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Walking through the double doors of Fernglove Manor was like stepping into an entirely different realm. The communal hall

was colossal, with a polished double staircase that swept upward in a subtle curve. Dark hardwood floors spanned the entire

layout, and ornate wrought-iron chandeliers draped in pewter crystals hung on chains from impossibly high ceilings. The oak-paneled

walls were adorned with either rich oil paintings or stained-glass windows, and I found myself looking forward to the morning

light just to see what colors would flood from the artful masterpieces.

I assumed all Evers had elegant estates, especially the Ferngloves with their ownership over Willowfell’s mines. But this was opulent in a way I could never have fathomed, and yet . . . My gaze slanted to the rows of closed doors. Silence. Rorik strode past me, his booted feet thudding harshly against the floor. The sound reverberated endlessly throughout the hall, and again I was struck by the hushed emptiness of it all. I followed him without speaking, passing by credenzas laden with potted hyacinths of pastel purple, dusty rose, and ivory. Inhaling deeply, I expected a pleasing burst of fragrance to settle over me. Instead, I was met with nothing more than stale air and dust. My brows drew sharply together. Hyacinths were the very essence of spring, the perfume of the season. The whole floor should’ve been thick with their aroma.

“In here,” Rorik said, his gait rigid as he strode through a set of open double doors.

We moved into a formal dining room, complete with a grand oak table that could seat at least twelve. A cream-colored lace

runner embellished with forest-green leaves and bloodred roses stretched from end to end. Robin’s-egg-blue plates fringed

in gold rimmed the table, and a pile of food waited untouched in the middle. Rorik paused before a chair and gestured for

me to sit. I hesitated at the threshold and tried my best to ignore the savory scent of herb-crusted chicken wafting through

the air.

I couldn’t help but think of the power these Evers wielded, of how my aunt had been whisked away or how the traveling vendor

had lost his tongue. I’d entered willingly into a contract with Orin, but would that stop him or his family from making me

more obedient? Subservient? Could they bespell my meal to make me comply without question? Perhaps the gossenberries, a vibrant

yellow fruit composed of tiny drupelets, would make me susceptible to enchantments. The wine was likely just as dangerous,

if not more.

Fear trickled down my spine. “I want to see my brothers.”

“After you eat.” Rorik braced his hands on the high-backed chair.

“I want to see them now .”

One brow arched toward his hairline. “If you want to wander aimlessly around the estate in the hopes you find them, be my

guest.”

My hands curled into fists. “You won’t take me to see them?”

“ After you eat, someone will escort you.” A belabored sigh escaped his parted lips, but there was an unmistakable edge to his words. “The others will join us shortly. I suggest you fill your plate before they arrive.”

“How do I know it’s safe?” I inched closer. My stomach ached with twisting hunger, but I couldn’t risk consuming something

that would leave me vulnerable.

“So many questions. Are you always this insufferable?” he murmured. When I didn’t respond, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s safe.”

Tension gathered between my shoulders, and I glared first at him, then the food. “Safe for you or safe for me? Tell me a truth

that can’t be twisted, and I’ll eat.”

“You want me to vow that the food is safe? Back the promise with magic?” He cocked his head in my direction, and the corners

of his lips tipped up in a smirk. “Suspicious little mender. Maybe you’ll survive us after all.”

He released the chair to stalk toward me, and a devilish glint flickered through his golden eyes. Everything in me screamed

to run, but I held my ground and clenched my jaw tight. As he paused before me, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his

black pants and dipped his head close to mine.

“The food is safe for consumption and free of ensorcellment or poison.” An earthy scent of moss and dirt accompanied his words,

along with a flowing rush of coolness over my skin. Ever magic. Something about this power felt ancient, as if his magic was

birthed from the land itself and would remain if his bones ever rested in the ground. Tension snapped between us as I held

my breath, and he studied me for a moment longer before straightening. “Well? Will that suffice? I have promised it is safe.

If my words were a lie, I would end up suffering the consequences in your stead.”

At that, I blinked. I’d only ever heard of vows negatively impacting mortals. If that were the case... “Is it wrong to

pray for accidental food poisoning?”

He chuckled darkly. “Keep those wits about you. Now, eat.”

In a matter of moments, I was seated with my plate and goblet filled. “Can you at least tell me if my brothers are all right?”

Rorik ignored the food entirely and filled his crystal chalice to the brim with a deep red wine. “They’re infected with blight.

It’s safe to say they’re not all right, but they’re still alive.” He took a long pull from his drink. “You can thank Orin

for that.”

As if his name summoned him, Orin strode through the open doors with a wide smile. His brown locks were damp as if he’d freshly

bathed, his tanned skin bright. Mirth filled his ivy-colored eyes, and he swept into the room as if he were hosting a party

among friends.

“Edira, I’m thrilled you’re awake. I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone.” He was dressed in lavish emeralds again, and

the gold buttons along his vest winked at me as he took the seat at the head of the table. An attendant dressed in modest

brown attire slipped into the room from a butler’s door and immediately began filling his plate. After she poured him a hefty

dose of wine, she disappeared.

“How many of you live here?” I draped a linen napkin over my lap and then clasped my hands together. Gods only knew what would

cause these arrogant immortals to erupt, and I wasn’t about to let poor etiquette be the first of my offenses as a new resident

of Fernglove Manor. My stomach could wait.

“You’ve met my brother, Rorik, and our younger cousins, Amalyss and Tasia.” His easy grin was genuine, and the tension between

my shoulders loosened a fraction. “Aside from us, there are four additional family members and a handful of attendants who

also live on the property.”

Rorik said nothing as his brother spoke, but he draped a long leg over the arm of his chair and indolently leaned into the wooden rungs at his back. With listless eyes, he studied the rafters framing the ceiling. His apathetic posture had little impact on his brother’s exuberance, though, and Orin continued on without interruption.

“We’re also fortunate in that our lands neighbor those of two other Ever families: the Waterstones and the Starglens. Their

children attend lessons here with Amalyss and Tasia under my guidance.”

At that, Rorik snorted. “ Fortunate is an interesting word choice.”

Orin waved him off. “We’ve had our differences in the past, but it’s imperative the youth are educated together so they can

be better than we are.”

Rorik dragged his attention away from the ceiling long enough to pin his brother with a stare and a smirk. “Did you say that

when Flix stabbed you in the hand not two weeks ago? I must have missed that lesson.”

Orin’s answering smile was stiff. “You’ve missed many lessons, brother.”

Harsh footsteps carried from the hall, punctuating Orin’s and Rorik’s words, and a woman breezed into the room. “Are you two

at it again? Honestly.” She leaned over me, not bothering to push back her sheet of blond hair and instead letting it smack

into my face. With long, delicate fingers, she snared the wine carafe and poured herself a glass. Only then did she adjust

her locks and slant her ice-green eyes toward me. With a quick dart of her tongue, she wet her lips. “Why, hello, dear.”

A tingle shot through my limbs as I took her in, and I wasn’t sure if it stemmed from fear or longing. This Ever was sultry—and

it seemed like she knew it. Like it was a weapon she wielded with deadly efficiency.

Rorik went back to ignoring the table entirely, while Orin stood and opened his arms wide. “Seville, my dear sister.”

She sauntered toward him, planting a quick kiss on either cheek before slipping into the chair to his right. Everything about her was sharp: the tip of her nose, the edge of her jaw, the points of her ears. She was hewn from diamonds, and her pale skin practically glowed with hidden light. While I knew all Evers wore glamour, she had mastered it to absolute perfection. She toyed with the hem of her long-sleeved tailcoat, the color an identical match with the wine in her glass, as she considered me.

I was suddenly too aware of the dull, false color of my hair and my crumpled blouse. Of course I’d meet perfection incarnate

while looking like the carriage had dragged me to the estate instead of riding comfortably inside.

“Is this our new threadmender?” Her question was more of a purr, and I fought the urge to shrink in my seat. Again, an attendant

appeared and expertly picked from the array of displayed food to make a plate for Seville. “We should’ve found someone younger.”

“Yes, this is Edira,” Orin said as he returned to his chair. “And you and I both know that her age has nothing to do with

her abilities.”

Before Seville could add anything else, Amalyss and Tasia bounded into the room, followed closely by two more Evers who were

undoubtedly their parents. The woman’s honey-blond hair was pulled tight in an artful bun, highlighting the same severe chin

as her daughters. But her skin was fair and dotted with freckles, and her jeweled blue-green stare was sharp. The man was

impossibly broad with full lips and warm mellow-brown skin like that of fall leaves. His eyes were a rich brown, their hue

a deeper shade than his daughters’. Without greeting anyone else in the room, they sat together in a row and waited for their

food to be plated.

“Our aunt, Lydia, and her heartbond, Clesian,” Orin continued by way of introduction.

My gaze lingered on Clesian and his quiet presence. Heartbond. Orin had uttered it with a soft reverence, and while I’d heard whispers of the term growing up in Willowfell, I couldn’t understand why the undertone of his voice hinted at the kind of awe and wonder reserved for miracles. Maybe Evers were slow to wed, and the idea of a spouse was both foreign and cherished.

“And last, but certainly not least, Mavis, our grandmother.” Orin clasped his hands in front of him as the rest of the table—even

Rorik—rose. I did the same, pushing away from my untouched plate to face the woman who waited in the opening to the dining

room.

It was jarring to see such a youthful-looking woman be acknowledged as their grandmother. Not a single wrinkle dared to mar

Mavis’s rose-tinged fawn skin. Her round, doe-like eyes were brassy, her hair the color of wheat. It flowed around her frame

like a tumbling wave to kiss the top of her waist. Her floor-length dress covered everything, but I spied the hint of a tattoo,

a sword’s pommel, teasing the edge of her neckline.

Immediately, I glanced at Orin, at the broken sword on his neck with the same pommel as his grandmother’s. He moved around

the table to take Mavis’s hand and guide her to her seat beside me. She eased into it, her willowy frame trembling like dying

leaves clinging to a branch. The others all glanced her way without directly looking at her, as if they didn’t want to fully

acknowledge the state of her weakened body. She sat limply in front of an empty plate, and no attendant appeared to fill it.

The moment she was seated, the family followed suit and began eating. Slowly, I took my place by Mavis and speared a small

portion of chicken with my fork. It was as if a wall had been constructed around Mavis and me. No one spoke to us. No one

looked our way. When they discussed house matters—like Amalyss and Tasia griping about mucking stalls—they did it with a sort

of haughty superiority and underhanded malice that made me thankful I wasn’t part of the conversation.

“You were out of line, Rorik. My daughters will not be ex pected to do such menial work.” Lydia’s upper lip curled in a snarl as she glared at Rorik.

He waved a dismissive hand in her direction, which only caused a fire to ignite in her already sinister glare. “Yes, of course,

how dare I reprimand poor behavior. Gods know their parents aren’t.”

Clesian growled a low warning, and the metal fork he fisted bent from the pressure of his fingers. “Do not pretend to know

what it is to be a parent.”

“How civilized.” Seville sighed with a pointed look to the ruined silverware. Then she drained her glass and signaled for

more wine from the attendant.

“As if your manners are anything to make note of,” Lydia spat. Beside her, Amalyss and Tasia kept their gazes down and their

words to themselves. Smart.

Seville’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “Oh, my manners are the least of your worries.”

At that, Orin placed his palms on the table with a firm thud, and all eyes rounded to him. “Can’t we just eat for once? Lydia,

the girls will have stall duty for a week.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he shot her a hard glare that had her lips

forming a thin line. “Be glad it’s not more. Seville, stop antagonizing.”

“If you say so,” she murmured into her now full glass.

The table fell into a strained silence, only the scrapes of fork tines drifting through the air. I knew before I’d finished

dinner that I couldn’t expect kindness from anyone outside of Orin. And possibly the matriarch, who’d been relegated to the

same status as me. She hardly moved the entire duration of the meal, but there was something in her eyes that gave me pause.

I couldn’t place it, couldn’t quite figure out what it was about her distant stare that blanketed me in unease. She might

not have been involved in the family’s mealtime quarrels, but something was happening behind her thick veneer of glamour.

“Girls,” Lydia said by way of command, and her daughters stood abruptly in sync with their parents. “We’ll be in our rooms. Don’t bother us.”

Orin raised his glass in acknowledgment, and they departed without a backward glance. The thick tension snapping through the

air fizzled to an uncomfortable prickle, and I set my fork down on my cleaned plate.

“Don’t pay them any mind,” Seville said, voice as syrupy as her brother’s. “They’ve been holding a grudge against us for decades.

They didn’t think it was fair for Orin to become head of the estate after our father passed.”

“I see.” It was the best I could muster. The last thing I wanted was to get in the middle of their decades-old drama.

“Yes, well, I’ll do my best to uphold Grandmother’s wishes.” Orin glanced at Mavis.

I swallowed the unease clambering up my throat. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I thought you were a threadmender. Can’t you figure that out?” Seville’s upper lip curved in disdain.

“I can activate my magic and look without needlessly sacrificing threads.” I held her gaze without flinching. “But if you

already know, why not just tell me?”

“Maybe you’re just lazy,” Seville drawled.

My brow twitched. “Hardly.”

“Seville.” Orin glared at his sister for a moment before sighing. His eyes fell, and he toyed with the rim of his glass. “Mavis

is sick.”

“With blight?” They were immortal, and yet Orin had made it a point to seek out threadmenders to rid the world of this deadly

illness. If they were truly immune like me, why bother in the first place?

An uncomfortable, pregnant pause followed my question until, finally, he nodded.

I couldn’t help my surprised snort. “Really? I always assumed you were immune.” I glanced back at Mavis. “How long has she been sick?”

“Years.” Orin swallowed thickly. “We still don’t know how she contracted it—or how much time she has left. Months, at best.”

Pursing my lips, I tilted my head toward her. She didn’t acknowledge me at all. “Can she hear us? Speak?”

“I haven’t heard her talk in...” His gaze lifted upward as his lips remained parted, as if counting silently, before finally

returning his focus to me. “It’s been too long. She hardly even moves on her own, likely to conserve what energy she has left.”

My gut tightened. “You know I don’t know how to cure this.”

“Not yet.” He braided his fingers together. “But I hope, with time, you’ll learn. You’ll have our vast resources at your disposal.”

“Do any of those resources involve adding more years to my life?” I muttered, unable to keep the sarcasm from creeping into

my words. If there was a means in this world to eradicate blight, someone would’ve found it already. Unless they had a way

to grant me more time on this earth, more threads to sacrifice in my efforts to learn more about this illness, then their

resources meant nothing.

“Don’t forget about your brothers.” Seville’s eyes practically glowed as she stared at me. “You need a way to cure blight

just as much as we do.”

Low ringing sounded in my ears. She was right, of course. And if I did find a way to cure blight, Orin could simply command

me to threadmend his grandmother under the terms of my employment before I even got to my brothers. I wouldn’t have the power

to say no. Even now, I could still feel the weight of his contract, as if his bargain had chained me to him and this place.

Understanding settled over me with a cold calm. This was the play all along. I’d known about finding a cure for blight, certainly,

but not that I’d be mending an Ever who’d harbored the disease for years . What would curing something that persistent even do to me? Could I survive threadmending something like that and my brothers? I wasn’t sure. But until I found out, I could hide in plain sight. No one knew what threadmending looked like.

Only I possessed the power to see life’s threads. Onlookers would only observe an outpouring of moonlight from my body as

I worked, which meant the only proof of success came from ailments being cured.

I could wear a mask and plaster on smiles, move through Fernglove and play my role without ever breaking face. I could be

demure. I could be brave. I could be smart or weak or arrogant or fearful. I could be anything. I could be everything . I would stitch whatever role I needed with sutures through my bones, and no one, not a single Ever from Fernglove or anywhere

else, would be able to see the real me. I would bide my time, learn what I could, and then find a way to save my brothers.

Steeling myself with a breath, I turned my focus back to Mavis. “She shows no visible signs of blight. Glamour, I’m assuming?”

“The thickest.” Rorik chuckled, and the hackles along the back of my neck stood on end.

Orin shot him a glare. “We afford her that dignity, so that she does not appear weak.”

Everything about Mavis seemed weak. Focusing on the minute rise and fall of her chest, I tried to find the crack in her glamour,

in the subtle shifts of movements. Maybe then I could pry apart the veil and gaze upon what lay beneath. But her mask was

strong, and the only thing I succeeded in doing was sparking an ache behind my eyes.

“It will be hard for me to mend if I can’t see the truth,” I said, shifting my attention to Orin.

He studied me for a long moment. “When you’re ready, we can discuss removing her glamour. Until then, we find it best to keep her condition hidden. Not to mention, our glamour acts as a bandage to keep her blight at bay, and we don’t want to needlessly risk anyone else getting sick.” He gestured to one of the attendants still quietly manning the wall with her hands clasped behind her back. If she was surprised by the news of Mavis’s illness, she didn’t show it.

“Gods forbid we taint her reputation,” Rorik muttered.

“Mind your tone, Rorik,” Seville snapped. She flashed her pointed fangs in a hiss. Rorik shrugged, then placed his empty chalice

on the table.

“All right, you two. Seville, take Grandmother to bed.” Orin stood and brushed his hands along his vest. “Rorik, do whatever

it is you do—just not here.”

Rorik stiffened in his chair, his golden eyes alight with an intensity that seemed steeped in history. “Edira requested to

see her brothers. I was going to escort her.”

“I’ll handle it.” Orin brushed him off with a flippant wave before coming around to my chair and extending his elbow. “Come.

I’ll show you the way.”

Everything in me screamed to ignore his proffered gesture, but I wound my hand around his arm for the same reason I waited

to eat: fear. I wasn’t sure I could trust these seemingly innocuous acts of kindness. Even though they needed me to save Mavis

as much as I needed them to keep my brothers alive, I couldn’t let myself forget that I was now living in a den of monsters.

They’d manipulated me into working for them, and they’d do it again without a second thought.

No, there were no kindnesses here. And the sooner I cured Mavis or died trying, the better.

“I’m sorry,” Orin said quietly as we exited the dining room.

“For?”

“That.” He gestured limply over his shoulder, defeat tugging at his frame and making him seem almost vulnerable. The ratcheting anger

in my chest dulled, and I let out a heavy exhale as he continued. “And for not immediately telling you about Mavis’s blight.”

“It’s all right.” Was it? I knew I’d been recruited to help cure blight, but I’d assumed it’d been some of the attendants

who were infected. Not an Ever . I stared at the floor as we made our way to the foyer and climbed the stairs. A few steps groaned beneath our combined weight,

and the quiet creaks filtered through the air and seemed to grow louder as they bounced off the near-silent halls. For a house

so full of stuff, it was incredibly empty.

Orin’s gaze flitted around, as if following the hollow sound, and he sighed. “Dinners like that never happened when my parents

were around. Everything was so much easier back then.”

A familiar pain simmered deep in my heart. “If you’re the head of household now, was your father before you? Or your mother?”

His smile was wistful. “My father. He was an incredible person. If I turn out to be half the man he was, I’ll be happy.”

“I’m sorry he’s not around,” I said, though I wasn’t quite sure why. Likely because Orin’s voice carried a small, aching tremor

of hurt that I knew all too well. It called to me and softened some of the fear still lingering in my bones.

Orin’s smile was sad. “I’m sorry for your loss, too.” He must have been referring to Rowena, but my heart faltered for a breath.

I wasn’t ready to share my parents’ death with him. I hadn’t talked about it with anyone. Who could really understand? Who

could comprehend the guilt, the agony, of having the power to heal but being so utterly helpless and incapable when they needed

it most? Orin watched me closely until we reached the far end of the hall. He paused before a set of double doors. “Your quarters

are through here.” He nodded toward the brass handles. “We have dinner as a family every evening. You’ll be expected to attend.

You may take your other meals however you please. Of course, if you’d like someone to dine with, I’ll join you whenever you

want.”

“Well, if I find myself in need of dessert or a stroll, I know who to ask.” I arched a brow as I repeated his earlier offer,

and he grinned.

“The offer still stands.” His gaze roved over me, lingering for a second on my clothes. Something raw and dangerous flickered through his eyes. “We did manage to bring a few of your things, but our attendants have taken the liberty of filling your wardrobe with additional garments.”

A slow-moving heat climbed up the sides of my neck. “Should I even ask how you managed to secure my measurements?”

The curl of his lips was downright provocative. “I provided some of your clothes as reference. Pity it wasn’t a more...

hands-on assessment.”

A playful spark lit his gaze, and words escaped me as heat rushed over my cheeks. Evers and their words. This was undoubtedly

a ploy to unsettle me, to make me more amicable to his orders. And yet, the intrigue in his stare had me biting my lip.

Finally, he laughed. As he straightened, he removed his arm from mine, giving my body—and mind—space to process his words.

“Someone will be by in the morning to assist you with whatever you require and go over your schedule for your work.”

“My brothers?”

He pivoted toward another closed door on his right. “This is normally an attendant’s room, but we had them placed in here.

You may visit whenever you have free time.”

My hand was already on the knob when I halted. “Thank you.”

“Thank you , Edira.” With gentle fingers, he caught a lock of hair lingering against my cheek. He rubbed the strands together, and a

faint black film spread across his thumb and forefinger. Sadness flared in his eyes. “I can only imagine that you hid all

these years because of us. I don’t know what you’ve been told about Evers or what to expect, but...” He seemed to grapple

with his words, swallowing twice before continuing. “At least you don’t have to hide any longer.”

A shiver crept over my skin, and his gaze trailed the gooseflesh down my neck. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the stairs. I didn’t linger in the hall any longer than necessary. The moment Orin began his descent, I bolted into my brothers’ room and shut the door behind me.

The ornateness of the space was subdued in comparison with the rest of the manor, but it was cozy with a small hearth, a polished

armoire, and a double bed with a simple frame. I didn’t care enough to marvel at any other details. My brothers were there,

encased in shimmering caskets and suspended in the air just inches above the off-white sheets. Faint green mist coated their

bodies, leaving only their necks and pale faces exposed. They were breathing—slowly—and most certainly alive. Their eyes moved

restlessly behind closed lids, and the first hints of blight—the festering black mold—lingered in the corners of their mouths.

But it wasn’t devouring their skin. Yellow bubbles would blossom and burst, but instead of spreading along their still visages,

the fumes simply plumed into the air and the mist suppressed it.

Slowly, I pressed my hand against the magical barrier of Noam’s casket. I hated that it felt like a coffin.

“Oh, Noam.” Emotion thickened in my throat, and I forced down a hard swallow as tears stung at my eyes. I moved around the

foot of the bed to place my other hand on Nohr’s case. “Nohr. I’m so sorry.”

And that was all it took. One moment I was standing, my arms shaking as I palmed the caskets holding my brothers, and the

next I was a heaping mess on the floor. Sobs racked my chest in hard waves, crashing against my ribs and rendering my breath

useless. At one point, I instinctively reached for my mother’s leather, only to come up empty-handed and fall into another

spiral of erratic sobs. I was utterly alone. I had no ties to my home, save my brothers. They were here, but they weren’t

really here . And I wasn’t convinced I was strong enough to save them. Pulling my knees inward, I curled on the ground and wrapped myself in a ball. Be tween the dying fire in the hearth and the plush rug against my cheek, it was enough.

I didn’t leave their sides. I never saw my room. I fell asleep at the foot of their bed and dreamed of carved wooden roses

with embroidered leather leaves, somehow infested with blight and dripping in golden beetles.

My home, my heart, was infected, too.