household even dared to leave the comfort of their beds. Rather

than wait aimlessly for my day with Seville, I dressed and moved through the quiet halls toward the kitchen. Shortly after,

coffee and biscuit in hand, I headed for the library. I’d left the journals out on the table, and it took me only a few moments

to settle on the sofa and reclaim my aunt’s diary. Again, I pored through every entry. Again, I fingered the remains of the

missing page while I stared at Mavis’s name. I didn’t know what to make of any of it. It could be nothing. It could be everything.

An hour passed until the sharp clack of heels against the floorboards disrupted the stuffy quiet of the library, and I glanced

up to find Seville sauntering toward me. She yanked the journal out of my hands and held it a few inches from her face. Her

eyes softened, lingering on my aunt’s scrawl.

“Ah, Rowena. My favorite threadmender.” She snapped the book shut and handed it back to me. “She had a beautiful way with

words.”

“You wouldn’t know it from her entries here.” I set the journal on the table. “Did she share other writings with you?”

“Some things here and there,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I don’t particularly feel like discussing it right now.”

“Ah, yes. Seville’s agenda or no agenda,” I murmured.

“A bit brazen this morning, I see.” She leaned against the back of the couch and braced her hands on the polished frame. With

a wicked grin, she dipped her lips toward my ear. “Glad you’re getting the hang of things.”

Gooseflesh rippled down my shoulder, and I scooted out of her reach. “I’m guessing by your presence it’s time we visit the

tailor?”

“Yes.” She flipped her lustrous hair off her shoulder, then straightened. Her stare shifted to my neck. “Probably best if

you leave that thing behind.”

Thing? I followed her gaze to Ywena, who’d given a strange huff in response. She fluttered her wings and practically flattened herself

to my skin.

“She’s not a thing . And I doubt Rorik would be fine with it,” I said.

“Good thing I don’t answer to him.” She then waggled her fingers at Ywena in a shooing motion. “Go on. We’ll be trying on

clothes, so there’ll be no place for you to perch anyway. Tell Rorik if you must.”

Ywena hesitated for a moment, her antennae twitching madly, and then she took off. She fluttered through the shafts of light

spilling from the windows until she reached the foyer and then drifted out of sight.

A devilish grin tugged at Seville’s lips. “He’ll just love that. Off to Willowfell we go.”

“Willowfell?” A heaviness settled in my stomach.

“Where else did you think we would go? Some of our attendants are skilled with needles, but not to the extent we’re looking for.” Her thin brows inched together as she studied me. Then her face relaxed and her lips curled into a wicked, knowing grin. “You don’t want the townsfolk to see you with me. With an Ever.”

“No.” Yes. No. Maybe. I couldn’t really parse the emotions coalescing in my gut. For years, I’d been vocal about my disdain for Evers and their

antics. Walking through Willowfell with one at my side would feel like the obscenest of hypocrisies. And I wasn’t even by

Seville’s side . Not in that sense, not as an equal. But as an employee. It didn’t matter that I’d had little choice in the matter. I wasn’t

even certain anyone in town knew about my whereabouts or what’d happened the evening my brothers succumbed to blight.

Of course, there was also the obvious truth that no one, not even the families I grew up with, had known I was a threadmender.

Anxiety knotted tight in my gut, and I fingered a strand of diamond-white hair. I’d left it down, and it billowed over my

shoulders with the languid movement of water. They’d know in an instant what I was.

“No time to be so melodramatic. We’re leaving. Now.” Seville’s slender hand found my wrist. We were through the front door

before I fully collected myself, and only then did she release her hold.

When we hit the courtyard, I paused before the turn leading toward the stables. It would be an uncomfortable few hours sitting

by Seville, but there didn’t seem to be a way around it. “Are we not taking a carriage?”

Seville kept walking forward, not bothering to adjust her pace. “You’ve got our magic in you now. No sense in wasting time

when we have a faster means of travel. Plus, the stags have blight. Better to let them rest until Orin decides you’re ready

to cure them.”

Upping my pace, I rejoined Seville at her side as we made our way to the front gates. “Do you know when he wants me to try

and threadmend them?”

“I don’t think anyone knows what Orin wants.” The words were so calm, so easily delivered, that had I not been looking at Seville I would have assumed she was simply being flippant. But there was a subtle twitch to her brow, the slightest pursing of her lips. She caught me staring, and her expression shifted back to a more familiar smirk. “Except perhaps you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Heat crawled over my cheeks.

“Sure. We’ve lived for a century and still can’t recognize the signs of longing. How quaint, ” she said as we passed through the open gates and came to a halt at the bridge. Instead of crossing, Seville pointed to a

smooth, rectangular stone of white marble. It came up to her waist, and she gently laid her hand on its polished surface.

“Our lands are rich with currents. This ley line will take us to the center of Willowfell.” She extended her other hand for

me to grasp.

“Lovely.” I eyed the seemingly harmless structure, happy to let Seville’s prodding about Orin fall to the wayside.

Seville snared my arm and yanked me close. “Hold tight.”

She gave me no other warning. Magic snapped to life around us as a swirling faint green portal appeared. The mist seeped into

the air around the column until it enveloped us entirely. Sweltering heat battered my body, and my heart thundered in my ears.

It was like standing in direct sunlight with a fresh burn: aching, twisting discomfort. Yet the longer it went on, the easier

it became to handle, and I managed to catch sight of a twining current of green that slipped beneath our feet. It slid around

us like a fast-moving river, ushering us through time and space to deliver us to new shores. And then it was over, the magic

evaporating in a rush, and we were standing beneath the arch in Willowfell’s town square.

“It gets easier with time,” Seville said as the gossamer veil from the arch dissipated around us. Glittering particles of

dust showered the ground around our feet. I remembered what it looked like from the other side, to be set up at a stall and

marvel at the sudden display of magic. Now, I felt like a spectacle.

Because of course it was market day. And all eyes were already on us.

Gods, I wasn’t prepared for the swell of emotion that gathered in my throat. The clover-strewn cobblestone beneath my feet. The rows of tables manned by vendors of every profession. The scent of freshly baked confections wafting from Lysa’s shop. Artfully decorated cottages with unique doors to suit the owners. A sudden pang sprouted in my heart as I thought of my own home and the delicate entryway my father had carved. And, of course, there were the people themselves, all clustering together in awe as their gazes bounced between Seville and me.

A few stares glazed right over me, but then the whispers started to race through the stalls and built with each passing breath.

“Is that Edira?”

“She’s a threadmender? Since when?”

“No wonder her remedies worked so well.”

My jaw clenched as their curiosity swelled. I’d spent years perfecting my disguise, hiding the truth of what I was for the

chance at a somewhat normal life. Even if I survived the Ferngloves, I could never be normal again. Not here. The town’s collective

surprise lasted for a few more pregnant moments before their awe shifted toward Seville, and they started touting their wares.

Seville shot me a wayward glance and then grinned, looping her arm through mine as she guided us toward the nearest stalls.

“Shall we browse a bit before trying on gowns?” she asked.

She’d spoken clearly, and yet her words were muffled, pulled through cotton in my ears as I struggled to sift through my emotions.

“I’d rather just get this over with.”

She paused before a stall selling handmade glass figurines. I recognized the owner, who gaped at me without speaking for several

breaths. After a forceful series of blinks, he turned his focus to Seville and aimlessly gestured toward his wares. Her careful

stare cut between him and me, and she moved away from his table with nothing more than a nod.

“It appears I’m experiencing a first,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’re outshining me.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or intrigued, but the sly

twist to her lips and pointed arch of her brow ratcheted my already heightened nerves. “I can’t believe you were able to hide

your true nature from them for so long. You’re as practiced as we are at wearing glamour.”

I didn’t have a chance to respond. Lysa’s father, the primary town elder, parted the crowd and came to a halt before us. He

shared the same honey hair and periwinkle eyes as his daughter, but their similarities stopped there. Where Lysa was generous,

Mr.Erikston was greedy. Even now, as his gaze tripped over my revealed appearance, I could practically see the gears turning

in his mind. My mother had long suspected that he’d been the one to out Rowena’s existence in exchange for coin. To him, I

was likely nothing more than a missed opportunity.

Still, he didn’t bother to address me and instead turned to Seville. “Lady Fernglove,” he said, and dipped his chin low as

he spoke. “We can’t thank you enough for adjusting the taxation on the mines.” As he straightened, he beamed at her with too-white

teeth. “Rest assured, our increased take has gone toward furthering the town’s development, as mandated.”

I couldn’t keep my mouth from falling open. Seville handled the news with far more grace. “Of course. I’ll give your gratitude

to my brother.”

“Anything you wish is yours. Free of charge.” Mr.Erikston gestured wide to include all the stalls, as if he oversaw all their

profits. To a degree, he probably did.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll pay as I always have,” Seville said.

“You are as kind as ever. My family and I look forward to seeing you at the silver fete.” He bowed slightly, just enough to

show respect but not so far that he couldn’t keep his eyes locked on her.

“Of course, but until then, I would like to resume my shop ping.” Seville turned her back on him without waiting for his answer, leaving me to stare wide-eyed at his retreating form.

Orin had said he’d look after the people of Willowfell; I just hadn’t expected him to follow through. I’d expected some twist

of words that would leave him the benefactor of the promise, and yet I could see a bit of polish to the town that was lacking

before. New tables free of splintering wood. Heavier coin purses among some of the patrons.

A quiet ringing settled in my ears, and the warmth in my chest blossomed. I had no problems admitting my attraction to him—at

least inwardly—but this was dangerous. This felt emotional.

“Ah, here we are.” Seville’s eyes snagged on a brick storefront with oak shutters and large bay windows full of mannequins.

The crowd parted as she strolled forward, making it easy for us to find ourselves in front of Mrs.Marlow’s shop. My gaze

lingered on the windows for a moment, and a flash of something brilliant stole my focus. At first I thought it was nothing

more than the sun’s reflection on the freshly cleaned glass, but then a small beetle appeared from behind the leaves of the

climbing ivy on the wall. A golden beetle.

A faint smile teased my lips. Despite the creature not bringing me good fortune during my last venture to market, there was

something welcoming about its presence. It soothed the rattled emotions brought on by revealing my status as a threadmender,

and the tension in my shoulders eased. Seville paused for a moment, her hand on the bronzed handle of the shop door. For the

briefest of moments, her gaze shifted to the insect. Then she chuckled to herself as she breezed into Mrs.Marlow’s store.

My brows crawled together as I followed in her wake. She was planning something, and I had the feeling I’d bear the brunt

of whatever humorous endeavor it was.

A bell tinkled as we pushed open the door, though the announcement of our arrival was unnecessary. Mrs. Marlow was already standing in the entryway with a wide, ecstatic smile and bright eyes. Like the rest of the townsfolk, she faltered for a beat as she took me in. Wringing her hands, she dipped into a low bow.

“Welcome back, Lady Fernglove,” she spoke to the floor, but her giddy voice carried the same fervent desire as everyone outside.

After a moment, she righted herself and gestured to a small dais positioned before three floor-length mirrors. “I’m assuming

you’re here for the fete? I do have some premade gowns, but I can clear my agenda if you’re looking for something bespoke.”

“Likely the latter.” Without looking my way, Seville gestured with two fingers. “What do you think, Edira? Has she ever crafted

anything original for you?”

Mrs.Marlow shot me a pleading look. I had no doubt she’d tailored custom creations for the more well-to-do townsfolk, but

the most I’d seen out of Mrs.Marlow was unfinished off-the-rack fabric.

I wondered if she would have offered more, had she known I was a threadmender.

“She was going to reupholster my couch,” I said with a shrug. “Not sure if she got around to it, given I left shortly after

that agreement.” A strange sense of satisfaction brewed in me at her dropped jaw. Seville looked at me with a raised brow

and a slow-moving smile.

“Well, adorn me better than a couch.” Seville stepped onto the pedestal and stared at herself in the mirror as Mrs.Marlow

flew into action. She bustled through the shop, selecting bolts of brightly colored fabric and a selection of garments from

one of the racks toward the back. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen her move so quickly.

“Why was she going to repair your furniture?” Seville asked. She studied me through the mirror, and I did the same, angling

to catch her reflection.

“Payment for fixing her son’s broken nose.”

Seville stilled. “Threadmending?”

I held her gaze for a long moment. “No. Just proper care and some balm.”

“Have you ever threadmended before?” Seville scowled at herself in the mirror. “Such inexperience. I hope Orin’s not wasting

his efforts on you.”

“Twice.” I hovered by the window, catching sight of the beetle’s underside. “I tried to cure my parents when they had blight.”

I didn’t know what prompted the words to slip from my mouth, and I stalled at their sound. Perhaps it was being back in Willowfell

after everything I’d learned, everything I’d seen. Perhaps it was the fear that if I didn’t figure this out, I’d be burying

my brothers beside my parents’ graves in a matter of months. Weeks, even.

Seville was a statue. “When?”

“I was thirteen.”

The long-buried memory began to unfold before my eyes. It’d been snowing, flurries blanketing the earth in a thick layer of

white. The fire in the hearth had been crackling and warm, and I’d curled by it with a quilt while my brothers played in their

room.

My throat bobbed as I searched for words. “My mother was afflicted first. She was making us lunch. She dropped something,

and my father went to check on her. The next thing I knew, they were both sitting on the kitchen floor babbling nonsense.”

Mrs.Marlow returned to hold a strip of fabric near Seville’s exposed neck, and she dismissed the seamstress with a brusque

“Shoo.” Then, much softer to me: “That’s horrible.”

I nodded. I hadn’t understood much about threadmending then, just the few lessons I’d held on to from my aunt. But I saw my

parents’ wild, sickly threads. Felt the cool whisper of death. I remembered screaming. I remembered shaking them and begging

for their lives as if that would’ve been enough to fix their condition. I remembered rushing to my brothers’ room and barricading

the door from the outside so they wouldn’t see.

And then I remember running back and tapping into my power, only to fail.

“I obviously couldn’t save them. Expending that kind of power without any semblance of control... I passed out. When I

woke, their bodies were already decomposing on the floor.” I’d never forget the sight of black mold and rot and putrid mustard-yellow

spores sprouting from their chests. I’d wrapped them in rugs and dragged them to the graveyard myself. I didn’t have to bury

them. The blight had done that for me. Later, when I’d recovered, I’d gone back and erected simple headstones where their

bodies had disintegrated. It’d done nothing to alleviate the hollow ache in my chest, but it’d been something .

Silence filled the quiet shop, and even Mrs.Marlow kept her distance. The townsfolk, of course, knew how my parents had died,

but the details I’d never shared. I looked back to the window and relished the warmth of the sun. The soft rays chased away

the chilling memory, and I rubbed my hands along my arms.

“And the second time?” Seville asked.

That memory was easier. “Nohr. Ten years later. Broken leg.”

Seville regarded me for a long moment down the length of her straight nose, then scoffed. And yet there was still a touch

of sadness, of understanding, that she couldn’t fully mask in her eyes.

“The tailor’s kid’s broken nose, your brother’s leg, Tasia’s cut.” She ticked off the occurrences on her fingers one by one.

“You have a soft spot for children.”

I lifted my shoulder. “Perhaps.”

“Keep that to yourself around Evers. Next thing you know, you’ll be a broodmare. Children are rare among my kind. Our magic

is picky like that.” She waved Mrs.Marlow back over and inspected a fresh batch of gowns before letting out a disappointed

sigh. “But some mortals have been known to get pregnant with an Ever child.”

Color leeched from my face as I stared at her through the mir ror. “I wouldn’t live long enough to see them grow. I don’t want to experience that.”

Seville watched me for a long moment. “Fair enough.” Then she stepped down from the platform to saunter toward me, leaving

Mrs.Marlow to fuss after her. When she was only mere inches away, she folded her arms beneath her bust and settled her weight

into one hip. “Seems like it’ll be bespoke attire for both of us. None of those gowns suited me. Go on, it’s your turn.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine with something here.”

She grinned. “But Orin won’t.”

Her small chuckle filled my ears, and I bit back a heated curse. It was always something with her. What did she think was

going on with Orin and me? We hadn’t even kissed . Not that I didn’t want to. I silenced a groan as I stepped around Seville. She sunk onto a low settee by the window and

reclined like a goddess with her legs stretched over the tufted fabric. With a small wave, she gestured for me to move. I

looked between her and Mrs.Marlow, who did nothing but tightly grip the hem of a sky-blue gown.

Stepping onto the dais, I stared at myself in the mirror. “I suppose being here with you is better than with Tasia and Amalyss.

They wanted to dress me like a doll the first time I met them.”

“In case you haven’t figured it out already, I am by far the best Fernglove.” Seville cradled her head with one hand and draped the other across her stomach. Then she glanced at Mrs.Marlow.

“Bring me some tea and draw the curtains. Edira is being fitted for undergarments as well. Something black and lacy.”

I whirled on her without stepping down from the platform as Mrs.Marlow practically vanished into thin air. “For fuck’s sake,

is this really necessary?”

“It is necessary. For fuck’s sake specifically.” She let out a dark chuckle, but there was no mirth to her expression. “Don’t

fight it.”

“Why?”

“Because if you are going to find a way to survive this mess, then you’ll need all the help you can get.” She glared at me, and even still, she was beautiful. Remarkable.

I swallowed thickly as I stared at her. “It doesn’t matter what I wear, so long as I do my job.”

“Your job. Is that what you’ve been doing with Orin?” With practiced ease, she unbuttoned the top of her silk blouse to reveal

a hint of something satin and trimmed in lace. It was only a shade darker than her skin, giving the illusion that she was

revealing much more than she actually showed—and I wondered if that wasn’t Seville in a nutshell. She’d perfected the image,

the glamour, of want and desire, and no one really knew what she hid beneath it all.

A slow-moving heat flushed my face. “What are you doing?”

“That’s a lovely hue.” Her gaze targeted my cheeks, and my stomach squirmed. “The best thing about silk and lace is how disarming

they can be. They’re a type of armor, in a way.” Her words were smooth as syrup, her motions flawless as she redid her button

and reclined against the settee.

And still, I was frozen. “You hardly need armor.”

Mrs.Marlow returned at that point with a silver tray arranged with tea and sugar, and she placed it before Seville, reaching

behind her to draw the beige curtains closed. Then she moved to me and began to free my torso of clothing. My mind spun as

I stared at Seville. Her words, her thoughts, were impossible to follow.

Tilting her head in my direction, Seville regarded Mrs.Marlow as she measured beneath my bust. “Everyone needs armor. But

more importantly, you need what this particular type of armor gives you.”

“And that is?”

Seville waited until Mrs.Marlow excused herself in the pursuit of fabric. Once she’d shuffled away, Seville leaned forward

and served herself tea. “The freedom to look without being seen.”

A cold chill raced down my spine. “What?”

“I quite liked your aunt,” she continued, ignoring my question entirely. “I dare say I considered her a friend.”

In the subdued, warm light of the shop, I felt strangely exposed, and it had little to do with my lack of blouse. I fought

the urge to cross my arms over my chest, to hide the simple linen undergarments and bare skin.

“Why did you bring me here, Seville?”

She took a long sip of her tea before leveling me with a sharp look. “We used to trade letters unbeknownst to the family.”

She had a beautiful way with words. Seville’s reminiscing from early rattled through my mind. “Now you feel like talking about her?”

“Of course.” She smirked, but it didn’t fully reach her eyes. “My agenda and all.”

“Why?” I dragged out the word, trying in vain to unearth her intentions.

“Because I feel like it.” She barked out a laugh. “Why else would I do anything?”

“No, not that.” It was impossible not to glare at her. “Why did you and Rowena exchange letters?”

“Ah.” The curve to her lips became softer, gentler. She looked away at the space behind me, and her fingers dawdled over the

lip of her cup. In the span of a breath, she was gone—lost in some memory that caused her body to slacken. I wondered if this

was the real Seville. Pensive. Amorous. She was bathed in a gauzy, romantic light with her blond hair spilling over her shoulders.

Seville didn’t need to try so damn hard to be beautiful. Because this version of her was the very definition of ethereal,

and I couldn’t find the gall to speak.

After that solitary beat that seemed to last an eternity, Seville straightened. She flipped her hair back, and the veneer

she always wore—exquisite, yet remarkably cold, especially after what I’d just witnessed—slid over her expression.

“Why do you think we spoke privately?” Her gaze raked over me, and mischief lit in her stare. “Why do you and Orin spend time alone?”

My lips fell open at her insinuation, and I went rigid all over. My aunt and Seville ? Seville giggled and pushed herself into an upright position. “Gods, your face. Relax.” She waved off my reaction as if it

were nothing more than a bothersome fly. “Tell me what you know about power sharing and heartbonds.”

“Power sharing and heartbonds...?” The whiplash of her words made my head spin, and I tossed up my hands in frustration.

“How do you expect me to keep up with this conversation?”

“By providing me with your rapt, undivided attention.”

Mrs.Marlow returned at that point with several options of varying colors and textures, which was a reprieve as I was afforded

the excuse to look at something other than Seville’s painted-on grin. I desperately wished I could call on my power and somehow

see the threads of her words, figure out all the hidden things she was weaving into her little tales.

“Well? Go on, then. Tell me something,” Seville prompted.

“I don’t know much. Just that the effects are permanent,” I said as I trailed light fingers over an emerald-green bralette

hemmed with silver thread. I hadn’t spoken to anyone in the house about heartbonds yet, but I hadn’t forgotten about that

dog-eared page from their history tome. Maybe the same person who had marked it was responsible for the missing page from

Rowena’s journal.

“Indeed.” Seville’s keen eyes shifted to the fabric in my hands, and she pinned Mrs.Marlow with a quick glare. “I said black.

Or better yet, gold.”

“Gold?” Mrs.Marlow snatched the garments from my grip and cradled them against her chest. “That’s not a hue I carry. I would

have to have a bolt specially dyed, and I’d need ample time to construct something from scratch. It would be costly.”

Gold. The color of riches and royalty. The color of crowns. For a moment, I glanced at the window and imagined being able to peer through the fabric at the world outside, at the golden beetle hiding between the ivy leaves. Maybe I had been marked for something more. Seville clearly had made me part of her plan, because while her questions were wild, her thoughts scattered, her gaze had never felt more meaningful.

“I’ll pay it,” Seville said, effectively breaking me from my reverie. “In the meantime, I suppose it’s fine to fit her with

some of your existing options.” With uncanny swiftness, she secured the teapot and refilled her cup. “She’ll be needing something

to wear immediately, so your lesser -quality creations will have to do.”

I bit my tongue at Seville’s nonchalant dig. Mrs.Marlow, however, was much better at schooling her indignation into place.

She didn’t flinch—only smiled and left to return to her racks in search of something Seville would deem suitable.

Seville dragged a lazy finger along the rim of her cup. “Did you know that some Ever families have stronger magic than others?

Abilities specific only to their kin? Control over the elements—I met someone years ago who could summon stars that dusted

into diamond-like particles. It was beautiful.”

An image of Briar sitting outside during lessons cradling a cluster of stars flooded my mind. “Like the Starglens?”

“Yes.” She went impossibly still. Her lips were sealed tight, but there was something fiery in her gaze, something that begged

for recognition. I couldn’t fathom what. She let me feel the full weight of her stare and that sole word for a breath, and

then she tapped her wrist for effect. “The same goes for us Ferngloves. These unique powers live in our blood. The only way

for that magic to be passed on is to bear children—which I mentioned is rare—or through a heartbond.”

Her words seemed to hang in the very air as I turned them over. Again, I couldn’t help but notice the quiet reverence in her voice at the mention of the bond. But there was an undercurrent to her tone, a low heat that matched the intensity of her stare. A warning. Or . . .

An opportunity. Something in my mind clicked like a lock releasing, and suddenly the quiet sounds of the shop were too sharp,

the light too harsh. My breath caught in my chest.

“Has an Ever attempted to form a heartbond with a human?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Seville didn’t move an inch. “There’s never been any power to share, so why give something freely

when we stand to gain nothing in return? We prefer consorts and save the bonds for other Evers.”

“But if there was power to share...” I let my words fall away as Mrs.Marlow returned with a brassiere made of sheer slate-gray

fabric and black stitching that formed intricate swirls. Seville stood and took it from her, shooing her away with one stern

look. She came up behind me and pinned the straps to my shoulders with her fingers, allowing the fabric to loosely drape against

my chest.

“Careful, Edira,” she murmured against my ear, and gooseflesh rippled down my neck. “Speak it into existence and it just might

happen. And it cannot be undone.”

For a moment, all I could do was stare at myself in the mirror, at the armor Seville had expertly selected.

She was helping me win over Orin. That’s what this was all about. Because if I could convince him to form a heartbond with

me, I would gain access to his powers. Maybe his brand of magic could bolster my own. Maybe that was why no one had managed

to cure an Ever of blight, because it required a level of magic that no threadmender had possessed.

Or he could use you for your power. A shudder raced through my limbs. I had no reason to believe he would. He’d held true to every single one of his promises,

including allocating extra funds for the town. This preconceived notion I’d formed about Evers—Orin never fit into the mold.

Seville chuckled quietly. “I think you’ve had enough lingerie. Time to find you a gown.”

Without adding anything else, Seville turned and took the lingerie with her as she sauntered toward Mrs.Marlow. Over the

dull ringing in my ears, I vaguely heard her demand for a selection of dresses to determine what style suited me best, but

all I could think about was the lengths Seville had gone to in order to orchestrate this disjointed conversation. Pieces of

it were clicking into place slowly, but there was still something just beyond my grasp. A pivotal fragment of information

just begging to be recognized.