Vora’s hands stilled against my scalp. “They’re being adequately punished for their actions. They won’t try that again.”
“What kind of punishment?” I asked.
“It doesn’t concern you.” She let her hands fall away and then reached around me to secure my empty plate. “That said, I strongly recommend you avoid the family until things have settled.”
My brows drew together. “Why?”
Vora sighed. “Lydia and Clesian are not pleased with Orin’s decision to admonish the girls...” Her words trailed off, leaving plenty of space for me to interpret the danger lying in wait somewhere in this gods-forsaken estate. No doubt they blamed me for whatever Amalyss and Tasia were now enduring at Orin’s hand. “He’s ordered everyone to give you space, but most of the family is quite good at skirting his word.”
“As evidenced by last night,” I said with an eye roll. “Speaking of Orin, do you know where he is?”
“He told me to bring you to the library,” she said as she made her way to the door. “Shall we?”
“Unless you know of another way to earn my keep outside of threadmending.”
Vora snorted. “Follow me.”
We moved through the quiet manor until we reached a cavernous room packed with weathered tomes. The sheer curtains framing the countless windows were drawn open, allowing light to fill the rafters and catch on the crystal chandelier draped from the ceiling. A tufted sofa was positioned before a polished coffee tableand two armchairs with matching cream-colored fabric. A stack of slim books was arranged on the table, along with a pile of blank papers and ink pens.
“He’s just finishing an appointment. I’ll let him know you’re ready after I drop this off,” she said as she balanced my empty breakfast plate in her hand. She exited quickly, hooking a left once she crossed into the hall. As she disappeared, I breathed in deep, savoring the faint scent of worn leather.
Dust motes floated in the beams of sunlight, and I waved my hand through the air as I eyed the space. We didn’t have many books at home, but the few novels we did own I’d read more times than I could count. I moved to the stack of books on the table and dragged my fingertips along the thin spines. They were more like journals than novels, but beautifully crafted nonetheless. I lifted the first one off the pile, marveling at the ivy-green cover and gilded pages. There were no markings to be seen, but when I flipped open the weathered journal, I spied a single name in neat handwriting along the top of the page.
Rowena.
My fingers hovered over her familiar scrawl as a weight dredged through my gut. This was likely the last piece of my aunt left in this world. And while I knew I’d eventually have to turn the page and learn about her time here at Fernglove, for a moment, I could simply stare at her name and pretend that she still existed—that the life we once shared in Willowfell still existed.
My heart hammered in my throat for what felt like hours, until a quiet yet insistent cough forced me to look up. Orin stood a few inches away with a drink tray in hand. Twin mugs with faded blue flowers painted onto the ceramic were filled with tea, and a small dish of sugar cubes sat beside them. With a smile stretching from ear to ear, he placed the tray on the table and sidled up beside me.
“I see you found what I wanted to review with you.” Then hisgaze drifted to Rowena’s name, and his expression sobered. “She was an impressive threadmender.”
“I know.” I swallowed thickly before sinking to the sofa. “I miss her.”
Orin sat beside me and offered me a mug of tea. “I hope her journal, along with all our previous threadmenders’ journals, will help you refine your talents. They’ve learned many things about the scope of their magic over the years.”
I accepted the drink and took a slow sip, surprised by the delightful blend of jasmine and orange blossoms. The warmth of the tea settled me, and I trailed a finger along Rowena’s journal. “Thank you. These are... invaluable.”
“I imagine so.” Orin pressed his mug to his lips. “I can’t fathom having a magic that is a detriment to practice.”
Cure no one.My aunt’s own words. I wondered if I’d find that warning again outlined in her entries, but Orin was right. Part of the reason threadmenders knew so little about developing their talents was because the risk was often not worth the reward. We shared small learnings with each other, passed down from one generation to the next. But nothing would compare tothis. I eyed the stack before me again as a seed of hope bloomed in my chest. I could do this. I could study the methods they’d developed and learn from their failures. Here, their whole job had been dedicated to perfecting their magic. It may have cost them their lives, but maybe I didn’t have to lose mine.
Orin watched me closely, his tea forgotten in his hands. After a beat, he set it on the tray and shifted so his leg just barely grazed mine. “I’ve read all of these myself, but I do think they’ll mean something different to you. I can only imagine the power they describe.” He looked at my hands then, a kind of rapt curiosity filling his expression.
I gripped the mug tighter as I tried in vain to ignore the wild desire to ignite my power, just to see if he’d marvel at my glow thesame way he did that day in my house. “It’s probably best if I read them myself first.”
“Of course. I’m here to support you however you need.” He leaned closer, and I tilted my head toward him. He was no more than a breath away. I inhaled deeply, hoping to catch a sliver of his scent, but came up empty. There was nothing but clean air and the faint aroma of the library.
“I’m sure I’ll need your help after I get through these.” I thumbed the binding of Rowena’s journal before nodding to the others. “You know the magic of your kind better than any threadmender.”
His hand absently skimmed the side of my thigh. “Consider me an open book, then.”
My traitorous heart was thundering madly in my chest, and I briefly wondered if he could hear the damn thing cantering about. I hoped not. I didn’t even fully understand why I was inching toward him, why it felt good to be near his warmth.
“Thank you for this, by the way.” I held Rowena’s journal between us, effectively drawing his focus to the pages. “I’ve thought about her all these years, and now it’s like I get to see what her days were like. What I missed.”
Orin placed his hand over mine. Pressed it tight against the journal, against a piece of my family. Our fingers nearly threaded. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“Me, too.”
