“What if you see something I can’t? What if you’re able to piece together a way to blend our magics better so I can live longer?” Between strengthening his magic within me and teaching him how to recognize mine, maybe there was a better chance of learning how to protect the threads I had left.
He watched me carefully, a flicker of curiosity threading through his otherwise hardened gaze. Slowly, he nodded. “Fine.”
“I’ve never done this before, so bear with me.” I turned toward him and held out my hands on the surface of the pool. Water slipped between my fingers and over the lines of my palms until he covered my hands with his. Heat bloomed from his touch, and the warmth settled me. I smiled, reveling in the rough scrape of his calloused fingers, and centered myself with a breath. My power was eager and ready, and it blossomed outward from my body like the petals of a flower greeting the sun. The tension in Rorik’s frame evaporated, and he closed his eyes for a moment. I felt him poke at our bond, searching for the source of my magic. A sudden, tender warmth spilled through me and sent a gasp from my lips, and his eyes flew open. Concern laced his features, but I shook my head.
“I’m fine.” I watched as a moonlit glow ensconced his fingers and an ethereal glow bloomed outward from his eyes. “Seems like you found it.”
His throat bobbed. “It’s... I don’t know how to explain it.”
“I know.” I couldn’t help but grin. Threadmending was so much more than a power to be harnessed; it was the very essence of life. It was an appreciation for what existed and an understanding that all things came to an end. It was precious and warm and fleeting. It was the water slipping between our fingers. A thing that could only be caught for a moment.
“I don’t know how this will work,” I said after a few breaths, “but I’m going to look at your threads now. Typically, threadmenders can’t see their own, so I have no idea if that will hold true for you or if your magic has shifted the nature of things.” I thought of how, when I first accepted Rorik’s heartbond and channeled the blight from the earth, I’d seen all my threads. They’d been coated in the resplendent gold shell that protected our bond, and I’d commanded them with a vigor I’d never known. Still, I hadn’t seen them since.
“Will I be able to see yours?” he asked, voice barely audible.
“I think so. Threadmenders can see other threadmenders’ lifespans, just not their own. I don’t see why it would be different for you.” I tipped my head toward him and met his gaze head-on. “Ready?”
“Yes.” That single word was so gravelly and heated and full of emotion. I wanted to understand him completely, even if he didn’t want or need my attention. Centering my power, I willed it to bloom further and watched in awe as his life threads unfurled from his frame, peeling away from his body like ribbons dancing in the wind. They were a resplendent and dazzling aquamarine, and their light reflected with the brilliance of polished gems in the clear surface of the pool. I spotted the one damning, wayward thread coated in wretched black tar, and it dimmed the budding awe in my chest. My power thrummed in recognition of the sickness, begging me to find the source of the blight and root it out. I couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Edira.” Rorik wasn’t looking at me directly but around me, and I stilled. This was the first time he’d be able to see threads, and now that he knew how to access my magic, he’d likely be able to do it again on his own in the future. Just like I hoped to do with his magic. And yet, his broken gaze told me that he wouldn’t be looking again anytime soon. Slowly, he shifted his stare to me.
My stomach plummeted to the bottom of the pool. “How many are there?”
Rorik’s throat bobbed. Once. Twice. “Not enough.”
The headache from earlier returned, a dull murmur behind my eyes. I winced but tried my best to smile. This wasn’t a shock. Maybe to Rorik, but certainly not to me.
“Edira...” His voice was painfully soft. I couldn’t stand how it made my fears crawl to the surface.
“It’s okay,” I said gently, pulling back my power and quietly erecting my own barrier on my side of our heartbond.
He opened and closed his mouth to speak, but no words came out. I’d never find out what he intended to say, because at that moment Ywena came fluttering through the cavern. Her endless chittering was a shrill warning that echoed through the cave, and both of us riveted our eyes to her.
Something was wrong at the house.
Thirteen
Images flashed simultaneously from Ywena to Rorik and me, and I was lost in the flurry of pictures. Her frantic energy filled the air, and she was too distressed to clearly iterate what she saw.
Rorik immediately shot out of the pool and came to stand before her. “Easy. Try again.”
I did the same, making a beeline for my clothes and quickly dressing while her images once again paraded through my mind. The lawns outside of Fernglove, the stable hands working with the stags, attendants tidying the courtyard, a lone visitor walking up the steps to the entrance of the manor...
The pool had tried in vain to turn me into an ice sculpture, but the last image from Ywena froze me in place. It was as clear as the water we’d just bathed in. The Ever from the market. She was at the house.
“A visitor? I don’t recognize her,” Rorik said with a frown.
“I do,” I said quietly.
Rorik tensed. “How do you know her?” He was still shirtless, still covered in droplets of crystalline water and looking like a god of wrath. His fangs had elongated to prick against his bottom lip, and his eyes had gone black.
“I don’tknowher. She’s the Ever I saw. The one we were hoping was a hallucination.” He opened his mouth to demand more, but I held up my hand and kept going. “I swear I didn’t know she was real.”
“Well, clearly she is,” he spat, clenching his hands into fists by his sides.
“I told you about her. Why are you mad at me?” I took a step toward him.
He sucked on his teeth. “Sevilletold me about her. Not you.”
