Page 16

On the outskirts of the fete sat a collection of ivory tufted chairs with ornate wooden feet. Most of them were occupied.

Orin made quick work of introductions, confirming that the Evers sitting before me were in fact the prominent members of the

Starglen and Waterstone families.

Issa and Flix flanked their mother’s chair and stared at me with fang-clad grins, but there was no one else seated with the

Waterstones. Ossanna hardly seemed to mind. If anything, she struck me as the type who thrived off total control. I doubted

she was keen to share whatever power her name granted.

And then there were Zelyria and Dagas Starglen, aunt and uncle to Briar, the young boy who attended Orin’s lessons, and joint

heads of their household. If Briar had parents, they weren’t mentioned. Still, he stood behind their chairs, unmoving and

impassive as ever. But instead of looking to the night sky like he had been earlier, he aimed his gaze solely at me. The weight

of his unblinking eyes was unnerving. The longer I held his stare, the more my stomach tightened.

When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I shifted my focus to Orin and Seville. Rorik’s chair was empty. Amalyss, Tasia, and their parents were still lingering within the fete, though I occasionally caught Lydia glowering in our direction.

“Thank you all for coming,” Orin said. An attendant had swung by the moment he’d arrived and brought wine for those seated.

At least they’d remembered the diamond-inlay stemware, per Seville’s demands. Orin took a small sip. “Let’s keep this brief

and enjoy the evening, yes?”

“Wouldn’t want to steal you away from your prize.” Ossanna’s eyes glistened with trouble in the low light of the moon. Removed

from the fete as we were, the nearest magicked lantern was several yards away and did little to illuminate our surroundings.

Of course, I doubted these Evers noticed. With so many bestial parts on display, I would’ve bet my weight in coin that they

could see in the dark. Still, the night was dotted with blistering stars and a half-moon—enough for me to detect the desire

and curiosity in her expression.

Orin merely raised a brow. “Alone again, Ossanna? I can arrange for some available suitors, should you be interested. I know

plenty who admire the Waterstone name.”

She laughed. “I’m surprised you don’t offer the same to your sister.”

“As if I need Orin’s help.” Seville took a heavy drink from her glass before pinning Ossanna with a heady glare. “You should

be thankful my brother is willing to help at all.”

“Indeed I am.” Ossanna’s grin deepened. “My daughter deserves only the best for her future.”

My throat dried at her words, and suddenly I was aware of the lack of drink in my hand. I didn’t like the tension that snapped

between Ossanna and Orin, despite his calm facade. He sighed and shook his head once, but I didn’t miss the way his fingers

tightened around the arm of his chair.

“Let’s leave that discussion for another day.” He shifted his focus to the Starglens and dipped his chin by way of greeting. “Thank you for joining us. It’s been too long since our families came together like this.”

Zelyria considered him for a long moment. Her indigo eyes were endless, the dark shade of her hair like a black void that

seemed to suck in all color. She and Dagas both shared the same constellation pattern as Briar, and it stretched across her

face in an intricate dance that highlighted her soft features. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly low. “Some more

than others.”

Just then, a tinkling laugh followed by a heated, guttural growl broke through the faded din of the fete at our backs. Rorik

sauntered toward his empty chair with Jules clinging to him like an article of clothing. She whispered something in his ear

before swiveling her head toward the gathering. Violet eyes framed by impossibly thick black lashes bounced from one body

to the next until she noticed me. Her star constellation was more like diamonds dripping down her temple, but it signaled

her family ties just the same.

“You’re late, as always,” Seville drawled.

Rorik effortlessly flopped into his chair, pulling Jules onto his lap with him. “I’m nothing if not consistent.”

Gods, I hated him. I wished I’d lied to him. I didn’t know what caused it—his presence, my anger, or Orin’s steady comfort—but

I shifted closer to Orin’s arm. And even though he didn’t meet my gaze, he made sure I knew he was there. With the lightest

touch, he grazed my wrist with his pinkie. That subtle action was enough to steel my emotions, and I turned my attention back

to the group.

“Daughter,” Dagas said, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “We missed you at mealtime.”

She didn’t even miss a beat. “I was eating something else.”

I nearly choked on my breath at her words, and I turned away to cough.

I need a fucking drink.

“Edira?” Orin asked as his eyes found mine. Nothing but concern filled those beautiful green irises. They dipped to my throat,

and then he glanced back at the Starglens to where Briar continued to stand. “Briar, can you fetch her something to drink,

please?”

Briar waited for Zelyria to nod her agreement, and then he was gone, silently ghosting through the crowd like an apparition.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, as I forced a scratchy swallow. Absently, I rubbed the hollow space above my collarbone before letting

my hand fall to my side.

Finally, Rorik looked at me. His glassy eyes suddenly sharpened, and the redness of his cheeks and ears faded to a more pallid

shade. “You’re missing something.”

The rest of the group fell silent as they rounded their gazes on him.

“I’m not.” I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for a situation like this, talking back to an Ever in the middle of what felt

like a very important—and strained—meeting, but Rorik didn’t exactly come across as favored. If anything, his family barely

tolerated his existence. I doubted the Waterstones or Starglens, aside from Jules, cared much for him at all.

“Ywena. Where is she?”

“I sent her back.” Orin placed a hand on mine, and Rorik’s eyes briefly targeted the action. “If she’s not with you, then

that’s your responsibility.”

“Ywena?” Ossanna cocked her head to the side, and I swore her grin touched her ears, as if the possibility of conflict could

contort her expression to the extreme. “Another consort for the evening?”

“I can assure you, the only one he’s been occupied with is me.” Jules’s disdain was palpable, and she sank farther into Rorik’s

arms as if to claim her space.

A strange and foreign heat flickered to life in me, and I deigned Rorik the briefest of scowls. “I assume Ywena noticed you were occupied and chose to stay away. Smart of her, if you ask me.”

I didn’t know what Rorik was trying to tell me with his eyes, and I didn’t care to try to find out. Instead, I looked away,

relieved to see Briar coming through the crowd with a drink in hand. I’d take his creepy, intense stare over Rorik’s gaze

any time.

“My, my, Rorik,” Jules purred as she leaned across his body to peer more closely at me. “Someone is jealous.”

“Enough.” Orin’s heady voice carried enough authority to silence even the quiet chirping of insects, and he stood abruptly.

“Jules, if you’d be so kind as to join your family, I’d like to speak with my brother. Privately.”

Apparently even Jules knew better than to cross Orin. She let out a belabored sigh, but she didn’t fight otherwise. In a few

short steps, she was at her parents’ sides. Without a word from Orin, Seville assumed the role of host and abandoned her chair

to engage the Starglens and Waterstones in small talk. Orin didn’t even wait for Rorik to stand. Instead, he gripped the edge

of his collar and practically yanked him to his feet. Rorik snarled in answer, baring his fangs and extending his wings. Orin

didn’t react. He only shoved him a few feet away, and the two of them stormed off toward the nearby tree line.

“That was eventful.” The quiet lilt of Briar’s voice was so subdued I would’ve mistaken it for the night breeze if I hadn’t

glimpsed him nearing the group. Turning to face him, I accepted his proffered glass of wine and took a heavy sip. The familiar

taste of dark cherries flooded my mouth, along with an herb I couldn’t quite place. It carried a deep heat and was almost

slimy in texture. The sensation settled onto my tongue like a weight, and saliva formed in earnest as my brows drew together.

“Where did you get this?”

“The table.” He gestured to the same space where I’d gotten wine before. But as each breath passed, a purling, sticky warmth seeped into my bones. My lips started to tingle as a funny, light feeling invaded my limbs, and all I wanted to do was laugh. Raising my hands before my face, I studied the odd shapes of my fingers and giggled. I must’ve said something, because Briar actually grinned. And then his form shifted, revealing batlike wings and endless rows of pointed fangs, and somewhere in my mind I knew I should’ve been scared, but the only thought that managed to surface was how hard it must’ve been for him to eat without skewering his lips.

He looped his arm through mine, and we skipped away. Laughing. Twirling around dancers. Moving through the crowd until we

broke free on the other side of the fete. We kept going, running through the moonlit fields of lush grass and into the densely

packed woods. The trees welcomed us with open arms, their limbs stretching out to finger my hair as I ran. It was so different

from the time Rorik chased me into the bowels of the forest. There was no haunting darkness. No echoing, rattling breath.

The creeping chilled mist was now a soft, balmy breath against my skin. I wasn’t worried or afraid. I was free.

“Keep up! We’re almost there.” Briar’s voice was like a song, and I longed to hear every note. To follow him to the ends of

the earth if he willed it. The world spun around me as I tripped over clouds and stars, until finally I landed on the ground

in front of a knotty, worn tree trunk. I grimaced at the scrapes on my knees, the tears in my gown. There was no pain, just

an uncomfortably warm and tacky sensation.

“Briar,” I managed, my words slow and full of hope, “can I take a bath? I’m covered in sap.”

“That’s not sap. That’s blood.” A giggle threaded through his words as he stared at me with glee.

My answering laugh was too loud in my ears. “Oh. I see.” I didn’t, but I was already moving on, focused instead on the cut-off

trunk before us. “We’re here?”

“The ley line.” His fingers lightly trailed over my Fernglove crest, then wrapped in mine. “Normally humans can’t travel it, but you’ve got Ever magic in you.”

“Like with Seville,” I mumbled. Lazy images of me posing on the shop’s dais in lingerie filled my mind. It’d been such a lovely outing. No doubt this one would be, too.

“You’ve traveled this way before?” His grin was impish. “It won’t feel the same. You’re too incapacitated.”

Then he palmed one particularly knobby section of the bark, and the trunk bloomed like a wooden flower, opening to the night

sky. Out of its center rose a swirling orb of faint green mist. Giving my fingers a squeeze, he leaped into the strange sphere

and yanked me in with him.

The oppressive weight of ancient, otherworldly magic battered into me with the force of stormy waters. An unbearable ringing

crested in my ears as my limbs trembled. My skin was being peeled from my bones inch by inch, and my insides were becoming

shriveled and twisted like the ingredients I kept in my apothecary jars. I screamed, and my lungs were shredded as magic raced

down my throat. Beside me, Briar only watched in sick fascination. And just when I was about to claw my eyes out from their

sockets, the energy halted.

Briar stepped out of the ley line with practiced ease, his booted feet meeting solid ground in a place I didn’t recognize.

I fell to earth on all fours and hurled.

“That’s it. Get it all out.” He rubbed my back, and I retreated from his fingers.

“You drugged me.” The rough rasp of my voice made me cringe. That foreign herb in my wine I couldn’t place. He’d slipped me

something. My bones creaked as I craned my neck upward to glare at him. “Why? Why did you do this?”

Instead of answering, he clamped one clawed hand around my wrist and yanked me to my feet. Stars danced across my vision, and I cursed. Briar didn’t wait for my body to settle, and instead he forcefully dragged me across an open stretch of mulch and filth toward a monstrous, lone hill covered in swaying reeds. The last dregs of tainted wine made me clumsy, and I hobbled behind him as I tried in vain to rid myself of his iron grip. With every shaky breath, my throat burned. I wanted to fight harder, to pull away from this impossibly strong Ever, but it took everything in me simply not to fall with each uneven step. The ground was muddy and slick, and it gave way beneath my feet as we edged closer to the looming mound.

When we reached the base, a cavernous maw came into view. Withered roots ran along the dirt ceiling and stretched to the ground

like gnarled teeth. Lichen coated the packed walls, showering the space in a faint green glow. Once we crossed the threshold,

we made our way to the back of the cave, and Briar pushed aside a sheet of brittle ivy strands, revealing a narrow corridor

that plunged deep into the earth.

“This way.” With another tug, he set us down the spiraling path. At first, there was nothing but packed dirt all around us.

As the lichen died off, so, too, did the light. Briar kept moving. Whether familiarity or magic helped him navigate the cave,

I couldn’t say. But it wasn’t until I slipped and nearly pulled him down with me that he seemed to realize a need for light.

With his free hand, he summoned a cluster of stars that hung about his fingers. Their blistering glow illuminated the path with ease, and he continued onward without losing his grip on my arm. The air cooled as we descended farther into the ground, and eventually the path beneath our feet shifted to stairs made of something akin to black glass. The walls transitioned to the same material, and the path opened into a large, circular room. An enormous hole was cut out of the ceiling, and moonlight poured through the opening to drench the space in a soft glow. Thousands of winking specks shimmered from the depths of the onyx walls and floor, as if I’d stepped out into the night sky itself. Directly beneath the opening stood a decaying tree with knobby limbs and bone-white flowers.

That’s the same type of tree as the Ferngloves’.

A chill swept down my spine. “What am I doing here?”

Briar didn’t answer as he let his power recede. Then he shoved me toward the tree, and I stumbled over the worn roots that’d

erupted from the strange black earth. Something caught my arm before I could fall, and as I craned my neck toward my elbow,

my stomach plummeted to my feet. An arm had unwrapped itself from the base of the tree, and disjointed fingers had gripped

me tight. And then three more limbs were suddenly peeling away from the trunk. In less than a breath, I was snared. I’d been

flipped around so my back was against the now writhing bark, and the limbs snapped at odd angles as they locked me in place.

My brain rioted at the eerie feel of leathery skin rubbing against my exposed shoulders, and I yelped as a finger scraped

along the length of my neck.

Alarm bells crashed in my mind. The last effects of the wine had finally ebbed, and I strained against the tree’s hold. A

weighted groan—like a mixture of creaking branches and breaking bones—cut through the ringing in my ears. I was trapped. Trapped

in an Ever’s lair with absolutely no power to break free. No one to help me. No one to come to my rescue. I’d never longed

for Ywena’s presence more than in that moment. She’d saved me before—flown off to get help when I’d been tricked by Amalyss

and Tasia. But now, I was utterly alone.

Straining against the branches, I buried my fear behind a hard glare. “What do you want from me?”

“Your help.” Briar tilted his head as if it were odd I’d even bother to ask such an obvious question.

His furrowed brow only fueled my anger. “With what?”

“Threadmending.”

Fuck, not again. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can.” He pursed his lips. “At least you can try.”

“You can’t make me.” I struggled against the tree’s hold, but I didn’t gain an inch. “I won’t make a bargain with you. I refuse.”

At least Tasia and Amalyss had taught me something. Already my ears were straining, searching for any hint of power behind

Briar’s words that would signal the telltale magic of an evervow. I wouldn’t fall for that again.

“There are other ways of persuading you,” a low voice called from the depths of the cavern. Zelyria emerged from a hidden corridor, followed closely by Dagas.

Jules was nowhere to be found.

“We’re not above tactics that involve more physical reminders of why you’d want to listen to our suggestions.” Dagas strode

forward and came to a halt before me, peering closely as he inspected my face. “It’s true, we Evers often forget we are so

much more than our words.”

Zelyria sauntered up beside him and leaned her head against his shoulder. “We don’t wish to hurt you.”

“I’m having a hard time believing that.” My eyes narrowed as I tried to piece together a plan. And failed. I could scream,

but what good would that do? Even drunk on wine, I’d been coherent enough to glean that there was nothing else around this

burrow. The Starglens lived a three days’ ride from Willowfell, if this was even their home. I couldn’t be sure how far we’d

traveled. My breathing turned shallow as adrenaline flooded my system.

How do I get out of this?

“I said wish . Not that we wouldn’t hurt you, if it came to it.” Zelyria straightened and then beckoned for Briar. He came without hesitation

and stepped into her open arm. She folded him against her side. “Briar lost his parents to blight. They’re the ones holding

you now.”

The hands gripping me tightened like shackles. “I didn’t realize other Evers had caught it.”

Zelyria blinked, her expression surprisingly soft and tinged with remorse. “Oh, my dear, how you’ve been wronged. I am truly sorry we are adding to that grievance.”

My stomach churned as the limbs anchoring me to the tree tightened around me. “I don’t understand. You’re not sick.”

“According to who?” Dagas raised a brow.

“Orin would have told me.”

“Would he? Why?” Dagas asked. “Does he frequently share the details of other Evers’ households with his employees? Or are

you something more?”

Words formed and died on my tongue. We weren’t anything, and yet I’d assumed if he knew... No, he couldn’t have known.

Otherwise, he would have shared that knowledge with me, if only to help me understand how to combat the blight in Mavis.

“We’re all sick,” Zelyria said as she watched me closely. “That’s why we’re here.”

All of them. Zelyria. Dagas. Briar. I could hardly focus on their words. The arms were still tightening, and fingers had untucked

from the trunk to press into my sides. My skin crawled as bile soured the back of my tongue, and I forced myself to focus

on my breath, to center myself any way that I could in the hopes of finding a means to escaping this horrifying nightmare.

Lengthen your spine. Relax your shoulders. Breathe through your stomach. I let Rorik’s words surface in my mind as I pictured his steady hand on my back.

“Even so, I can’t cure you. I don’t know how.”

“And yet, you’re going to try.” Dagas’s words were full of heat and threat, and all at once their glamours dropped. My mouth

fell open as I stilled in the tree’s grasp.

I didn’t even need to call on my power to see the illness—they’d wiped away every ounce of magic, every meticulous layer of glamour, to reveal the absolute truth of their shared condition. They were dotted with dozens of rupturing pustules and gaping wounds. Their lustrous hair was now patchy and brittle, and their frail bodies were so withered and decrepit it was a miracle their clothing remained in place. The bright colors of their bespoke attire were so at odds with their ashen complexions and grotesque sores. Skin sloughed off from Briar’s cheek as he watched me, and Zelyria absently brushed it from his shoulder. Everything about them was horrifying. Sickening. But nothing was more gut roiling than the stench that wafted from them in heady waves.

They couldn’t have much time left.

“The others...” My mind was spinning, replaying every interaction I’d had with an Ever, until one memory bled to the surface

of my mind. It’d been so trivial, and yet... Seville had laughed at a blemish hidden beneath Lydia’s glamour. Seville could

see everything beneath her aunt’s veil. Nothing was hidden from view.

Which meant that the Ferngloves must have known about the Starglens’ sickness.

“They knew,” I managed after several steely breaths. “Orin knew.”

Zelyria blinked. “I told you, we’re all sick.”

All sounds deafened at her words and heat stung at the backs of my eyes. All of them. Not just the Starglens or the Waterstones

or even the Ferngloves. All Evers. Every. Single. One. The fringes of my vision dimmed.

“No,” I murmured. “That can’t be true.”

“Our glamours are difficult to pierce. They’re carefully layered sheets of magic. The more you peel back, the easier it is

to rip apart the whole thing and discover the truth.” Dagas folded his arms across his chest. “It would be simple enough to

trick you into thinking you’d seen it all, when in reality, you likely only scratched the surface. Even our lands are filled

with the disease.”

Orin in the study. His body on display, his beautiful enhancements and unparalleled power.

And then another truth hit me like a kick to the stomach. Not a single member of Fernglove smelled of anything. Their scents were as absent as the hyacinths’ in the foyer, because everything was masked beneath countless layers of glamour.

To hide the stench of blight.

I wanted to vomit. I’d been tricked into believing Mavis was the only sick family member, but it was the entirety of Fernglove.

And even if I managed to find a cure, I’d never have the lifespan to save them all and my brothers.

But none of that mattered. Not now, as I faced down a family who was already out of time. I could see the panic in their eyes,

in the desperate, hungry way they focused on the magical shade of my hair.

Hours ago, I’d thought myself untouchable. Now, I knew how wrong I’d been.

And I wasn’t strong enough to stop them. My gaze cut to the opening in the ceiling and the night sky. With a subtle shift,

I pressed against the unforgiving tree limbs. I had no chance of escaping, either. I looked back at the Starglens. At Zelyria,

Dagas, and Briar. Jules was still missing. Was that her angle all along? To distract Rorik so her family could steal me away?

But then certainly Orin would notice. He’d have to.

I just needed to keep them talking and pray that, with enough time, the Ferngloves would become aware of my absence—along

with the majority of the Starglens—and come to my aid. I didn’t want to be anywhere near Orin after what I’d discovered, but

he was the only one capable of saving me in that moment.

“You must know that I can’t cure blight. Not yet. Otherwise, the Ferngloves would be healed,” I said.

“You’d also be dead.” Dagas shrugged. “Your body wouldn’t be able to sustain that many rounds of magic. Better to take you

before that happens and have you expend your talents on us.”

My heart hammered in my ears as they inched closer. How could I prolong something they’d been dying to acquire? Images of Tasia and Amalyss surfaced in my mind, their desperate ploy to get me to threadmend. They’d been terrified. Both of dying and of Orin’s wrath. They’d hardly spoken to me for fear of repercussions. Maybe the threat of Orin’s power would terrify the Starglens, too.

“Orin will come for you.” I forced my voice to remain steady, to lace it with as much heat and promise as the Ferngloves often

wielded when they spoke down to me.

It didn’t work. “A risk, of course,” Zelyria said.

“But if you manage to cure us...” Dagas reached forward and wrapped my hair around his finger. “No one at Fernglove could

stop us.”

Panic clawed at my throat. “But Orin—”

“Deserves to be punished!” Dagas roared. The tree responded to his words, tearing into my gown and impaling sharpened, fingerlike

twigs into the soft skin of my sides. Pain splintered from my stomach, and the warm, sticky heat of blood dribbled down my

legs. A scream burned through my lungs as I writhed in place.

“A life for a life.” Dagas’s eyes burned with rage. “It seems fair, after Lorelei. He cherishes you like we cherished her.”

Lorelei. The name rattled through my brain. She was the Starglen the attendants had mentioned while arranging flowers for

the fete. “What happened to her?”

“Dagas”—Zelyria gripped her partner’s arm tight—“we will get our justice, but only if we take care of ourselves first. Don’t

take your anger out on the threadmender.”

Dagas forced out an exhale, but the ire remained in his gaze. “Fine. Cure us, then, threadmender. And we’ll tell you whatever

you desire. Consider it a vow.”

“I can’t cure you,” I wheezed. “I can’t.”

“Try,” Dagas commanded, and the twigs burrowed deeper into my sides. White-hot agony arced down my legs, and I shrieked as

my vision swam.

Breathe. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t focus on anything other than the digging of fingers beneath my skin, pulling at muscles and worming between tendons as blood spurted over my gown. I pressed the back of my head against the tree as my vision darkened. Deeper and deeper the fingers went, entrenching in my limbs as if I, too, were destined to become part of the bark. I knew I was screaming—I could hear it in my ears—but it sounded so distant. So separate from me. I could hold out and die or threadmend and die. The choices weren’t really choices, but at least one would buy me some time. If I could deceive them long enough, then maybe there was still a chance I could be saved. The idea of relying on anyone else to come to my rescue burned me to my core, but I was running out of options.

Igniting my power, I brought my focus back to the Starglens. All at once the tree halted its advance, and relief sang through

my bones as the writhing limbs pulled back a fraction. Dagas, Zelyria, and Briar stilled as they stared at my moonlit eyes.

“Your threads.” My voice was raw and coated with agony, but I steadied my breathing as I took in the limp strands of their

lives. All of them. Only a few, virulent aquamarine threads remained. The rest were soaked in tar and lifeless, waiting for

their final moments before solidifying and dusting to ash.

“I need my hand.” I tilted my chin slightly toward my pinned arm. “Just one.”

Dagas and Zelyria looked at each other briefly, and then they nodded. With the flick of his wrist, Dagas commanded a branch

to peel back, and my arm was blissfully free. Ignoring the urge to groan in relief, I flexed my hand and held it out before

me. The white light ensconcing my fingers grew sharper as I beckoned to their life threads. The Starglens’ strands reached

for me in earnest, begging for me to help them, to rid them of the sickness eating away at their existence. I knew what would

happen if I tried to pick away at the blight. I also knew what would happen if I did nothing.

Shifting in the tree’s hold, I winced as some of the sharper fingers curled beneath layers of sinew and skin. “How long?”

“As long as anyone else,” Zelyria responded. Her gaze was locked on my raised hand. “It’s hard to say exactly when.”

Orin had so much to answer for. The thick tar coated every strand, and there were no fraying or torn edges for me to stitch

back together. And merely trying to wipe the black liquid away was futile. Severing their life threads altogether would be

just as fruitless.

Gingerly, I extended a finger to one of Briar’s soaked threads. The Starglens watched with rapt focus, despite being unable

to see what I could. It was the only blessing in this horrific scenario. I could feign threadmending for a time without actually

doing it, and they’d be none the wiser. Still, they’d grow impatient.

Briar’s infected thread hesitated before my fingertip, then slithered over my hand to gently wrap around my wrist. I wasn’t

even attempting to cure him, and I could feel it. The blight. Nausea hit my stomach hard. A pain separate from the tree’s

barbs pulsated through my body, blossoming from the space where his thread rested against my skin. A headache hammered behind

my eyes. Betrayal was a hot knife slicing through my gut. It felt the same as when I’d attempted to mend Tasia’s cut.

The Ferngloves were quick to convince me it’d just been the nature of their immortal threads that made mending difficult,

but they knew. They knew blight lingered beneath it all.

“Well?” Zelyria asked. Breathless. Hopeful.

“It’s...” I didn’t have words. Instead, I stared at the sludge now dribbling over my forearm. It hissed as it met my skin

and turned to steam. Blight—or any illness, for that matter—had never been able to infect a threadmender. Evers used to be

the same. It was the only similarity we shared. So why had I adapted when they remained woefully exposed?

The insects around here are infected with blight, yet they live on. In fact, they thrive. Rorik’s words crept from the recesses of my mind. Other creatures had figured it out, too. But how?

A bestial roar so loud and violent ruptured the night, and my thoughts fled as hope sped through my veins. Rorik dropped through

the hole in the ceiling and slammed into the ground. The polished stone spiderwebbed beneath his feet from the impact, and

he raised his head to glower at the Starglens. His impossibly black eyes were flooded with malevolence, and his wings snapped

angrily in the air behind him. A snarl ripped through his chest, and he took an aggressive step forward. Dagas’s face went

pale at the sight, and both Zelyria and Briar shrunk into his shadow.

Before Rorik could strike, a dangerously quiet voice crested from one of the many hallways. “Oh, Dagas. What have you done?”

“Orin.” Zelyria pressed Briar tight against her body.

Orin emerged from the corridor, his face eerily placid. I pressed my back against the tree, not caring that the action caused

the fingers to dig deeper into my muscles. Unfettered rage filled his strained gaze as he glared at the Starglens. It was

the first time I’d felt my insides go cold at just the sight of him.

“You don’t deserve her magic,” Dagas said, but his words faltered.

Rorik stiffened as his stare shifted to me. For a moment, he looked only at my face, and then his gaze traversed the length

of my body, bouncing from wound to wound as his hands fisted by his sides. He snarled, revealing too-sharp teeth as he returned

his focus to Orin and the Starglens.

“You’ll gain no mercy from me,” Orin said, calm voice doing nothing to hide the rage behind his words.

Without waiting for them to respond, he strode forward and gripped the arms of the tree tight. The limbs snapped beneath his grasp, and the sickening crunch of splintering bones filled the small room. He ripped the arms clean off the trunk, and ash-gray filaments dusted around us as he tossed them to the ground. The remaining limbs retreated before Orin could forcibly remove them, and he caught me as I slumped against his chest. Blood wept freely from my unobstructed wounds, seeping into his clothes.

The sight only made him growl. “I leave it to you, Rorik. Dispose of them.”

In the span of a breath, Orin had swept me into his arms and was striding toward the exit.

“You will pay for this!” Dagas shouted. “You cannot keep—”

A wet gurgle, followed by a sudden splash, cut him off. Peering over Orin’s shoulder, I barely caught sight of what happened.

One moment Dagas was speaking, and the next Rorik had his hand through Dagas’s throat. Rorik was lethal. And when he extracted

his hand, he brought Dagas’s larynx with it. Blood flooded in a rush from the gaping wound at the base of his neck, and his

lifeless body slumped to the floor.

Rorik dropped the remains of Dagas’s voice box beside him. He pivoted to Zelyria and Briar. Their screams reverberated through

my ears, and I squeezed my eyes shut as I buried my head against Orin’s chest. Still, nothing could drown out their pained

cries. Or their pleas. Or the whimpering. Or the horrifying silence that followed.

“Edira.” Orin’s words were soft, his hold gentle. “It’s okay, Edira. I’ve got you.”

A sob racked my chest, and I nodded. It was all I could muster, but Orin didn’t ask for more. Instead, he raced toward the

ley line, not bothering to look back at the monstrous burrow we’d left or the bodies that now made it a crypt. I didn’t even

complain when we stepped into the gut-churning ley line that ushered us back to the outskirts of Fernglove Manor. I didn’t

berate him for the secrets or the truth of his blight. I couldn’t. I didn’t have the strength. I simply clung to him and let

him carry me back to safety and away from the nightmare I’d endured.