Prior to coming to Fernglove, I’d only ever heard horror stories about magical creatures and their violent natures. I doubtedany of those myths were based off Zota, because one look into his eyes won me over. While he could crush me beneath the weight of his massive body, there was something gentle and kind about his presence. He fervently ducked his head several times over, as if understanding my words and agreeing to accept my help.
Leaning my forehead against his muzzle, I closed my eyes. My breathing slowed as I centered myself and drew on the power lying dormant in my veins. It ignited with ease, flaring to life and speeding through me as a pleasing, rippling current of energy flooded my fingertips. When I opened my eyes, I felt magic gloss over them at the same time a soothing white light ensconced my fingers.
The faint scent of Orin’s power filled the air, and I realized he was removing the glamour from Zota’s appearance. In less than a breath, I was faced with the reality of the beast’s condition.
He was little more than bone and sinew. Gone was his lustrous hide, and in its place was a patchwork display of dried, leathery skin on the verge of flaking away. Zota’s rib cage was exposed, and his head was hardly more than a skull with cracked bones protruding in a crude attempt at a rack. Where his eyes should have been were hollowed-out holes that were lifeless and cold. Blight rimmed every opening, and sickening yellow pustules dotted the expanse of his body. My hand shook as I stared at the space where my fingers met his muzzle. The slimy texture of muscle and puss coated my skin, and I forced bile down with a hard swallow. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes as the stench of death wrapped me in a suffocating cocoon.
How Zota was still alive was beyond me.
My chest heaved in protest as I forced myself to keep breathing. I couldn’t falter. Not now.
“I’ll keep his glamour removed while you work.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Orin studying me.
I nodded, and the power drenching my fingers sharpened to a near-blinding light. “Let’s take a closer look.”
Zota’s life threads bloomed from his center mass and limply fell about his frame. There was hardly any movement to his tar-soaked strands. A few had already petrified and were on the verge of dusting into oblivion. But there was hope. There were still glimpses of color beneath the encroaching blight. I marveled at the threads, pausing as I took in the curious muted teal shade.
She embedded parts of ancient beasts into her being and gained additional strength and power in return.
The first Ever had taken from Zota’s ancestors. It seemed that bestial magic and power shifted the very hue and makeup of Evers’ threads. If I could mend Zota’s threads, then there had to be a way to cure Mavis. And most certainly my brothers.
At first, I did nothing but breathe. Slowly. Evenly. Maybe Rorik was right. I loathed the idea of giving him any credit, but there was something to channeling my breath to strengthen my magic. Time slowed as my heartbeat became nothing more than a quiet thump stretched out over eternity.
Magic pulsed through me heady and strong as I reached for one of Zota’s strands. Gently, I wrapped one around my hand and draped it between my fingers. I knew better than to try to wipe away the putrid liquid. Doing so with my brothers’ strands had resulted in immediate repercussions that hit with a force I couldn’t withstand. What I didn’t comprehend, though, was why blight affected Evers so differently. Mortals who became infected died swiftly. With Evers, it was as if the poison was designed to linger, to eat away at their beings with deliberate slowness so they felt every inch of themselves fading away.
I hadn’t started mending Zota’s threads, but I could already feel the blight prickling against my skin. It sunk deeper and deeper into my muscles and bones with every steady inhale, and with it came a throbbing ache that enveloped me so wholly I couldn’t tell where it started and ended. Black dots danced across my vision as I studied the strand. The sludge bubbled and frothed as it slid acrossmy fingers, steaming as it kissed my skin. Breathing helped me weather the storm as I fought against wave after wave of churning sickness forming in my gut.
Slowly, I cupped my hands around Zota’s strand and willed my power to increase. A blinding orb of light fractured between my fingers, chasing away every hint of a shadow. But the tar remained, save for the spaces where my flesh made direct contact with the life thread. A sizzling met my ears as pain bloomed behind my eyes. Somehow, I held it together long enough to watch the sludge cook away. It re-formed within the span of a few breaths, but for a moment, I’d seen nothing but muted teal between my fingers.
Excitement pushed back against the rising ailments, and I extended both of my arms. Zota’s strands answered by wrapping my limbs entirely, and for a moment, nothing happened.
And then my power faltered under the presence of Zota’s unrelenting blight, or perhaps the magically crafted balm had worn off—likely both. In less than a breath, I was wrapped in his threads with no sharp glow to burn away the blight, and the sickness hit me with an animalistic ferocity I couldn’t have trained for. The gut-roiling stench of decay and mulch filled the stall, and I tasted the brackish flavor of it on my tongue as I gasped for air. Each breath was erratic and sharp, like blades slicing away at my lungs. My bones throbbed with a pain that pulsed in time with my heart. But even as my stomach was churning, preparing to heave my meager breakfast, I caught sight of Zota’s threads now retreating as I reined in my magic.
His teal threads.
Hope sparked for the span of one harrowing breath, then was crushed with absolute certainty as I watched the blight easily regain the ground it’d lost. Tar coated the resplendent threads a tacky black, and they slowly curled toward Zota’s center like withering leaves.
“Edira!” Orin shouted.
I’d nearly forgotten he was there. Slumping fully to the ground, I sought purchase in the dirt and hay at Zota’s feet as I let my power fade away completely. Orin was there, yanking me back toward the stall wall and cradling me in his arms. The movement was enough to send me reeling again, and I pressed my eyes shut until the swaying stopped.
Breathe.
Everything was heavy. My hands. My limbs. My thoughts. I pulled what strength I could from the warmth of Orin’s embrace, but his arms were iron grips against my bruising muscles. His heartbeat was as loud as the town’s bell toll; his breath a turbulent wind that threatened to carry me away with it. It took everything in me to peel open my eyes. Somehow, I managed. I picked a spot in the stall—Zota’s water trough—and focused only on it. It became my anchor, the object of all my attention, while my senses settled. Once the world finally returned to its normal axis and the nausea in my belly stalled, I braved a glance at Orin.
“What happened?” he asked, tucking a strand of sweat-dampened hair behind my ear.
“I couldn’t do it,” I croaked.
“It’s all right.” His brows crawled together as he pressed his forehead against mine. “I still believe in you.”
Exhaustion settled deep into my bones. “I’ll try again. I just need to rest.”
“Okay.” With a tender kiss, he pressed his lips to mine and then scooped me up in his arms. I didn’t want to fall prey to my subconscious, but I couldn’t fight the darkness blooming across the edges of my vision. The fact that I’d lasted this long was a testament to my training and the combination of Ever remedies and my magic. My eyes drifted closed of their own accord, and I sighed. I didn’t remember the trek back to the manor or Orin placing me in my bed. I didn’t remember anything beyond the sound of his feet thudding against the earth as he ran.
Nineteen
Two days passed before I tried to threadmend Zota again. And again, I failed. It went on like that for days—me attempting to threadmend under Orin’s careful watch, and me failing every time, despite the variety of balms I had made and slathered across my skin. The only solace was that each dance with blight left me a little stronger. A little more hardened. After the third time, I needed only a day to recuperate. The fifth, six hours. Of course, Orin insisted I continue to rest and eat normally to give my body every opportunity to replenish itself. Most threadmenders under his care were unable to work again after five or six encounters with Zota. I was faring better, but we had no way of knowing what kind of long-term damage I was incurring.
