“I accept.” But it wasn’t for him. And somehow, Rorik knew.
The golden ribbon of magic tightened against my skin and went taut between us, casting off loam and blight as it burned with otherworldly brilliance. At the same time, my brothers’ threads pulled out of my veins at the sudden influx of power, and they hovered before me half drained of blight. Orin froze. He glanced from Rorik to me, as if sensing the solidified magic of our heartbond. Realization slammed into him, and he roared as he turned toward Rorik.
Time slowed as the magic seeped into my skin. A sense of awareness snapped into place, and suddenly we were tethered. Icould feel the tension in Rorik’s muscles, the anxiety racking his mind as he prayed I’d accept what he had to offer. And the magic. Themagic. It swelled through my limbs and turned my veins gold, and the light surrounding my body was dusted with glittering, gilded flecks.
And then, for the first time, my life threads bloomed to life around me in a visible display of power. They writhed with energy. With Rorik’s magic. Withpurpose. I narrowed my focus to Orin, and they split into hundreds of smaller strands and shot outward in a rush. Several drove into the ground and pushed my body upward so I floated in the sky above the blight and sickness. The rest slammed into the family. Into Seville and Lydia and Clesian and their daughters.
My brothers.
Even Rorik. But not Orin. Never Orin.
And then my veins drained them of their blight.
Black tar was siphoned from their bodies, from their life threads, from the very earth beneath us, and it flowed down my strands like I’d broken a dam. Everyone watched in rapt horror and fascination. My body was cooking with the sudden onslaught of disease, with the arcing pain lancing through my limbs as wave after wave of blight crested against me. The edges of my vision blurred as my breath became harsh. I vaguely registered that Rorik was calling my name, but my head had tipped back to the heavens and tears fell from my cheeks to dampen my blouse.
Not tears. Blood. The ruby-red droplets looked like gems in the light of my magic.
A sickening splash of liquid met my ears, and I tilted my head enough to see Orin had summoned a root and sent it straight through Rorik’s abdomen. Blood flowed from him with the same efficiency as the blight flowed into me. His hands immediately went to his stomach, and they came away red. Then he looked at me and smiled as the color of his eyes dulled.
I felt his life flicker both through our bond and my threads, and I screamed. I screamed with everything I had. I screamed because Orin had stolen so much, and while I didn’t understand why it mattered if he stole Rorik, too, I wouldn’t allow it.
Vengeance filled me to the brim and chased away the pain, and I cast my arm to the side as I commanded one of my threads to slam into Orin. It pinned him to the ground, and I willed my magic to bring my feet back to the earth. Slowly, I walked toward him.
“You wanted my power.” I hardly recognized the timbre of my voice. It was heady and deep and riddled with magic. “Take it.”
With one hand, I summoned several more threads and aimed them at various points in his body. At the faintly glowing gems hiding beneath the surface. I recognized the likeness of my magic in the everjewels, and they throbbed with recognition. Orin couldn’t hide them from me. Not anymore.
I flicked my wrist, and the strands drove into his flesh. I channeled everything I had into them and redirected the blight I’d drained from his family. From my brothers. From everyone who’d ever been a by-product of his schemes. I wanted Orin to have it all. To suffer like we had.
The jewels shattered in an instant, and Orin screamed.
Black liquid surged into his being as the wounds along his skin festered in the presence of more blight. Pustules formed and erupted across the expanse of his chest, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. And then yellow loam frothed in his mouth and coated his teeth. He gagged as sickness slid down his throat. Tar leaked from his eyes. His ears. His nostrils. Gone was the resplendent Ever with power and beauty fit for a king. He was nothing more than a grave.
A full-body tremble overcame him, and he gave one last gargled gasp. Then he stilled. He disintegrated before our eyes, leaving behind nothing but bones. He’d have no chance to join the ancestor tree. He didn’t deserve it. The blight that remainedhardened and dusted to ash, and a quiet breeze carried it away. Gone.
“Goodbye, Orin.” I would’ve said more, would’ve cursed him to the ends of the earth, but my power crashed and, with it, so did I. I hit the ground hard as my vision went black, but before my senses dispersed, I swore I caught the sound of Noam’s and Nohr’s confused voices.
Alive. I’d done enough.
Twenty-Seven
Rorik
Edira was utterly still beneath the woven blanket. Her head was propped on a pillow, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted. It was a sight I couldn’t bear to look at, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Not when I was the one responsible for everything.
Once Edira had passed out on the lawns, Vora sprang into action. She tore through the debris of the manor, and when my family simply gaped at her, she screamed at them to help. I’d never seen Lydia move so fast in all my life. Together with Clesian and her daughters, they built a ramshackle shelter for Edira. Their earthly magic, shockingly calm and gentle in the wake of what we’d just witnessed, birthed a tree that hollowed and surrounded Edira’s still form. Moss crept over the rich bark and softened the ground beneath her body, and I watched in muted shock as Amalyss and Tasia flicked their wrists and urged pebble-sized white flowers to bloom by her side.
It’d taken me several painful minutes to move. The wound Orin had left in my abdomen was weeping blood, and I’d peeled off my shirt to tightly bandage it around my stomach. Later, I’d properly dress and care for it, but all I wanted in that moment was to get to Edira. Adrenaline did the rest of the work, numbing the pain to a dull throb, and I rushed to Vora’s side to help her secure one of Edira’s apothecary cases that’d been pinned beneath a beam. A breath later, Vora was kneeling beside Edira, and her fingers maneuvered deftly between vials as she secured tinctures and muttered ingredients aloud. Seville unloaded a blanket and pillow from her arms before returning to help Lydia sort through the mess of Fernglove.
Days passed and Edira still hadn’t moved. Neither had I. I stayed in the small, hollowed-out tree and watched through the open archway as my family summoned magics to slowly clear away the debris. The manor was destroyed beyond recognition, and while many of the surrounding buildings also suffered massive damage, they were at least still standing. Lydia and Clesian were quick to dole out orders, and I was surprised to see Seville take them without argument. But her gaze was distant, always snagging on the horizon even long after the sun had set.
After a week of working with Lydia and Clesian, Seville finally approached Edira’s shelter. Her throat bobbed as she stepped inside, and I wondered if she’d stayed away for the same reason I refused to leave: guilt.
“How is she?” she asked.
“No change.” I glanced at Edira’s still form.
Seville studied me for a long moment. “At least she looks better.”
