Page 3

My head throbbed in time with my heartbeat as I dared to open my eyes. I hadn’t moved an inch in the night, and that only

seemed to compound the ache in my muscles. I should’ve coached one of my brothers into drafting a healing tincture before

sleeping, but if my brain was muddled now, it was simply liquid before.

The last time I’d threadmended had been Nohr’s leg. The time before, my parents. A chill crept down my spine. They’d both

fallen ill at the same time and passed within an hour. I was only thirteen. I tried everything to save them, but I’d never

used my powers in earnest, so I could only cradle their heads in my lap as they died. My gut churned, and I pushed that memory

away. Reliving that horrific experience helped no one.

Groaning, I shifted in bed and pulled off the sheets. My arms screamed in protest, but I gritted through the pain and stretched toward the ceiling. A stiff crackling rippled across my scalp, and my fingers went to my hair. I’d never removed the dye, and one quick look at my pillow indicated I’d ruined those linens for good. At least the color was set. As soon as I could manage, I’d rinse and dump the staining liquid somewhere unseen. Then after, a bath. I just couldn’t fathom drawing one. My toes grazed the cool floorboards, and I sucked in a breath as I stood up. The room spun only for a moment—long enough for my stomach to knot, but not long enough for me to call off my planned trip to market.

With slow, measured steps, I left my room and padded downstairs into the kitchen to find Noam and Nohr already busy with the

stove. My herbs had been gathered, tied, and hung from a series of wooden dowels along the far wall near my collection of

remedies. The mess I’d left was gone, replaced by sparkling clean dishes drying before the open window. Eggs cooked in a frying

pan, and coffee—fresh coffee—sat in a carafe in the middle of the table.

I’d never loved my brothers more. I was about to say as much when a prickling awareness teased the back of my mind and gooseflesh

rippled over my arms. Turning toward the couch, I expected to find a decaying body waiting for me on the cushions.

I found nothing of the sort.

“I told you not to touch him,” I said, my words quiet but sharp.

They both stiffened as they shared one of their signature glances, the kind only they could understand. “We wore our gloves

and wrapped him in blankets,” Nohr replied.

“We were careful. We just wanted to give you a break,” Noam added a breath later.

My gaze traveled over their clenched jaws and drawn brows. The ghost of pain, of loss, still lingered in their puffy eyes,

and I sighed. They’d gone through enough already. With an undignified plop, I fell onto one of the chairs and reached for

the coffee. Nohr was there within seconds, pouring the life-giving sustenance into a ceramic mug.

“We should toss the couch,” I muttered.

Nohr’s eyes fell, his voice strained. “We can’t afford it.”

“We can’t afford either one of you catching blight.” I stared at the well-worn frame. The piece of furniture had sat in that exact spot for the entirety of my life and likely years before that. We could’ve done with a new couch, but Nohr was right. Money was tight. “I’ll move the cushions outside for the time being and see what I can do about getting the whole thing reupholstered.” I blew steam off my drink and took a heady sip.

Noam slid a plate of eggs in front of me before returning to the stove. “Mrs.Marlow might be willing to trade her services

for some of your remedies.”

I speared my breakfast with my fork and chewed slowly, eyeing Nohr as he dragged another large pot full of water and placed

it atop the cast-iron stove. “I fixed Toman’s nose yesterday. She owes me.”

After that, Nohr and Noam joined me at the table and ate the rest of the eggs straight out of the frying pan. The quiet scrape

of their forks’ tines against the skillet filled our kitchen. None of us spoke. There wasn’t much to be said, not really.

Alec was gone. There was nothing more that could be done.

“We heated water for a bath,” Noam said, twirling his fork against the pan. He’d ducked his head low while eating and now

peered at me from behind the tops of his lashes. A peace offering for disposing of the body, no doubt. It worked. “I’ll bring

the washbasin in if you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” I blew out a breath as I stood. “Can one of you grab water for my hair?”

Nohr was out the front door and in the garden before I could blink. I wound my way through the small footprint of our house

to the back door. One furtive peek through the curtains told me it was safe, and I slipped outside. I was thankful our home

backed against the nearby woods, offering us a modicum of privacy for moments such as this. Dyeing hair wasn’t exactly taboo,

but it raised questions. Questions were the last thing I wanted.

After handing me a small bucket with fresh water, Nohr re treated inside. Gritting my teeth in preparation for the cold, I dunked my head in the liquid and watched as black ink swirled across the once-clear contents. Later, when time permitted, I’d lather on a different mask to bring the luster back to my matte locks.

Hair dripping down my back, I returned to the kitchen to find Noam and Nohr had brought in a tin tub and placed it before

the stove. After they transferred the heated water, I sprinkled the basin with salts crafted for relieving aches and a few

drops of oil to help soothe my mind. Noam wrapped me in a one-armed hug and pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“Be safe,” I murmured.

“I’d say ‘you, too,’ but not sure that applies to market,” Noam said with a half-hearted smile. He was trying. Trying to forget

what happened last night. Trying to move forward because we had no other option but to keep going. My heart twisted, and I

hugged him tighter. Then I motioned for Nohr to join until I had both of them wrapped in my arms.

I would do anything for my brothers. I’d shoulder their grief and work myself to the bone just to make sure they had a chance

at happiness. They were all I had left, and they needed me just as much as I needed them.

“See you tonight,” Nohr said.

I gave them one last squeeze and then released them. They were gone in no time, and I blew out a sigh as I quickly undressed.

I slid into the scalding water, not caring that it scorched my skin. I wanted to burn away the memory of the blight against

my fingers, the scent of mold and decay from my hair, and the leftover residue of grime beneath my nails. I groaned and sunk

deeper into the water. I would’ve soaked in the bath for hours, but I couldn’t afford to miss market. So, when the pulsating

ache in my muscles finally dulled to a mild discomfort, I eased out of the tub and returned to my room to dress for the day.

Part of me wished Noam and Nohr could go to town instead of me. Everyone liked them. They were generous and warm, and their

laughter was the kind of sound that lingered in the air for what felt like hours. A beautiful, inviting thing. It wasn’t as

though people particularly liked or disliked me; I just couldn’t get involved. Wouldn’t. My friendships dwindled when my parents

died and I had to step into the role of caretaker for my brothers, and I never bothered to rekindle them. Not when, years

earlier, I’d seen the town elders notify the Ferngloves about my aunt’s power. She was stolen from us the very next day. All

because a child, one of Noam’s friends, had peeked through our window to see if he was home. Instead, he’d watched as my aunt

healed my mother’s perpetual cough.

I didn’t blame the child. He told his parents a curious, exciting thing he’d seen. I blamed the elders who reacted out of

greed before even considering what it would do to my family to have our aunt ripped away.

Of course, the townsfolk didn’t think it was “bad” to be employed by an Ever. My aunt was “blessed.”

Grumbling wordlessly to myself, I braided my sable hair away from my face and wove in a few tiny white flowers from the baby’s

breath I kept potted in my room. Kohl above my lashes, mauve paint on my lips, a hint of rouge—good enough for market. I quickly

slipped on a chemise and cotton stockings, fixing them in place with simple garter ribbons. My mother’s corset thankfully

still fit, and I secured the front fasteners before tightening the lace at my back. Then a soft skirt and matching burgundy

bodice dotted with pearls and embroidered ebony flowers. The ensemble had been my mother’s before she died. I’d admired it

for as long as I could remember, but now that I owned it, the feel of it against my skin was both a comfort and a sadness.

Shaking my head, I slid my leather scrap into one of the skirt’s hidden pockets and laced my ankle boots before heading down stairs. I paused only for a moment to glance at the sofa. I’d take care of the cushions after market, but there was still the impression of Alec’s long body pressed into the fabric, an outline of the person who used to exist. I hadn’t known him well, and I thanked the stars for that small blessing.

Setting my jaw tight, I walked to the kitchen. It didn’t take long for me to pack two leather traveling cases full of remedies.

I carried all the standards: sleep aids, serums and balms for topical ailments, tinctures for digestion, oils for stress reduction,

and, by far one of my most popular requests, performictum—a tasteless powder added to food or drink that when consumed resulted

in... bedroom vigor. I also stored some of the more elusive concoctions in the hidden compartment that slid out of the

back of the case, but I rarely ever needed those. Some referred to them as poisons. I referred to them as remedies for vengeance.

Benign, but memorable.

After fastening the brass clasps into place, I grabbed the worn handles and made for the door. We lived on the fringe of town,

which meant the walk to market was a good twenty minutes, and I had only thirty before the bell struck. The best spots were

likely already taken. We weren’t fortunate enough to own a carriage, and because the town itself was somewhat small, not many

did. The elders, of course, had gilded wagons lined with plush cushions and attendants to drive the horses. But even they

saved such extravagant means of travel for longer excursions to neighboring towns.

They should’ve woken me sooner. Noam and Nohr meant well, but their jobs didn’t bring in the same amount of coin as my cures, and they relied on me to keep us going. The leather squeaked against my palms as I grasped my cases even tighter and set off down the main cobblestone road leading to the epicenter of Willowfell. I walked as quickly as my booted heels and laden cases would allow, passing other townsfolk already strolling toward market at a much more leisurely pace. The closer to the center of town I got, the more densely packed the houses became. They crowded one another, trading open plots and fields for closer proximity to the shops and, perhaps more alluringly, the arch.

The twisted structure was taller than any shop in the square, but only as wide as a double-door entry. Barren tree branches

with pale, smooth bark had sprung from the earth and knotted together. Several limbs at the highest point curled outward like

antlers, and a variety of fowl often perched there but never nested. It was a gnarled passage for travel that only the Evers

could use. Because when you possess magic, why bother arriving by carriage?

When the path opened wide to the circular courtyard where the market was housed, I cut across the center, giving the arch

a wide berth, and began the arduous task of securing a spot. I would’ve preferred to spend another day rummaging for herbs

than fight off other vendors for a prime location, especially when most of these dealers already owned the shops rimming the

square. Tables were situated by the leaders of Willowfell in circles around the arch, rippling outward in perfect rows to

press against the buildings.

The best spots, the ones nearest the arch, were already taken. I scowled at Milton’s Apothecary, with its wooden awnings and

glass doors, as I begrudgingly took a free table along the back row. Milton himself had already set up a display directly

in front of the arch, and he’d made certain to claim a handful of other tables littered throughout the market to further push

his half-baked remedies.

I could’ve outearned him in a day if I were willing to sell my threadmending services. I’d also be dead, but that was beside

the point.

Still, there were a few folks who swore by my work and didn’t mind the higher rates for better draughts—assuming they were able to venture three rows deep before spending their coin. The only table left was one directly to the right of Lysa’s Confection ary, and I hoped the rich scent of freshly baked delicacies would be enough to lure people to my stall. Sighing, I gently hoisted my cases onto the sunbaked surface of the wooden table and undid the clasps. The doors unfolded with the release of the spring, and rows of balms and extracts jutted out in tiered drawers. The more popular cures I kept up top, ensuring their handwritten labels were easily visible.

As I went to adjust one of the vials, a faint droning met my ears before coming to an abrupt halt. A strand of hair had broken

free of my braid and whispered against my cheek, and as I went to tuck it back into place, I paused. A golden beetle was inspecting

the baby’s breath wrapped within my dark locks.

“Hello again,” I murmured, gently extending my pointer finger. “Are you the same little one from yesterday?”

It considered my finger as it adjusted its wings.

“Maybe you’ll bring me luck. You’re prettier than a gold coin,” I said.

Then the town bell struck with a rolling gong, and the beetle took flight. It whirred about for a moment, as if the deep resonance

disrupted its sense of direction, before settling on the trellis attached to the wall of Lysa’s shop. With an irritated flap

of its wings, it scuttled along the climbing ivy to shade itself beneath the leaves.

This first hour of market was a blur. There were the usual buyers who sought my wares out specifically, and we chatted amicably

as I pretended to care about the latest town gossip. There were a few not-so-subtle comments about my age and lack of financial

security, and how that was possibly why there weren’t suitors lining up to ask for my hand. I gritted my teeth as I let them

ramble on about the implications for my future.

And then Mrs. Marlow swung by to thank me for Toman’s nose, agreeing to upholster our sofa free of charge under two conditions: one, I let the cushions and the frame air out for two weeks outdoors given the contact with blight—she’d mustered only a half-hearted frown and a feeble “That’s terrible” when I explained what happened to Alec—and two, the new fabric had to be from last year’s selection and not currently in fashion. I bit my tongue hard at that, hiding my disdain with a well-practiced smile. As the wife of one of the town’s elders, her work as a seamstress, in her own words, was a folly she enjoyed but didn’t need. It was a wonder she didn’t parade around town in her carriage just for show.

By the time Mrs.Marlow swept up her layers of skirts and sashayed on to the next table, it was approaching noon, and my morning

rush—possibly my only rush—was done.

“Of course I’m short,” I muttered as I recounted the silver pieces I’d accrued from my transactions. Because why would anything

ever go according to plan? Groaning, I rolled my head from side to side. Being an apothecary was a strange occupation. I never

wished ill on anyone, but ill people were the ones who paid for the food on my table, and we’d finished the last of our flour

days ago, never mind fresh meat from the butcher.

One or two sick people would be fine.

“Edira!” Lysa emerged from her shop carrying a silver tray full of frosted delicacies. Her cherry-stained lips were pulled

wide in a genuine smile, and her periwinkle eyes sparkled as she extended the platter of confections toward me. “I noticed

you didn’t bring a meal with you today. Have a few.”

A twisted pain grumbled through my stomach at her words. I’d been in such a rush to secure a spot I’d forgotten to pack any

food for myself. “Thanks, Lysa. How’s business?”

She beamed as she watched me pop a sugared tart into my mouth. “It’s good. People love sweets.” Or they loved her. Lysa was

magnetic. Townsfolk flocked to her like moths to the flame, but instead of burning up their wings when they got too close,

she simply kept everybody warm.

Or maybe it wasn’t her at all but the fact that her father was one of the town elders and in good standing with the Ferngloves. No one crossed Lysa’s family.

“How are your parents?” I snagged another treat, and she didn’t object.

“Oh, you know how it goes. No rest for the town elders.” She brushed curled honey hair off her shoulder as she scanned the

crowd. “They’d rather me marry than run a shop, though.”

That didn’t stop them from purchasing her charming store for her. All the elders got a cut of the mines’ profits—and it showed.

From Lysa’s callus-free hands to her pristine attire, she was ever the picture of perfection and wealth.

“Well, I’m thankful for your gift.” I dusted crumbs off my lips before turning to my wares. My fingers traveled over the corked

stoppers as I counted the vials.

“How are the boys? Noam?”

I noticed she didn’t mention Nohr by name. Maybe she hadn’t married because Noam hadn’t picked up on her interest. Hard to

do when he was in the mines all but one day of the week. And of course, Lysa’s parents would object to her tying the knot

with a lowly miner. They might even cut her off from their wealth and reclaim their shop. It had Lysa’s name hanging from

the copper plate above the door, but it most certainly was theirs. And then I’d have another mouth to feed in my home until

she and Noam found a way to sustain themselves.

It was probably for the best that Noam didn’t have a taste for sweets.

“They’re fine. They’re just—”

I never finished my sentence. A sharp crackle, like a log splitting beneath hungry flames, snapped through the air. The crowd fell silent as everyone turned to stare at the arch. A gossamer veil of magic unfurled from the antlers to the ground, fluttering like drying linens in a gentle breeze. The translucent, glittering surface caught in the sun, and suddenly the square was overcome with excited murmurs. An Ever was coming.

“Here we go.” I grasped the edge of my table as I narrowed my eyes.

“What do you think they’re here for?” Lysa gripped her tray and inched closer, just a toe away from joining the throng of

thrilled onlookers.

“Early collections?” I chewed on my lower lip. Our wondrous mine barons typically visited Willowfell only at the end of the

month to review what had been dug up from the bowels of our mountains. They’d make a big show out of appearing, perusing the

local shops and spending more wealth in an hour than I managed to earn in a year. If the elders were lucky, the Ferngloves

would stay for a meeting and some tea. I couldn’t fathom what they discussed. I hardly cared.

“Maybe.” Lysa’s eyes shone with excitement. “What if it’s a Waterstone? Or a Starglen?”

I sincerely doubted that was the case. The Waterstones and Starglens were Ever families who presided over two neighboring

towns, each roughly three days’ travel by carriage in opposite directions. I couldn’t remember the last time one of them deigned

to visit Willowfell.

“Oh, what if one of them is looking for a partner?” she asked in a breathy rush of hope.

My nose wrinkled. Apparently Lysa’s fascination with Evers was the same as the rest of the townsfolk. I didn’t understand

it. How could they trust anything they saw? Evers always wore glamour. They were faker than Milton’s remedies, and there were only whispers of what Evers truly looked like. Sometimes we’d get a rare glimpse of a bestial feature—scales, wings, horns—when they’d parade through town revealing small magics to charm and fascinate the townsfolk. But the true scale of an Ever’s power? Pure mystery. The Ferngloves were known to make the ground shake and flowers bloom, but I doubted that was the full extent of their magic.

To make things worse, Evers had a way with words. They could speak binding contracts into existence with only the slightest

thought—and these magical vows had dire consequences if broken. There was a story passed down in Willowfell about a traveling

vendor who made false promises to the former head of the Ferngloves. The charlatan lost his tongue the moment he tried to

pass off fake everjewels as authentic stones. It was simply sliced off midsentence, no blade in sight.

While the townsfolk found all that power alluring, it was downright terrifying to me.

As if drawn by ropes, the veil parted like curtains and an Ever stepped into our square. I couldn’t see them through the swarm

of bodies and tables, but I knew they’d arrived the moment the glimmering sheet of magic disappeared, and vendors immediately

began spouting their wares at abnormally loud decibels. Anything to grab the attention of an Ever.

A slow-moving chill dredged through my limbs, and my fingers instinctively went to my hair. Still black as night. Safe. But

Evers were immortal and had dedicated their long lives to learning how to harness the magic of our world. If anyone was able

to see beneath my disguise, it would be them.

It was the exact opposite of what I wanted.