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 impacton 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. “Fortunateis 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 abouther 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 heardwhispers 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 expected 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.
