I waved goodbye to the family as we funneled out the door, three attendants in tow. They’d follow us to Stormsend with our bags and return to Fernglove within the hour. Part of me wanted Rorik to brand Nohr, Noam, and Lysa with his family’s crest just so they could understand the perks of ley line travel. We walked through the courtyard in strained silence, the only sound our heavy footfalls thudding first against cobblestone and then dirt after we crossed the bridge and reached the marker.
Rorik placed one hand on the marble stone and offered me the other. I didn’t take it. Instead, I palmed a free spot opposite his fingers and tried my best to ignore Seville’s raised brows. Thankfully, she said nothing, and the attendants knew better than to comment, though I imagined they’d be sharing gossip with their friends the moment they returned. Rorik grimaced, then activated the ley lines that would shepherd us halfway across the continent in no time at all.
Magic whipped around us as the world spun beneath our feet.
“It will take longer than usual, given the distance.” It was the only thing Rorik said for the duration of our travel. Minutes ticked by in awkward silence, and Seville’s glances between Rorik and me were far from subtle. There was even a slight curl on her lips that suggested she was thoroughly enjoying the mounting tension. I wanted to reach around and pinch her, but that would’ve only made things worse. Instead, I gritted my teeth and glared at the swirling depths of the ley lines. When they finally receded and my feet hit solid ground, I let out a long exhale.
We’d manifested on the outskirts of a sprawling town that buzzed with activity. Townsfolk dressed in fine clothing milled about the clean cobblestone streets, and the buildings were made with an off-white stone that was free of any filth or grime. Their architecture was bold, with sweeping lines and large windows framed by dark shutters and even darker roofs. Polished carriages with well-groomed horses traversed the roads, and iron lampposts manned the corners of sidewalks.
“Stormsend,” Rorik said tightly. “Stay close.”
“It seems fine?” I watched as a troop of children ran into the street with a ball and kicked it among themselves. Their laughter bubbled above the clacking of horse hooves, and some unseen parent in the distance half-heartedly chastised them for not being careful. A few people nodded in our direction as they passed, but they were otherwise uninterested in our arrival. The ley line marker—a large sphere that came up to my hip and was made of the same stone as the buildings—sat proudly among a collection of wooden barrels that housed trumpet-shaped purple petunias and intensely pink flowers with spiky blooms that I didn’t recognize.
Everything felt so peaceful.
“Stormsend itself is fine,” Seville said as she glanced around. “But everyone here is unflinchingly loyal to the Embergraves. They have little interest in other Ever families.”
A pearl-colored carriage with a gilded frame veered in our direction, and the driver waved to us before calling his buckskin mare to a stop. He was a spry elderly man with twinkling blue eyes and a toothy grin that stretched from ear to ear. He hopped down from his seat with ease, straightened his silken vest, and then walked toward us. “Here for the fete? We’re to bring all Evers directly to the estate. Free of charge, of course.”
Seville stepped forward and offered the man her widest beam. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
He stared at her for a hair too long but recovered quickly with a fervent nod. “Of course. It’s a short ride, lady. I’ll have you there in no time.”
Between him and our attendants, our bags were quickly loaded in the boot, and we filed into the plush interior. The panels were a soft pink with champagne-colored filigree, and sheer curtains were tacked to the sides of the windows, giving an unobstructed view of the surroundings. I sat on the cushioned bench and stared outside, not ready to engage in any conversation with Rorik beyond what was strictly necessary.
As we pulled out of the main town, there was a stretch of road that contained nothing but wilderness. It was beautiful: An endless range of snowcapped mountains extended along one side, their sharp peaks lost in the fluffy, purplish clouds dragging across the sky. There was a small pine forest flush with the base of the mountains, and a meadow dotted with hundreds of tiny white flowers. On the other side, there was a calm stretch of sea that was storm gray, thanks to the sun’s masked presence. It was the first time I’d ever seen the ocean, and I marveled at its endless expanse. Several impressive boats were docked at the piers, with large sails of immaculate canvas and brightly colored flags. As I inhaled slowly, the mineral taste of salt skated across the back of my tongue.
The absence of buildings lasted for only a few minutes, though, and soon houses began to crop up along the road. Some were nothing more than single-room cottages, while others were small mansions in their own right. They shared a similar architectural style to that in Stormsend, but there was something different about the people. They were colder. Sharper. I frowned as I peered closer. My heart stilled.
They were Evers. All of them.
Everywhere I looked I saw bestial features. Wings made of glass and feathers and scales. Pointed ears and fangs, claws and tails of every shape and size. And, of course, the glamour. It was impossible not to notice their flawlessness. My mind raced to catalog everything, and I was lost in awe of all the variations of power they displayed. I wanted to know what kind of magic they wielded. Were they as strong as the Ferngloves? The Embergraves? Or were they all like Clesian before he met Lydia—able to maintain some simple magics, but nothing more?
“Is this all part of Stormsend?” I asked.
“No.” Rorik flexed his hands. “This is the Embers. The outskirts of the Embergrave Estate.”
“Evers without families or land will come here and live under the protection of the Embergraves,” Seville said as she scanned the surroundings. “Lord Zeverin is powerful and cruel, but he does take care of those within his borders. He believes all Evers should thrive for eternity, as Rebellyn intended. And with ownership over the ports and the nearby everjewel mines, he’s capable of making that happen. Everyone here would die for Zeverin if he asked.”
“Many of them will attend the fete, but there are very few who are invited to stay within Embergrave Manor itself,” Rorik said. “Which is why half of these fools are glaring at us and the other half are wondering what they can do to get into our good graces so they, too, can bechosenby an Embergrave.”
Unease trickled down my spine. Rorik was right. I hadn’t noticed it initially, but a growing number of onlookers had gathered by the road, and their piercing stares were far from kind. I pushed away from the window and settled into my seat. The last thing I wanted was more undue attention.
The carriage groaned to a temporary halt before a large iron gate with a rubyEengraved in the center. After a few moments, the gates swung inward, and we were off down a winding gravel path that led to an imposing structure made of gleaming black stone. Grand windows were placed in perfect symmetry along the walls, and the gabled roof was made of the same black material as the building itself. It was more like a château than a manor, and it stretched on for ages across a wide-open plot of land that abruptly ended in sheer cliffs above the sea.
The driver maneuvered down the main road, around fenced-in, manicured gardens with small walking paths and trickling fountains. Yet the thing that stole my focus entirely was their ancestor tree. It appeared on the horizon before we were even near the end of the path. It stood proudly at the rounded bend of the road where carriages were dropping off guests, and I couldn’t keep my gasp at bay.
“It’s massive,” I whispered in awe, and Seville nodded once beside me.
“They’re the oldest family. They’ve buried the most,” she said.
The trunk was a gnarled mass of legs wrapping over legs, the varying skin tones creating a whirlpool of color as they all intertwined. Even if Rorik, Seville, and I all locked hands and formed a circle around its base, we wouldn’t be able to fully wrap around it. Muscled arms locked around disjointed elbows and jutted outward to form knobby limbs that stretched toward the sky. I couldn’t count all the hands. Worse, the thing seemed to move. An invisible breath ran through the tree, the bone-white leaves at the top shimmering like a weary sigh. My eyes widened, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
“I thought they only moved if they were told to by a family member,” I murmured.
“This tree has a mind of its own,” Rorik said, his glare tight. “Rebellyn rests there. Many suspect it’s her rage that still burns and causes it to move.”
“Her rage?” I asked as the carriage drew us closer.
