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My training with Rorik was a hazy memory by the time I woke the next morning. There was no sense in unpacking the hidden meaning

in his words when I didn’t understand his motivation. He’d toyed with my emotions one too many times. I had better things

to do, like ready myself for my work with Orin. A quiet smile pulled at my lips. With him by my side, it felt like I could

do anything.

The manor was quiet, creaking, as I laid out my clothes. The very walls seemed to watch me as I moved, as if they knew that

I might find a way to cure the matriarch resting within her room. Expectation was thick in the air, and I prayed I didn’t

disappoint.

I ran my hand over the ivy-green blouse and tan pants—along with a more subdued, cream-colored bralette from my day with Seville—just as Vora knocked on the door. She entered without waiting for me to respond, glancing briefly at the clothes before veering into the attached washroom to draw a bath. I let her bathe and dress me without speaking. It wasn’t until she sat me before the vanity and dragged a bone-colored comb through my hair that she talked.

“You were missed at dinner last night.”

I raised a brow. “By whom?”

“Orin. He expects the family to dine together, but he understands if you need space.”

“I was tired after training with Rorik.” I waved off her words as I kept my breathing steady. Ywena had crawled onto my lap

while Vora worked, giving her room to tame my locks.

“I gathered as much.” She tugged harder than necessary, and I frowned at her through the mirror. “He and Orin got into a disagreement

at dinner.”

And Rorik thought I was problematic. “Dare I ask why?”

Vora let her hands fall away. “Rorik found out you were going to threadmend today, and he got angry. Said you weren’t ready,

that you could barely even maintain your power while distracted. Orin disagreed.”

You’re brighter than the moon and just as steady.

Thank gods I was already sitting, because Rorik’s betrayal felt like he’d swiped my legs clean out from under me. My body

went impossibly stiff as an ache swelled in my throat. After that personal moment we shared, he still didn’t think I was good

enough? Heat purled through my veins, and I fisted the fabric of my pants. What was he getting at? I steeled my rising anger

by channeling more focus to my breath, taking satisfaction in the fact that Ywena hadn’t shocked me once.

“Rorik should keep his thoughts to himself.” I stood abruptly, pushing away from the vanity and resisting the urge to knock

the perfumed bottles off their tiered pedestal. Ywena fluttered about the crown of my head for a moment before once again

settling against my neck. “I’m done training with him.”

“Edira.” Vora rushed to stand before me, and she gently rested her hands on my arms. “Please.”

“Please what?” I brushed her off and headed for the door. “It’s fine. I have more important things to do with my time.”

I let the door close behind me with a definitive thud and stormed down the stairs. I didn’t bother with the dining room, either,

or the breakfast platters waiting on the table. Largely because I didn’t want to engage in conversation with Lydia or Clesian,

and they watched me pass with rapt curiosity. Their girls, too, tipped their heads in confusion as I headed into the kitchen.

The room was full of bustling attendants swarming from one station to the next, preparing food and drink and delicate treats

as if they were about to host a fete and not just a breakfast. When they noticed me, the room came to a standstill.

“Don’t mind me.” I waved them off, hoping the action was commanding enough. I turned toward a freshly baked loaf of bread

and cut away a slice, slathering it with hazelnut butter. One by one they went back to work, eyeing me over polished kitchenware.

The heat of the stoves was too sweltering for me to linger, and I walked off my frustration while I ate. My feet, of course,

led me to Orin’s study.

I’ll show Rorik what I can do.

Wiping the last of my quick breakfast off my lips, I knocked softly on Orin’s door.

“Come in,” he called over the shuffling of papers.

I breezed into the room like I’d seen Seville do, claiming the space with each footstep as I moved toward Orin. His eyes widened

as he looked up from his stack of papers and absently let his pen fall to the desk. We hadn’t set a time for our work, but

I didn’t care. I just wanted to feel his arms around me. Orin leaned back in his chair as I rounded his desk, and without

waiting for him to speak, I climbed atop his lap and grabbed his face with both hands. My mouth was on his in an instant,

and his lips parted easily as my tongue twined with his. Every inch of my skin lit up as I pressed myself closer.

He moaned and gripped my hips tight, only pulling away after nipping at my bottom lip. “To what do I owe this greeting?”

“Call it excitement for what today could bring.” I peppered the length of his throat with light kisses. Rolling my hips into

his, I sat back and smiled down at him as heat flared in his green eyes.

“How am I supposed to focus when I’ll be thinking of this all day?” He palmed my cheek, then let his hand fall to the nape

of my neck where his fingers wove through my hair. With restrained force, he guided my mouth to his and held me there, a breath

away from pleasure.

Warmth pooled in my lower abdomen at the thought of being with him. Ywena’s shocks weren’t enough to curb my want, either,

but Orin’s gaze slid to her as he dragged his lips across mine. Annoyance raced through his expression. It was there and gone

in a flash, leaving behind a tremor of something heated and dangerous. With soft fingers, I smoothed an errant tendon feathering

down his jaw.

“Are you all right?”

He sighed, but his smile was genuine. “Yes. I just hope that when the time comes, we won’t have an audience.” Tilting his

head slightly, he nodded toward Ywena.

Nicking his ear with my teeth, I whispered, “You can send her away.”

“Of course I could.” His pleased growl simmered from somewhere deep in his chest. “But the stags are already waiting.”

“Later then,” I mused, masking my disappointment with the same efficiency I used to regain control of my breath. My heartbeat.

Orin held my stare. “Absolutely.”

He eased to his feet, sweeping me up with him, before placing a kiss on my forehead and setting me on the ground. He never let go of my hand. A mixture of excitement and fear fused in my core, sending a strange, electric sensation purling through my limbs. The old me would’ve avoided threadmending like the death sentence that it was. But Edira of Fernglove? I squeezed Orin’s fingers, my body brimming with a confidence only he could give. She had power.

And I would be the one to put an end to blight.

We made our way out of the study together. We didn’t bother to speak to Lydia or Clesian as they stood in the parlor with

their daughters. They must’ve known what was about to happen. Their stares were hungry, but layered beneath was a thread of

hope I recognized all too well, for it was the same ribbon unfurling in my veins. I inclined my head to Amalyss and Tasia

by way of greeting. If I decided to be kind enough to cure anyone in this household beyond Mavis, it would be them.

And Orin.

Rorik’s tight expression flashed in my mind, and I quickly pushed it away. I was ready. I would be everything he didn’t think

I could be.

The morning lawns were quiet, the woods still. The very air around us seemed to hold its breath as we came upon the stables.

The farmhands were nowhere to be found, but the creatures were fed, their stalls pristinely cleaned. Like the rest of the

estate’s residents, the beasts watched us approach with an intense focus full of anticipation. Orin unlatched the wooden pen

door leading to a lone stag, standing tall over a heaping mound of hay.

The beast looked as magnificent as it had the day it’d pulled the carriage toward Fernglove Estate. Easily twenty hands tall,

it peered at me with glowing pale eyes. Its rack was massive and covered in ivy that seemed to sprout from the base of each

horn. I ached to run my fingers along its mossy hide, to lightly touch the flowers blooming between tufts of fur. By all accounts,

it seemed healthy.

“This is Zotakoss. He’s one of the magical beasts we’ve been able to domesticate.” Orin reached for the beast and placed a soft hand on its snout. “You can call him Zota for short. He has been with us for many years.”

Zota chuffed in response. Steam curled from his nostrils and intermingled with the dripping strands of foliage wreathing his

head like a mane.

“Hello, Zota.” I extended my hand and let it hover in the space before his snout.

His focus swiveled to me, and he inhaled deeply before thrusting his nose against my fingers. A smile claimed my lips as I

gently pet the length of his muzzle.

“He won’t startle easily. Oh, and here’s this.” Orin slipped a hand into one of the pockets of his trousers, extracting a

small, shallow jar full of an off-white cream. “One of the concoctions you wanted to try.”

I grinned as I took it and untwisted the lid. I was hit with the familiar scent of one of my tinctures for pain relief and

a foreign, floral scent. Ground petals from a white tear flower, a special bloom that grew in response to Evers using earthly

magic. Fortunately, the Ferngloves were at the forefront on that ability, and Orin had easily coaxed one from the earth under

the light of the moon just the night before.

“Thank you,” I said as I coated my hands in the balm and let it soak into my skin. I hoped it would lessen the effect of blight’s

ailments as I mended Zota’s threads.

“Just take your time and begin whenever you’re ready.” Orin retreated a few steps to lean against the wood paneling of Zota’s

stall. Crossing his arms, he nodded once to the creature before shifting his attention to the space where my hands hovered

near Zota’s snout.

I leaned in close and spoke softly against his nose. “I’m going to try and help you.”

Prior to coming to Fernglove, I’d only ever heard horror stories about magical creatures and their violent natures. I doubted any of those myths were based off Zota, because one look into his eyes won me over. While he could crush me beneath the weight of his massive body, there was something gentle and kind about his presence. He fervently ducked his head several times over, as if understanding my words and agreeing to accept my help.

Leaning my forehead against his muzzle, I closed my eyes. My breathing slowed as I centered myself and drew on the power lying

dormant in my veins. It ignited with ease, flaring to life and speeding through me as a pleasing, rippling current of energy

flooded my fingertips. When I opened my eyes, I felt magic gloss over them at the same time a soothing white light ensconced

my fingers.

The faint scent of Orin’s power filled the air, and I realized he was removing the glamour from Zota’s appearance. In less

than a breath, I was faced with the reality of the beast’s condition.

He was little more than bone and sinew. Gone was his lustrous hide, and in its place was a patchwork display of dried, leathery

skin on the verge of flaking away. Zota’s rib cage was exposed, and his head was hardly more than a skull with cracked bones

protruding in a crude attempt at a rack. Where his eyes should have been were hollowed-out holes that were lifeless and cold.

Blight rimmed every opening, and sickening yellow pustules dotted the expanse of his body. My hand shook as I stared at the

space where my fingers met his muzzle. The slimy texture of muscle and puss coated my skin, and I forced bile down with a

hard swallow. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes as the stench of death wrapped me in a suffocating cocoon.

How Zota was still alive was beyond me.

My chest heaved in protest as I forced myself to keep breathing. I couldn’t falter. Not now.

“I’ll keep his glamour removed while you work.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Orin studying me.

I nodded, and the power drenching my fingers sharpened to a near-blinding light. “Let’s take a closer look.”

Zota’s life threads bloomed from his center mass and limply fell about his frame. There was hardly any movement to his tar-soaked strands. A few had already petrified and were on the verge of dusting into oblivion. But there was hope. There were still glimpses of color beneath the encroaching blight. I marveled at the threads, pausing as I took in the curious muted teal shade.

She embedded parts of ancient beasts into her being and gained additional strength and power in return.

The first Ever had taken from Zota’s ancestors. It seemed that bestial magic and power shifted the very hue and makeup of

Evers’ threads. If I could mend Zota’s threads, then there had to be a way to cure Mavis. And most certainly my brothers.

At first, I did nothing but breathe. Slowly. Evenly. Maybe Rorik was right. I loathed the idea of giving him any credit, but

there was something to channeling my breath to strengthen my magic. Time slowed as my heartbeat became nothing more than a

quiet thump stretched out over eternity.

Magic pulsed through me heady and strong as I reached for one of Zota’s strands. Gently, I wrapped one around my hand and

draped it between my fingers. I knew better than to try to wipe away the putrid liquid. Doing so with my brothers’ strands

had resulted in immediate repercussions that hit with a force I couldn’t withstand. What I didn’t comprehend, though, was

why blight affected Evers so differently. Mortals who became infected died swiftly. With Evers, it was as if the poison was

designed to linger, to eat away at their beings with deliberate slowness so they felt every inch of themselves fading away.

I hadn’t started mending Zota’s threads, but I could already feel the blight prickling against my skin. It sunk deeper and deeper into my muscles and bones with every steady inhale, and with it came a throbbing ache that enveloped me so wholly I couldn’t tell where it started and ended. Black dots danced across my vision as I studied the strand. The sludge bubbled and frothed as it slid across my fingers, steaming as it kissed my skin. Breathing helped me weather the storm as I fought against wave after wave of churning sickness forming in my gut.

Slowly, I cupped my hands around Zota’s strand and willed my power to increase. A blinding orb of light fractured between

my fingers, chasing away every hint of a shadow. But the tar remained, save for the spaces where my flesh made direct contact

with the life thread. A sizzling met my ears as pain bloomed behind my eyes. Somehow, I held it together long enough to watch

the sludge cook away. It re-formed within the span of a few breaths, but for a moment, I’d seen nothing but muted teal between

my fingers.

Excitement pushed back against the rising ailments, and I extended both of my arms. Zota’s strands answered by wrapping my

limbs entirely, and for a moment, nothing happened.

And then my power faltered under the presence of Zota’s unrelenting blight, or perhaps the magically crafted balm had worn

off—likely both. In less than a breath, I was wrapped in his threads with no sharp glow to burn away the blight, and the sickness

hit me with an animalistic ferocity I couldn’t have trained for. The gut-roiling stench of decay and mulch filled the stall,

and I tasted the brackish flavor of it on my tongue as I gasped for air. Each breath was erratic and sharp, like blades slicing

away at my lungs. My bones throbbed with a pain that pulsed in time with my heart. But even as my stomach was churning, preparing

to heave my meager breakfast, I caught sight of Zota’s threads now retreating as I reined in my magic.

His teal threads.

Hope sparked for the span of one harrowing breath, then was crushed with absolute certainty as I watched the blight easily

regain the ground it’d lost. Tar coated the resplendent threads a tacky black, and they slowly curled toward Zota’s center

like withering leaves.

“Edira!” Orin shouted.

I’d nearly forgotten he was there. Slumping fully to the ground, I sought purchase in the dirt and hay at Zota’s feet as I let my power fade away completely. Orin was there, yanking me back toward the stall wall and cradling me in his arms. The movement was enough to send me reeling again, and I pressed my eyes shut until the swaying stopped.

Breathe.

Everything was heavy. My hands. My limbs. My thoughts. I pulled what strength I could from the warmth of Orin’s embrace, but

his arms were iron grips against my bruising muscles. His heartbeat was as loud as the town’s bell toll; his breath a turbulent

wind that threatened to carry me away with it. It took everything in me to peel open my eyes. Somehow, I managed. I picked

a spot in the stall—Zota’s water trough—and focused only on it. It became my anchor, the object of all my attention, while

my senses settled. Once the world finally returned to its normal axis and the nausea in my belly stalled, I braved a glance

at Orin.

“What happened?” he asked, tucking a strand of sweat-dampened hair behind my ear.

“I couldn’t do it,” I croaked.

“It’s all right.” His brows crawled together as he pressed his forehead against mine. “I still believe in you.”

Exhaustion settled deep into my bones. “I’ll try again. I just need to rest.”

“Okay.” With a tender kiss, he pressed his lips to mine and then scooped me up in his arms. I didn’t want to fall prey to

my subconscious, but I couldn’t fight the darkness blooming across the edges of my vision. The fact that I’d lasted this long

was a testament to my training and the combination of Ever remedies and my magic. My eyes drifted closed of their own accord,

and I sighed. I didn’t remember the trek back to the manor or Orin placing me in my bed. I didn’t remember anything beyond

the sound of his feet thudding against the earth as he ran.