A soft grunt pulled my focus, and I looked up from the ground. Rorik had draped his shirt over one of the low-hanging limbs of the tree and was bare-skinned, holding a sword in one hand. He swung it through the air in an artful, sweeping arc and halted his thrust just before the tip came crashing into the earth. Every muscle on his back was taut, his shoulders defined and broad, the Fernglove crest emblazoned on his spine. The broken sword was perfectly poised in the center, and the surrounding insects flared out over his shoulder blades. With every harsh movement as he went through his drills, they took flight across his muscles. Danced along his tendons. Moved when he moved.
I wondered if he’d stab Orin through the heart for me if I asked.
“Get an eyeful while you can.” Rorik spoke without turning to face me and continued to thrust his sword through the air. “Soon, you won’t be able to do so without repercussion.”
My temper was a hair trigger away from becoming full-blown, unfettered rage, and he had no idea how close I was to combusting. I bit the inside of my cheek for a moment before speaking. “Repercussion? And what would that entail?”
“How would I know? Ask your heartbond.”
There was a bite to his words I couldn’t ignore, one that matched my own hidden anger, and I pressed my lips into a hard line. “Do you have a problem with what I’m doing?”
With a definitive thud, he sank his sword into the earth and rounded on me. It was impossible not to gape at the defined planes of his chest, at the contours and grooves along his stomach and waist. He was absolutely gorgeous, and while there had been a moment of strained frustration in his gaze, it evaporated when hecaught me staring. A different heat filled his smoldering gaze, and his lips curled to reveal pointed canines.
“I have lots of problems where you’re concerned.” He closed the gap between us so there was hardly any room to breathe. A bead of sweat rolled down his sternum, and he absently brushed it away.
I tracked the motion and remembered the feel of his fingers exploring my waist while we danced. The gentle brush of his touch along my jaw before he pinned my chin and threatened to kiss me without saying anything at all. Then all the anger and heartache that had been building from the moment I opened Rowena’s letter came splintering to the forefront, and I spat venom at his feet.
“What the fuck is wrong with you and this mess of a family?”
“Everything.” His brow tightened as he scoured my face, searching. I’d never felt more scrutinized in my life than in that moment. His golden gaze was heavy against my skin, and it only caused more heat to surge through my veins. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“And how could I?” I snapped. “Tell me, Rorik, how the fuck was I ever supposed to survive this place?” I filled every word with menace, never once backing down. “No one here is honest. You want me to save you? Save the family? Why the hell would I? I can’t trust any of you!”
“And you shouldn’t!” he roared. His expression tore through my anger, because it didn’t make sense. There was rage, certainly. But there was also desperation. Anguish. The muscles of his neck strained against his skin as he stared me down. “And I never asked you to save any of us. If anything, I told you to live.”
I’d already opened my mouth to argue, but at that my words died, because he was right. From the moment I set foot in Fernglove, he’d treated me not as a threadmender but as a person. He was rough and callous, sure, but he didn’t give a damn about whatI cured. He didn’t praise me when I succeeded, either. To him, every use of my power was a waste of my life.
A quiet sense of resolve filled my bones, and my words came out soft. “Tell me what you and Orin were talking about the other night in his study.”
A bolt of lightning struck Rorik’s spine, all anger fleeing in less than a breath. His eyes were wide. “I knew I sensed you.”
“I was curious.” I watched his throat work as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Instead, he clenched and unclenched his jaw. Swallowed thickly. When his conversation with Orin had lulled, Ywena had reacted. Rorik must’ve communicated with her somehow, urging her to get me to stay. He’d wanted me to hear that conversation. Could I trust him?
“Ask me whatever you want, Edira.” The intensity of his gaze hammered into my bones. “Please.”
It was that single word that did me in. The strained plea full of so much weight, so much emotion. Rorik never asked for anything, but he asked for this.
And I obliged.
“What’s the evervow? The one Orin mentioned?”
There were no visible ties holding Rorik back, but there was an immediate release that raced through his form and loosened his muscles.
I carry the weight of unspoken burdens in my bones.
Apparently, there was someone who’d been more bound in this manor than me. And now he was free.
“Finally.” He rubbed his hand over his throat. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever get there. The evervow prevents us from directly speaking about it to anyone unless they already know of its existence. Over the years, a few have found out in similar ways.”
“That’s why Ywena wanted me to stay. To listen.” Hope began to bloom in my chest. If Rorik was willing to share this family secret with me, then maybe we could break it. Maybe he could help me save my brothers. “What does the vow entail?”
“No Fernglove can seriously hurt another. We can’t leave our lands for more than a few months at a time, either. And finally, no one can outwardly oppose the head of house, which used to be my father and is now Orin.” Rorik scowled at the manor. “If Orin wills something for the good of the family, we must obey.”
“And you all agreed to this?” I raised an incredulous brow.
“Not intentionally.” Rorik’s lips curled in distaste. “My father was excellent at wording contracts. He enjoyed binding people to his will, and he was powerful. Not powerful enough to stop the blight from eating him alive, though.” A gleam of satisfaction flared in his amber eyes.
“He seems delightful,” I muttered. “Why on earth would your father make a vow like that?”
