Zelyria blinked. “I told you, we’reallsick.”
All sounds deafened at her words and heat stung at the backs of my eyes. All of them. Not just the Starglens or the Waterstones or even the Ferngloves. All Evers. Every. Single. One. The fringes of my vision dimmed.
“No,” I murmured. “That can’t be true.”
“Our glamours are difficult to pierce. They’re carefully layered sheets of magic. The more you peel back, the easier it is to rip apart the whole thing and discover the truth.” Dagas folded his arms across his chest. “It would be simple enough to trick you into thinking you’d seen it all, when in reality, you likely only scratched the surface. Even our lands are filled with the disease.”
Orin in the study. His body on display, his beautiful enhancements and unparalleled power.
And then another truth hit me like a kick to the stomach. Nota single member of Fernglove smelled of anything. Their scents were as absent as the hyacinths’ in the foyer, because everything was masked beneath countless layers of glamour.
To hide the stench of blight.
I wanted to vomit. I’d been tricked into believing Mavis was the only sick family member, but it was the entirety of Fernglove. And even if I managed to find a cure, I’d never have the lifespan to save them all and my brothers.
But none of that mattered. Not now, as I faced down a family who was already out of time. I could see the panic in their eyes, in the desperate, hungry way they focused on the magical shade of my hair.
Hours ago, I’d thought myself untouchable. Now, I knew how wrong I’d been.
And I wasn’t strong enough to stop them. My gaze cut to the opening in the ceiling and the night sky. With a subtle shift, I pressed against the unforgiving tree limbs. I had no chance of escaping, either. I looked back at the Starglens. At Zelyria, Dagas, and Briar. Jules was still missing. Was that her angle all along? To distract Rorik so her family could steal me away? But then certainly Orin would notice. He’d have to.
I just needed to keep them talking and pray that, with enough time, the Ferngloves would become aware of my absence—along with the majority of the Starglens—and come to my aid. I didn’t want to be anywhere near Orin after what I’d discovered, but he was the only one capable of saving me in that moment.
“You must know that I can’t cure blight. Not yet. Otherwise, the Ferngloves would be healed,” I said.
“You’d also be dead.” Dagas shrugged. “Your body wouldn’t be able to sustain that many rounds of magic. Better to take you before that happens and have you expend your talents on us.”
My heart hammered in my ears as they inched closer. How could I prolong something they’d been dying to acquire? Imagesof Tasia and Amalyss surfaced in my mind, their desperate ploy to get me to threadmend. They’d been terrified. Both of dying and of Orin’s wrath. They’d hardly spoken to me for fear of repercussions. Maybe the threat of Orin’s power would terrify the Starglens, too.
“Orin will come for you.” I forced my voice to remain steady, to lace it with as much heat and promise as the Ferngloves often wielded when they spoke down to me.
It didn’t work. “A risk, of course,” Zelyria said.
“But if you manage to cure us...” Dagas reached forward and wrapped my hair around his finger. “No one at Fernglove could stop us.”
Panic clawed at my throat. “But Orin—”
“Deserves to be punished!” Dagas roared. The tree responded to his words, tearing into my gown and impaling sharpened, fingerlike twigs into the soft skin of my sides. Pain splintered from my stomach, and the warm, sticky heat of blood dribbled down my legs. A scream burned through my lungs as I writhed in place.
“A life for a life.” Dagas’s eyes burned with rage. “It seems fair, after Lorelei. He cherishes you like we cherished her.”
Lorelei. The name rattled through my brain. She was the Starglen the attendants had mentioned while arranging flowers for the fete. “What happened to her?”
“Dagas”—Zelyria gripped her partner’s arm tight—“we will get our justice, but only if we take care of ourselves first. Don’t take your anger out on the threadmender.”
Dagas forced out an exhale, but the ire remained in his gaze. “Fine. Cure us, then, threadmender. And we’ll tell you whatever you desire. Consider it a vow.”
“I can’t cure you,” I wheezed. “I can’t.”
“Try,” Dagas commanded, and the twigs burrowed deeper into my sides. White-hot agony arced down my legs, and I shrieked as my vision swam.
Breathe.But I couldn’t. I couldn’t focus on anything otherthan the digging of fingers beneath my skin, pulling at muscles and worming between tendons as blood spurted over my gown. I pressed the back of my head against the tree as my vision darkened. Deeper and deeper the fingers went, entrenching in my limbs as if I, too, were destined to become part of the bark. I knew I was screaming—I could hear it in my ears—but it sounded so distant. So separate from me. I could hold out and die or threadmend and die. The choices weren’t really choices, but at least one would buy me some time. If I could deceive them long enough, then maybe there was still a chance I could be saved. The idea of relying on anyone else to come to my rescue burned me to my core, but I was running out of options.
Igniting my power, I brought my focus back to the Starglens. All at once the tree halted its advance, and relief sang through my bones as the writhing limbs pulled back a fraction. Dagas, Zelyria, and Briar stilled as they stared at my moonlit eyes.
“Your threads.” My voice was raw and coated with agony, but I steadied my breathing as I took in the limp strands of their lives. All of them. Only a few, virulent aquamarine threads remained. The rest were soaked in tar and lifeless, waiting for their final moments before solidifying and dusting to ash.
“I need my hand.” I tilted my chin slightly toward my pinned arm. “Just one.”
