Rorik let out a brittle chuckle. “Gain? And what on earth could you possibly gain from this place?”
“Not from this place.” My heart thundered in my throat. “From you.”
“Oh?”
“The bond. I want to learn how to use it.”
Surprise flashed through his stare. “You’re not an Ever. You don’t have the skill or latent talent to handle our magic.”
“I’ll show you exactly what skill and talent I do have,” I spat, resisting the urge to punch him square on the jaw.
“No.”
“I’m not leaving here until you teach me something.”
“Fine. Stay as long as you like.” Slowly, he leaned down so our noses were only inches apart. “I will never force you to do anything against your will. Unless you forgot about that promise, too.”
The dining room disappeared as I fell into a memory and found myself standing outside for the silver fete. He’d asked me to dance. I’d been stricken with his beetle-black eyes, with his gilded wings and the tailored cut of his sable suit. With the ruby stain of wine on his lips, his smirk full of dangerous want. I’d been unable to find my words at first, and my voice had been nothing more than a hoarse whisper as I questioned whether he was commanding me to take his hand.
He’d responded with soft, heated words as he dragged his finger along my neck.
I would never force you to do something you didn’t want to.
Rorik watched me closely, as if he could see me parsing every moment of that memory, and a satisfied smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. Then his attention dropped to Ywena, who’d been quiet from her nest on my shoulder, and she let out a low chitter. Rorik’s expression softened, the leer shifting to a hesitant, almost sad look, and he extended one finger to gently graze the curve of Ywena’s wing. His gaze never left her as he spoke.
“Do what you want, Edira. But I’ll take no part in it.” With that, he abruptly turned on his heel and left. The magic he’d summoned followed him out, and Ywena flapped her paper-thin wings in agitation. A series of images—all of Rorik, his smile too genuine and raw in her memories—flooded my mind.
“Go,” I murmured, and she left without another word from me. He’d once given her to me for comfort, and while I didn’t understand why, it felt like he needed her now for the same reason.
“That went about as well as I expected.” Vora tipped her head back and sighed. “I’m going to check in with some of the attendants and see how they’re doing. It’s been a while.” She started for the archway but paused, her hand lingering on the polished wooden frame. “Should I have a room made up for you?”
There was no judgment in her eyes, only a sliver of concern that felt too permanent these days. “No sense in going back tonight,” I said.
Vora nodded once and then left, and I took that moment to finally find a seat beside Seville and pour my own much-needed glass of wine. With Rorik gone, the rest of the tension evaporated from the room, and Amalyss and Tasia came bounding around the table to sit beside me. Amalyss heaped roasted chicken and savory, buttery green beans onto my plate, while Tasia took it upon herself to fill me in on all that they’d been doing for the past few months. Lydia and Clesian said little, only offering small clarifications here and there, but their timid smiles were real, and they leaned against each other with a sense of love and relief. It was so starkly different from how they used to be. Before, they’d been an icy front of disdain and skepticism—Lydia more so than Clesian, but neither had been truly approachable—as if they were holding their breath in preparation for death. But now, they were breathing for the first time in years.
When I’d finished my dinner and Amalyss and Tasia had run out of things to say, Lydia finally cleared her throat. “So, what now?”
I rotated the stem of my crystal glass, eyeing the last eddies of wine. “I convince Rorik to help me.”
“You can use those feminine wiles he finds so alluring,” Seville mused.
I rolled my eyes. “And what about your blight?”
“No threadmending.” Tasia gripped the edge of the table and leveled me with a firm stare so like that of her mother that I couldn’t help but raise my brow. “Rorik is right. You’ve done enough.”
“Don’t try to convince her otherwise, either,” Lydia said as she tipped her chin toward Seville.
“I won’t.” Seville’s gaze was locked on an indistinct spot on the wall. “But maybe learning how to salvage her own life will provide insight on how to prevent the blight from spreading further. Instead of curing the incurable, we can protect what’s left.”
Amalyss’s eyes widened. “That’s right! What can you do? Have you figured out how to call on the earth yet?”
Seville smirked. “She can’t do anything.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly rude?” I growled, shooting her a glare. Seville threw her hands up in mock apology.
“We can help you,” Tasia said as she gestured between herself and her sister. “I mean, we’re not tutors by any means, but we spent years listening to”—a look of disgust marred her expression, but she forced herself to continue—“Orin. Plus, Mom has taught us a few things along the way.”
Lydia watched me carefully for a long moment before dropping her gaze. “I’m sure we could help to a certain extent, but it would go faster if her heartbond were the one to guide her. This isn’t some latent family power that has always lived in her blood. This was a gift.” She looked at Clesian with such warmth that it felt wholly wrong for us to witness it. I could never look at Rorik like that.
