I opened my eyes and closed the book. “Nothing beyond what I already feared. I just hope your mother can help.”
Amalyss sighed as she pushed herself into a sitting position and tossed her text to the side. “I don’t understand why Rorik is so resistant to the idea of you accessing his magic. If he would just take his head out of his insufferable ass—”
Her words died in her throat as she went utterly still. A needling chill drifted from the rafters to settle over me like a fine layer of snow, and my gaze shot to the open windows. No clouds. No breeze to speak of. And then it came. A wet rasp with no source that filled my ears just the same and, with it, brought the sour taste of death. Bile crept up the back of my throat as my power surged to the surface.
“What’s going on?” I asked, glancing at Tasia. “Do you feel this, too?”
Before she could respond, Amalyss let out a cry that rent the air and sent my heart racing. Her pupils were blown wide, and she slapped a hand over her neck as her mouth opened and closed. Tasia was before her in seconds.
“Amalyss, what’s—” A startled gasp ripped from Tasia’s throat to strangle her words. Her own hand covered the space on her neck, a mirror to where Amalyss’s was already perched. Slowly, they both rotated their gazes to me and then let the first layer of their glamours fall away. My own power ripped free from my core and came rushing forward. I didn’t bother to restrain it and instead let it unfurl in a billowing glow of moonlight. Amalyss’s and Tasia’s life threads, invisible to all but me, twirled about their frames. Like Rorik’s they were a resplendent, vibrant aquamarine—save one thread each that was now drenched in a horrendous oily black sludge. My gaze shifted to their bodies, and I found the damning pocket of infection at the bases of their necks. The blight was back.
Footsteps thundered from the hall, and their bedroom doors were thrown open. Rorik stood at the threshold, his gaze tearing apart the room until it landed on the girls, with Lydia a breath behind him. She shouldered past him and then came to a complete stop.
“No,” she mumbled as she crashed to her knees, face ashen. “Not again.” Her hands trembled as she stared wild-eyed at her daughters. Tears bisected her cheeks in flowing rivers that cascaded over her sharp jaw.
Panic clawed up my throat and soured the back of my tongue. Why was this happening? How? I’d cured them. All of them. Before I’d left Fernglove and returned to Willowfell, I’d called on my power once just to see what their threads looked like. They’d all been wonderfully clear. There hadn’t been a single trace of blight left on any of them. Yet it was back. There wasn’t even blight festering in the surrounding land, so they couldn’t have contracted it from the earth itself. And all the Ferngloves—infected or not—wore their glamour practically nonstop, which was beneficial in that it acted like a bandage that kept blight from spreading to others.
“Your everjewels?” Rorik asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Amalyss dragged her watery eyes to him. “Intact. I can still feel them.”
“Me, too.” Tasia shifted, and her fingers absently ghosted her thigh. Everjewels were the reason Evers were, well, Evers. They gained immortality by keeping the gems buried deep within their bodies, and their magic was supposed to stave off just about any ailment. They’d never truly worked against blight, but Evers had taken to burying more and more stones beneath the folds of their muscles to help keep the creeping sickness at bay.
“I don’t understand. We were just sitting here,” I said quietly. The spots on their necks were small, but the decay had already started. Their puckered, splitting skin was rotting from the inside, and speckles of yellow loam were just visible in the depths of the black ooze.
Tasia nodded. “It came out of nowhere. I’m not sure what could’ve caused it.”
Lydia crawled toward me on all fours, loose strands falling out of her tight bun to form an erratic halo about her head. A fist wrenched my heart at the sight of her harrowed expression. I knew that fear well. It was still etched into my bones, a memory I’d carry with me to the grave. I’d felt that desperation when I first realized my brothers were infected. My throat thickened as I held her pleading gaze.
“Save them. Please. I’ll do anything.” Her voice cracked. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but they’re my daughters. Please.”
“Mom.”Amalyss inhaled sharply.
“Edira can’t. It’s okay. We’ll be okay,” Tasia said a breath later.
“No!” Lydia’s chest caved with another wretched sob. Her hand flew to her mouth to cup the gasp, and she pressed her eyes closed. A deep pang rooted through my heart, and I struggled to keep my breath even. Just like Vora, Lydia had gained an ounce of hope. It hurt all the more stealing it away a second time.
“Lydia.” I rested my hand on her trembling arm. “I’m so sorry. I wish...”
“I’ll help you. I’ll do whatever it takes.” She stared at me then with enough fierce determination that my words simply died on my tongue. I rolled my lips together.
“Edira has done enough.” Rorik’s voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable edge to his tone. Lydia rounded on him and bared her teeth, leaping to her feet and pressing a stiff finger against his chest without an ounce of hesitation.
“The only one who can decide that is her.” Her brows drew together in a sharp glare. “And if she decides it’s impossible, then fine. But it better be because she’s had every opportunity to determine that. And I do meanevery.”
Static electricity seemed to spark through the room, and my hairs stood on end as Rorik refused to back down. Magic exploded from him, a suffocating display of power. It raged like a summer storm, rattling the furniture and sending several glass perfume bottles from the vanity shattering on the floor. Even the air darkened, and the vines along the roof began to writhe like snakes, their thorns sharpening to elongated points like venomous fangs.
“I’ve made my stance on this perfectly clear. I will not help her.” His words crashed like thunder, and power trembled down our heartbond. It was a delicious caress of pure magic along the inside of my skin, and a shiver raced down my spine. If I could simply grab it and control it myself... I imagined myself pinching it like the end of a needle, like threadmending, and somehow stitching that thread of power deep into my soul. But the moment I tried to reach for it, it recoiled, and Rorik’s focus snapped to me. He called back his magic in an instant, but the cloud of darkness he’d somehow summoned lingered in his endless stare.
I let my own magic recede, and the glow emanating from my fingers died. “Why?”
“Because it’s futile.” Snarling, he finally backed away from Lydia to step toward me. “This isn’t something that can be rooted out. You’ve tried, and you failed. Risking your threads for us when you should be off living is a waste.”
A flicker of pain coursed through his molten eyes, and my breath caught in my chest.
You deserve to live.
He’d uttered that to me once before, so many months ago, when I’d ignored his warnings about Orin and thrust myself into my work as a threadmender. He’d watched me tirelessly sacrifice countless threads of my own just to see if I could cure blight. And he’d hated every minute of it. My gaze fell to the floor. First Seville. Then Rorik. Now Amalyss and Tasia. I had no doubt that Clesian and Lydia would be next. Rorik was right, I should be off living. I shouldn’t care at all about what happens to his family. Maybe if I’d never set foot on his land again, I wouldn’t have. Or maybe if it’d just been Seville. Or just him... But now it was Amalyss and Tasia. If their lives were snuffed out before they even began, and I had the chance to help them but did nothing, could I even live with myself?
