Rorik lifted a shoulder. “Well, clearly Death found her after all. She outsmarted him for a time, but not forever like she wanted.”
We fell back into silence as his words sat heavy in the air. I dragged my gaze away from the looming tree to the surrounding lawns, trying and failing to shake the weight of its foreboding presence. The entire estate reeked of danger and death. My nose twitched as my power vibrated beneath my skin. Arriving here was much like arriving at Fernglove that very first night. I could feel the presence of blight deep within me, but I couldn’t see it. There was a dull, muted scent in the air; a hint of must and death that couldn’t fully be suppressed.
The Embergraves had glamoured everything to perfection, but I knew what lay beneath the picturesque scene they’d painted: a rotting manor of decay.
The carriage came to a halt, and the driver hopped down from his seat to open the door. With a wide gesture to the house behind him, he smiled. “Welcome to Embergrave, friends. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
Twenty-One
After our bags were sent away to our quarters, we were ushered into a receiving room full of Evers. The space was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows and hardwood floors so dark they appeared to have been charred by flames. The ebony walls were pristinely polished, and now that I was closer, I could see the ruby-red veining in the stone that spiderwebbed out like lightning strikes across the smooth surface. A monstrous chandelier dripping in pewter crystals hung from the rafters, matching several ornate wall sconces with metal the color of mercury. The sumptuous red velvet curtains had all been pulled back to reveal the manicured grounds, but even with the natural light there was an unsettling darkness to the manor. I couldn’t help but wonder if blight had crept into the foundation here, too. If the marbling in the stone was actually a glamour over yellow loam seeping through the infected structure.
Gooseflesh pricked my skin, and I rubbed my hands along my arms. Even with my long-sleeved blouse, I couldn’t escape the chill of this place.
“Hello, Ferngloves!” Kara strode toward us, the hem of her wide pant legs sweeping against the floor and obscuring her shoes. She wore a brocade corset vest over a shimmery black blouse, and her hair was effortlessly swept up and away from her face. Her gaze roved over us before snagging on Seville.
An angry churning heat simmered low in my gut. She’d threatened my family. Our fields had been burned. I wanted her to feel that visceral fear, to run and panic as I threatened something she held dear. “That was a nifty stunt you pulled.”
“Whatever could you mean?” The sly smile teasing her lips never disappeared.
“My house,” I said. Her flippant response was kindling to the flames, and I wanted to tear her apart for even setting her sights on my brothers. Rorik’s pinkie grazed the back of my hand. It was the first time he’d touched me since yesterday, and as much as I wanted to yank my hand away and spit fire at him, too, I couldn’t help but feel steadied by his support. At least marginally.
Easy.One word down our bond. Ithadto be Kara. She was there—both in Willowfell and Fernglove.
“Yes, well”—her eyes narrowed—“Lord Embergrave asked that I escort you to him upon your arrival. Come. Grab a drink and follow me.”
She spun on her heel, sweeping through the crowd with the type of authority and force that caused the guests to simply peel away from her path. We followed in her wake, pausing only momentarily to accept drinks from an attendant who’d practically shoved their silver tray in front of us, and came to an ornate set of double doors framed by garnet columns.
Don’t drink that,Rorik warned down our bond. I glanced at him and Seville to find that neither of them had touched their beverage. Plenty of Evers were downing the sparkling white wine, including Kara, and they seemed perfectly coherent. Still, that didn’t mean fuck all when it came to Evers. Immediately, my mind rewound to the night that Briar Starglen had brought me wine tainted with drugs so he could drag me back to his family for an evening of light torture.
No, I wouldn’t be consuminganythingthat Rorik or Seville didn’t deem safe.
Kara pushed open the doors and then immediately closed them after we entered, effectively separating us from the welcoming party. We’d been escorted into a colossal ballroom, and the only furniture in sight was a row of long tables off to one side and a smattering of couches and chairs on the other. That, and a single throne sitting on a raised dais at the end of the room. The chair itself was beautiful, like a splatter of shined blood against the backdrop of the manor’s onyx walls. Its construction was that of jagged rubies that looked sharp enough to cut anyone who dared come too close, and the only smoothed edges were the contours of the seat where someone would sit and rest their arms.
Where someonewassitting and resting their arms.
It took everything in me not to come to an immediate halt so I could pick my jaw up off the floor. The Ever in question had to be Zeverin, because his likeness to Rorik could not be mistaken. They shared the same red hair, though Zeverin’s was longer, reaching down to his shoulders and curling across his collarbones. His eyes were a piercing amber with auburn striations. Even the defined line of their jaws was the same, though Zeverin’s was covered in a close-shaven beard. But their similarities fell away after that. Zeverin’s face was fuller, less angular, and Rorik’s sharp cheekbones were solely a gift from his mother.
Zeverin watched us approach with a cold stare that betrayed no love for his bastard son. And Rorik returned that look in full.
“Zeverin,” Rorik said with a drawl.
“Lord Embergrave,” Zeverin corrected with a deep voice that reverberated through the room. “Welcome to my home.” His gaze—somehow both lazy and dangerous—slowly traveled the length of Rorik’s frame. He sneered. “You’re looking healthy.”
Rorik kept his tone even. “Is that why you invited us to this ridiculous fete?”
“Ridiculous?” Zeverin’s beam stretched across his face, revealing pointed teeth. “Finding someone to share your power with should be cherished. If you were a member of my house, I would’ve found you a suitable partner and ensured the continuation of my line already.”
My stomach clenched, and I forced my expression to remain blank. He didn’t know about my heartbond to Rorik. Couldn’t. I was weak and incapable of doing anything he wanted; that was the impression we had to sell to get him to leave me—and my family—alone.
“Alas,” he continued when none of us spoke, “what you do with your Fernglove magic is none of my concern. Though your sister”—his eyes flicked to Seville, and she raised a careful brow—“is of particular interest to several in attendance.”
Seville’s smile was wide, and she settled into one hip as she made a show of studying Zeverin’s body. While I knew she’d rather gouge her eyes out than spend her free time with Zeverin, pretenses were important for our plan. So was seduction.
“We’ll see if there are any suitable prospects. I’m quite picky,” she murmured.
“As you should be,” Zeverin said, his eyes lingering. He stood and strolled toward us until he was only a few feet away. Shifting his gaze back to his son, he let out a quiet sigh. “Your mother’s magic was strong. But the purest magic, bestowed upon us by the First, is particular. It’s a pity your mother and I couldn’t have heartbonded before she birthed you. Perhaps you would have had a greater chance of inheriting my power and claiming the Embergrave name.”
Rorik tilted his head, cold grin on display. “Pity.”
