“As you know, participation isn’t required.” Kara’s gaze slid to Seville. “Though I do hope all of you enjoy everything this fete has to offer.” With that, she tipped her chin by way of goodbye and turned toward the bridge. Her humming lingered in the air long after she was out of earshot, and I kept my lips sealed until I saw her activate the ley line.
“My brothers.” The words flew out of my mouth the moment she disappeared. “We need to keep them safe.”
“We can move them to the manor until this is resolved,” Seville said. Her gaze tracked the glittering particles of magic dusting the space around the smooth white stone of the ley line marker. “We’ll need to send a carriage now to get them here before nightfall.” She opened the doors to the manor and poked her head inside, muttering quick instructions to the nearest attendant.
“You think they’ll come?” Rorik peered at me with drawn brows.
“I don’t care. I’ll drag them here myself if I have to.” I turned away from Rorik and Seville and stormed toward the ley line. In my peripheral vision, I saw two attendants head toward the stables, hopefully to alert them of the sudden need to ready the stags. Rorik and Seville caught up with me quickly.
“I understand the feeling, but where are you going?” he asked.
“To Willowfell. I’ll talk to them before the carriage arrives and let them know what’s happening.” My booted feet pounded against the cobblestone, and a few attendants tending to the hedges and flowers very smartly avoided my path.
“Edira.” Rorik snagged my wrist and gave a gentle tug, halting my panic-fueled march. “They’ll be okay.”
“Once they’re here, yes, they will be okay.”
“And what will they think of you going to a coupling fete in some foreign Ever’s lands?” Seville asked.
We had stalled near the brook separating Fernglove Manor from the surrounding wilds, and the ley line marker waited just on the other side of the bridge. I could still feel the staticky swell of magic in the air even across the water. “That’s irrelevant.”
Rorik barked out a laugh. “I’m sure they’ll feel that way, too.” I shot him a glare, and he just shook his head. “It’s dangerous no matter how you look at it. That said, I won’t interfere. You can decide how to explain what we’ll be doing—truthfully or otherwise.”
I nodded once. “Good.”
“I’ll go with you two. I’ll notify the tailor of our needs for the fete,” Seville said, a twinkle in her eye lighting at the prospect of clothes. Her appetite for fashion was unending. The prospect of a fete was no doubt a justifiable splurge.
“I’m sure Mrs. Marlow will be thrilled,” I said. We started walking again, crossing the bridge and reaching the ley line in a matter of minutes. “What is the theme, anyway?” I’d only glanced at the invitation after it’d been passed among the family. The whirlwind of the last twenty-four hours had been enough to fill my thoughts to the point where I’d almost forgotten it was, actually, a fete. And if it was anything like the silver fete hosted by the Ferngloves earlier this year, it, too, would be a spectacle beyond compare.
The mirth in Rorik’s eyes fled. “Do you remember what Clesian said about coupling fetes?”
“Yes. They’re for the purpose of finding a potential partner to have a child with.”
“And other, more base activities,” Seville said. “The point is, it’s not a ‘theme’ in the sense you’re thinking. The attire requirements are always the same.”
“It’s a fete. I imagine it will be flashy and ostentatious regardless.” I offered my hand to Rorik as I placed the other on the white marble structure. Seville placed her own palm on the stone. Magic purred beneath its smooth surface, just waiting to be commanded. Rorik stared at me for a moment before taking my hand.
“I suppose you’re correct.” Power flourished from Rorik’s touch and raced down my arm, through my blood, through my very bones, and a pleasing shudder rushed through me from head to toe. The ley line reacted, and a mist of green plumed from the stone and enveloped us entirely. Fernglove Estate faded away as the world melded together in a swirling beautiful mess of colors and shapes. A peaceful quiet filled the vein of magic we occupied. It lasted for only a few moments, and then our feet were on solid ground. A sheet of glittering motes rippled through the air like a curtain in the breeze, and I looked up to see the familiar arch erected in the center of Willowfell. Thankfully, it wasn’t market, but there were still plenty of onlookers who paused about their day to excitedly whisper about our unexpected appearance.
Rorik didn’t release my hand as he steered us toward the tailor’s. Seville’s grin nearly split her face. “I’ll need ample time to arrange our wardrobes for the event. See you in a bit.” She knocked once on the door, and Mrs. Marlow came bustling to the storefront with bolts of fabric pressed flush against her bosom. She fiddled with the handle until she finally managed to steel her excitement enough to open the door. Seville breezed by her, her gaze already locked on the mannequins and fabric, and mentioned something about sparing no cost for perfection.
Rorik cursed beneath his breath as the door shut behind Seville.
I chuckled. “Don’t pretend like you expected anything less from her.”
“It’s a fete. It lasts for three days. Tell me, then, why she insists on spending our entire inheritance.” He started down the main street winding out of town, and I followed alongside him.
“Options, I assume.” We walked quietly after that, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Dead leaves scraped against the cobblestone streets, and a rustling breeze toyed with my hair and sent a chill down my spine. The oversized knit sweater had become a fast favorite of mine, and I tugged on the sleeves to hide my hands from the cold. Rorik was unbothered by it all. He stalked beside me, his long strides eating up at least two of my own, and his all-black attire shone like oil in the weak light of the sun.
As we rounded the bend, the road shifted to packed earth, and the quaint houses with their varying front doors began to spread farther and farther apart. The hills marking our countryside had dulled to a soft yellow in the presence of fall. I was thankful my days of foraging were largely behind me. This time of the year used to carry a frantic sense of urgency as I tried to unearth the last of my herbs and brew as many tinctures as possible to get through the winter months. Now, though, I took solace in the crisp air and marveled at the varying shades of ocher and rust that colored the trees.
When my home came into sight, though, some of that anxiety came creeping back. “This should be fun.”
Rorik shrugged. “You could change your mind and run away with them. Find a new place to start up a life away from all this.”
“Yes, because that’s a viable option.”
“It should be.” His words were tight, and I knew I’d be getting exactly zero help from him when it came to convincing my brothers to join me in this mess.
