To make things worse, Evers had a way with words. They could speak binding contracts into existence with only the slightest thought—and these magical vows had dire consequences if broken. There was a story passed down in Willowfell about a traveling vendor who made false promises to the former head of the Ferngloves. The charlatan lost his tongue the moment he tried to pass off fake everjewels as authentic stones. It was simply sliced off midsentence, no blade in sight.
While the townsfolk found all that power alluring, it was downright terrifying to me.
As if drawn by ropes, the veil parted like curtains and an Ever stepped into our square. I couldn’t see them through the swarm of bodies and tables, but I knew they’d arrived the moment the glimmering sheet of magic disappeared, and vendors immediately began spouting their wares at abnormally loud decibels. Anything to grab the attention of an Ever.
A slow-moving chill dredged through my limbs, and my fingers instinctively went to my hair. Still black as night. Safe. But Evers were immortal and had dedicated their long lives to learning how to harness the magic of our world. If anyone was able to see beneath my disguise, it would be them.
It was the exact opposite of what I wanted.
Three
I packed my first case in seconds. It was time to leave. I’d miss out on the afternoon sales, but the entire town was too distracted to shop. The likelihood of me peddling even one more tincture dropped the moment that veil appeared. I was willing to lose the few pieces of silver to avoid dealing with an Ever who only saw me for my magic.
I still remembered the day a Fernglove came to visit Aunt Rowena. I was only five and couldn’t recall the words they’d exchanged, but I’d never forget her expression. It wasn’t full of joy or excitement like the rest of the townsfolk. It was full of fear. She’d shut the door on the Ever’s face with a strained goodbye, then offered a shaky smile as she knelt to the ground and grasped my shoulders tight.
Keep dyeing your hair. Cure no one.
I’d barely had time to grapple with her words. She’d only just healed my mother the day before, and that seemed like such a valid use of my aunt’s power. One day she was there and the next she was gone. My mother took me with her to my aunt’s house that morning to find it utterly quiet. She’d raced through the roomscalling Rowena’s name, but my aunt never answered. My mother rifled through drawers and searched for clues with a frantic energy until she stalled before a small bookshelf in the living room. I’d never forget how still she went when her fingers grazed the binding of my aunt’s poetry journal. It was pulled out a half inch farther than the rest of her books, as if it were begging to be read.
My mother had flipped it open, and a small note fell from between the pages.
I love you and your family, Faye. This is not your fault. They’ve come back for me, but it will be okay. Keep Edira safe.
My mother sank to the floor and clutched the paper to her chest, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed. I ran to her and climbed into her lap, and we didn’t move for an hour. But after she’d wrestled with her grief, her guilt, she hid her emotions behind pursed lips and tore the note to shreds.
We never spoke of that day again.
Even if we had, if my mother had gone to the elders and demanded vengeance, nothing would’ve happened. Maybe they would’ve pitied her for a moment, but that sentiment would’ve quickly shifted to something more pandering.
We were lucky an Ever chose her.
How fortunate for your family.
How do you know she didn’t go willingly?
And the elders would never admit their role in all this, or how they’d prospered from her disappearance. I couldn’t prove it, either, but I knew. In my gut, I knew.
After packing my first leather case, I moved to the second.
“You’re leaving?” Lysa asked, her attention split between me and the parting crowd.
“My remedies are of little interest to Evers. Plus, I’ve already sold enough today.”Lie.In my peripheral vision, a flash of gold winked from beneath an ivy leaf. The beetle crawled forward a few inches, and its antennae twitched.
So much for luck.
Dropping my gaze, I began pushing in the drawers of my case when a hand with long, slender fingers adorned with polished rings touched my wrist. The motion was as gentle as checking for a pulse, and yet I couldn’t help but flinch.
Slowly, I raised my chin. He was beautiful—all Evers were—but he exuded a sense of regality that demanded attention. No, adoration. Effortlessly wavy oak-brown locks fell to his shoulders and teased his square jaw. Keen green eyes framed by thick lashes watched me intently. As if the sun had decided freckles were simply too mundane for someone like him, his skin seemed to be infused with golden flecks.
It was absolutely unfair that anyone looked likethat. Then again, he was glamoured. Maybe he looked like a toe beneath all that magic.
But theclothes. My mother would’ve been beside herself. He wore a paisley silk cravat tucked into an emerald vest trimmed in gold stitching. The sleeves of his fern-colored tailcoat were rolled and cuffed above his elbows, exposing corded forearms that had no business being that tantalizing.
He tilted his head, and his locks fell behind his shoulder, exposing an intricate sword tattoo along his neck. The masterpiece was awash with gray and lined in heavy black, the hilt adorned with a single ruby gem and framed by bone-white flowers with gray leaves. The blade itself was severed, the jagged edge dipping toward his collarbone. Insects of every kind swirled around the broken metal. Butterflies. Moths. Bees. Beetles. Where everything else was inked in graphite, the insects were an artist’s palette exploding with vibrant color.
Fernglove. And not just any Fernglove, Orin Fernglove. Head of his estate and overseer of our mines’ profits.
The same Ever who’d come for my aunt all those years ago.
