“Edira,” he whined, dragging out my name. He searched my face for a moment, his gaze lingering on my hair before shifting elsewhere. My breath caught in my chest, and I resisted the urge to finger the black strand framing my cheek. I’d only just dyed it a week ago. A current of anxiety wove through me, but I refused to acknowledge it. I was safe. No one in town knew.
“Yes, I can fix it.”
“Will it hurt?” An ache of fear gnawed at his vocal cords. That tiny mewling sound was like a royal doctrine I was obligated to follow, and I sighed. My lack of self-control would be the death of my pockets if I kept offering my services for free.
Of course, that was better than putting one foot in the grave by resorting to threadmending. I flexed my hand, fighting with the still lingering prickling in my fingertips. It didn’t fully subside—and it wouldn’t until Toman’s injury was resolved or he removed himself from my presence—but it’d dulled enough for me to focus.
“Only a little. Promise.” At that, I stood and made my way to one of the open shelves lining the walls of my kitchen. Jars and vials marked with my own handwriting clinked a quiet hello as my fingers maneuvered through them. After a minute of searching, I secured a small container with a corked lid and a vial with milky-white liquid: healing balm and numbing serum.
Before Toman could shy away, I’d tilted his head back and used a dropper to add the serum to his nostrils. The numbing agent worked quickly, and his face slackened as pain fled from his expression. A relieved smile tugged at his lips.
“Now to set it.” I sank back onto my chair. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Toman said, pulling my focus back to him.
“All right. Close your eyes.”
Steadying myself with a deep breath, I cast away all thoughts of the day: the sounds, the smells, the sticky sensation of heat from the cast-iron range cooking away at my back. I stared only at Toman’s misshapen nose. Again, my power called to me. Begged me to study the threads of his life, to find the frayed edges that needed repairing and stitch them together, but I pushed the impulse away and instead focused on the practical art of medicine.
I brought my hands to his face, pressing my thumbs on either side of his nose and pushing into the break. Toman gave a pained grunt—nowhere near as bad as it would’ve been had I not used the serum—as I realigned the bone, and then it was done.
“There.”
With careful fingers, Toman tested his newly re-formed nose. “How does it look?”
I cracked a warm smile. “While I’m partial to suitors my age, I think you look rather dashing.”
Boyish charm flooded his face. “Thanks, Edira. You’re the best.”
“I know. Here.” I handed him the healing balm and watched as he opened the lid to inspect the heavy cream mixture. “Apply nightly to speed up the healing process and eliminate lingering pain. You’ll be fine in a few days, but take it easy in the meantime. Understood?”
“Will do!” His grin was wide as he bounded toward the door. He was already down the walk before he turned to wave goodbye, and I sighed as I returned the gesture. He hadn’t even bothered to clean the blood from his face.
To be that carefree.I shook my head, and my hair dusted along my cheek. A familiar swell of unease trickled through my stomach, and this time, I allowed myself to finger the loose strand. Still black. I rubbed the lock between my forefinger and thumb, only to frown at the dark film that began to smear across my skin. I needed to make another batch of dye to hide my telltale moonlit hair. If even a rumor of my power somehow spread throughout the town, the Evers would be at my door, and I’d disappear just like my aunt had, whisked away by the Ferngloves to cure gods only knew what until she likely passed from wasting so many threads of her own.
Swallowing thickly, I moved to the kitchen and set to work, splitting my focus between my remedies and the concoction for the dye. The afternoon quickly slid into evening as I tore at leaves, ground stalks, and brewed tinctures over the roiling heat of our stove. At some point, I paused to light one of the oil lamps clinging to the wall, and burnt-orange light bounced off the sludge-like surface of the cooling charcoal dye. I changed in my room into a thin nightgown splattered with ink-black stains and returned to the kitchen.
Careful not to spill, I angled my head over the massive pot and drowned my hair in the viscous liquid. I was fortunate to still have enough of a base coloring in my hair that the dye would likely set within the hour. Better than waiting for it to fully fade and having to sequester for the day so the townsfolk wouldn’t catch me in the act. It was an exercise my aunt had done herself and taught me early to help keep my power hidden. Not everyone in my family was born with the power to threadmend, but enough had been blessed—cursed, really—that a handful of best practices had been passed down through the years.
A horrendous annoyance, to say the least, but a necessary precaution. Better to have charcoal-coated locks than be dead. Thank the gods I wasn’t as vain as some of my tittering neighbors.
Satisfied with the thick layer of sludge now clinging to my hair, I twisted my locks into a tight bun. The dye hardened quickly, forming the worst kind of cakey, uncomfortable bonnet, and I returned to my remedies. As I counted vials and allocated herbs, I let out an annoyed groan. If I wanted to purchase enough flour and fresh meat for the week, I’d need to produce and sell at least a dozen more tinctures. Otherwise, we would have to dip into our reserves of dried venison to make it through. Before I could begin brewing another tincture, a heavy bell toll rang through the quiet evening air. The miners’ shift was at an end.
Looking up from the ever-increasing number of pots piling high around me, I glanced through the open window. The golden beetle I’d freed was nowhere to be found, and the first smattering of stars winked back at me. Soon, Noam and Nohr would be home, and they’d want the kitchen to prepare supper. They’d willingly taken up cooking to grant me time away from the stove.
My fingers tapped against the wood-plank counter as I stared out the window, checking to see if they were already loping up the path to our home. Nothing yet. I sighed and began clearing what dishes I could. Willowfell had two mines nestled against the mountain—one for sapphires and one for garnets. Those without hefty inheritances or education were forced to toil away in their cool depths, which meant my brothers never had a chance to become something else. They’d been working since the moment their bodies could carry the weight of a pickaxe just to help us survive. The job wasn’t easy. Or safe.
Of course, if they were lucky enough to unearth an everjewel, all that would change.
There was a loud grunt, followed by the door wildly swinging open and crashing against the wall. I rolled my eyes. Our fathermust have had the gift of foresight to create an ornate archway instead of a door.
“Any everjewels today?” I called without looking in their direction. It was the same greeting I offered every time Noam and Nohr returned from work—one that was always met with silence or groans of frustration.
The stones were rare and coveted by Evers. In my life, two workers were fortunate enough to find an everjewel. Both times, one of the Ferngloves, Evers living on the fringe of our town and owners of the mines, had left their manor to handsomely reward the laborer in person. Every prominent city or town stretching across Glaes had at least one Ever family to preside over the land. The Ferngloves came into Willowfell sparingly, but when they did, everyone always rushed to grovel before their immortal feet.
Except for me. I couldn’t risk being discovered. Not by the very people who I’d long suspected were responsible for the disappearance of my aunt. She wasn’t the only threadmender who’d vanished in recent years. Rumors had begun to spread throughout Glaes, thanks to traveling merchants who moved about our country and traded wares as well as gossip. Most townsfolk passed it off as an oddity and nothing more, but I saw what they refused to acknowledge: threadmenders went missing only in places where Evers ruled.
“Edira!” Nohr shouted, pulling my focus. I turned to find my brothers stumbling through the entryway, a limp body strung haphazardly between them like a loose clothing line. With gentle motions, they laid a young man on our weathered sofa.
