“You are as kind as ever. My family and I look forward to seeing you at the silver fete.” He bowed slightly, just enough to show respect but not so far that he couldn’t keep his eyes locked on her.
“Of course, but until then, I would like to resume my shopping.” Seville turned her back on him without waiting for his answer, leaving me to stare wide-eyed at his retreating form.
Orin had said he’d look after the people of Willowfell; I just hadn’t expected him to follow through. I’d expected some twist of words that would leave him the benefactor of the promise, and yet I could see a bit of polish to the town that was lacking before. New tables free of splintering wood. Heavier coin purses among some of the patrons.
A quiet ringing settled in my ears, and the warmth in my chest blossomed. I had no problems admitting my attraction to him—at least inwardly—but this was dangerous. This felt emotional.
“Ah, here we are.” Seville’s eyes snagged on a brick storefront with oak shutters and large bay windows full of mannequins. The crowd parted as she strolled forward, making it easy for us to find ourselves in front of Mrs.Marlow’s shop. My gaze lingered on the windows for a moment, and a flash of something brilliant stole my focus. At first I thought it was nothing more than the sun’s reflection on the freshly cleaned glass, but then a small beetle appeared from behind the leaves of the climbing ivy on the wall. A golden beetle.
A faint smile teased my lips. Despite the creature not bringing me good fortune during my last venture to market, there was something welcoming about its presence. It soothed the rattled emotions brought on by revealing my status as a threadmender, and the tension in my shoulders eased. Seville paused for a moment, her hand on the bronzed handle of the shop door. For the briefest of moments, her gaze shifted to the insect. Then she chuckled to herself as she breezed into Mrs.Marlow’s store. My brows crawled together as I followed in her wake. She was planning something, and I had the feeling I’d bear the brunt of whateverhumorousendeavor it was.
A bell tinkled as we pushed open the door, though the announcement of our arrival was unnecessary. Mrs. Marlow wasalready standing in the entryway with a wide, ecstatic smile and bright eyes. Like the rest of the townsfolk, she faltered for a beat as she took me in. Wringing her hands, she dipped into a low bow.
“Welcome back, Lady Fernglove,” she spoke to the floor, but her giddy voice carried the same fervent desire as everyone outside. After a moment, she righted herself and gestured to a small dais positioned before three floor-length mirrors. “I’m assuming you’re here for the fete? I do have some premade gowns, but I can clear my agenda if you’re looking for something bespoke.”
“Likely the latter.” Without looking my way, Seville gestured with two fingers. “What do you think, Edira? Has she ever crafted anything original for you?”
Mrs.Marlow shot me a pleading look. I had no doubt she’d tailored custom creations for the more well-to-do townsfolk, but the most I’d seen out of Mrs.Marlow was unfinished off-the-rack fabric.
I wondered if she would have offered more, had she known I was a threadmender.
“She was going to reupholster my couch,” I said with a shrug. “Not sure if she got around to it, given I left shortly after that agreement.” A strange sense of satisfaction brewed in me at her dropped jaw. Seville looked at me with a raised brow and a slow-moving smile.
“Well, adorn me better than a couch.” Seville stepped onto the pedestal and stared at herself in the mirror as Mrs.Marlow flew into action. She bustled through the shop, selecting bolts of brightly colored fabric and a selection of garments from one of the racks toward the back. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen her move so quickly.
“Why was she going to repair your furniture?” Seville asked. She studied me through the mirror, and I did the same, angling to catch her reflection.
“Payment for fixing her son’s broken nose.”
Seville stilled. “Threadmending?”
I held her gaze for a long moment. “No. Just proper care and some balm.”
“Have you ever threadmended before?” Seville scowled at herself in the mirror. “Such inexperience. I hope Orin’s not wasting his efforts on you.”
“Twice.” I hovered by the window, catching sight of the beetle’s underside. “I tried to cure my parents when they had blight.”
I didn’t know what prompted the words to slip from my mouth, and I stalled at their sound. Perhaps it was being back in Willowfell after everything I’d learned, everything I’d seen. Perhaps it was the fear that if I didn’t figure this out, I’d be burying my brothers beside my parents’ graves in a matter of months. Weeks, even.
Seville was a statue. “When?”
“I was thirteen.”
The long-buried memory began to unfold before my eyes. It’d been snowing, flurries blanketing the earth in a thick layer of white. The fire in the hearth had been crackling and warm, and I’d curled by it with a quilt while my brothers played in their room.
My throat bobbed as I searched for words. “My mother was afflicted first. She was making us lunch. She dropped something, and my father went to check on her. The next thing I knew, they were both sitting on the kitchen floor babbling nonsense.”
Mrs.Marlow returned to hold a strip of fabric near Seville’s exposed neck, and she dismissed the seamstress with a brusque “Shoo.” Then, much softer to me: “That’s horrible.”
I nodded. I hadn’t understood much about threadmending then, just the few lessons I’d held on to from my aunt. But I saw my parents’ wild, sickly threads. Felt the cool whisper of death. I remembered screaming. I remembered shaking them and begging for their lives as if that would’ve been enough to fix their condition. I remembered rushing to my brothers’ room and barricading the door from the outside so they wouldn’t see.
And then I remember running back and tapping into my power, only to fail.
“I obviously couldn’t save them. Expending that kind of power without any semblance of control... I passed out. When I woke, their bodies were already decomposing on the floor.” I’d never forget the sight of black mold and rot and putrid mustard-yellow spores sprouting from their chests. I’d wrapped them in rugs and dragged them to the graveyard myself. I didn’t have to bury them. The blight had done that for me. Later, when I’d recovered, I’d gone back and erected simple headstones where their bodies had disintegrated. It’d done nothing to alleviate the hollow ache in my chest, but it’d beensomething.
Silence filled the quiet shop, and even Mrs.Marlow kept her distance. The townsfolk, of course, knew how my parents had died, but the details I’d never shared. I looked back to the window and relished the warmth of the sun. The soft rays chased away the chilling memory, and I rubbed my hands along my arms.
“And the second time?” Seville asked.
