Just then, Zeverin strolled into view. He came to an abrupt halt at the head of the tables and clapped his hands together, effectively silencing the hall and commanding the attention of the guests.
“Dinner is served. I welcome you to my home and my table in the hopes you’ll walk away from this fete with newly forged relationships and a lifetime of memories.” His wide grin held nothing but magnanimous charm, and he cast his arms outward toward the chairs. “Please find your seats.”
A warm breath skated down my neck. “We’re the next table over.”
I jolted in place at the same time Seville rolled her eyes. With a scoff, she looked over her shoulder at Rorik, who’d annoyingly materialized behind me.
“Asshole,” I mumbled.
He was too tense to offer me anything close to his usual, devilish grin, but the corner of his lips curled slightly. “Indeed.”
But when we got to our seats, his lips pressed into a fine line. We’d been grouped together, of course, but Rorik was meant to sit farthest from me, with Seville sandwiched between us.
“He’s out of his gods-damned mind if he thinks I’m not putting her between us,” Rorik said to Seville, his words barely more than a growl.
“Keep your shit together,” she hissed. “Look.” She flicked a single finger toward the place setting beside mine.Dermon.“He’s the threadmender. You can’t move her unless you want to slight Zeverin.”
Rorik’s answering shrug was tight. “Fine.” He reached over and swapped his name card with Seville’s.
We slid into our seats as the other guests did the same, and two women in stunning midnight-blue gowns pulled out the chairs opposite us. I recognized Ossanna immediately. Her hair was swept into an artful updo dotted with aquamarine gems, and a few tiny stones had been adhered to her temples like droplets of glistening water. Beside her was her daughter, Issa, whose own hair flowed around her shoulders in lustrous waves. I had no idea just how old she was by Ever standards, but she appeared to be in her early twenties, just a few years older than my brothers—and no more than a decade younger than her mother. An ostentatious ruby pendant rested just above her cleavage, and she ran a dainty finger along the gold chain. Her eyes, like blood paled by milk, immediately drifted to Rorik.
“You know what I loathe?” Ossanna drawled as she sat down. “Being seated near someone who’s already made it abundantly clear they have no intention of courting my daughter. What a wasted opportunity.”
“Ossanna, what a pleasure.” Rorik leaned forward and grabbed a decanter full of what appeared to be red wine. “Think you can clear your evening to speak with us privately after dinner?”
“And miss the first night of festivities? Absolutely not.”
“I am here to find a partner, after all,” Issa said, eyes still locked on Rorik. A violent heat burned in my chest at her obvious intent, but I pressed my lips into a fine line. I had no claims to him.
“And I wish you the best in that endeavor,” Rorik said to her coolly before returning his gaze to Ossanna. “Tomorrow morning, then.”
“Fine.” She flicked her wrist to the side. “Not like anyone will be rising early for the next few days anyway.”
The chair next to me scraped against the floorboards, and a thin young man just a few years my senior plopped into the seat. His shaggy shock-white hair looked like he’d just roused from bed and hadn’t bothered to tame it, and his tailored gray suit hung loosely about his willowy frame. Slowly, he tilted his head toward me. His eyes, a shade so black I could barely detect his pupils, were sunken, and his cheeks were hollow.
“You must be Edira,” he said, voice quiet but surprisingly clear. I’d half expected him to wheeze his final breath before the first course was served.
Rorik stilled in my peripheral, but he kept his focus on Ossanna, maintaining an easy conversation with her, Issa, and Seville over the arrangement of food stretched before us. There was no doubt he was listening.
“Dermon? Nice to meet you,” I said. I offered him my hand, and he shook it once before clasping his palms in his lap. “Have you been employed by the Embergraves for long?”
“Three excruciating years.” His gaze shifted to Zeverin, who was still standing at the head of the tables and encouraging the last of the Evers to take their seats. Malice sharpened Dermon’s gaze, and his lips turned down in a grimace. I followed his stare, then frowned when I noticed a line of attendants scurrying out of the room through a door in the back. They moved quickly, occasionally tossing furtive glances our way before amping their pace.
“Are they not allowed to remain for the banquet?” I asked, nodding toward the trail of fleeing bodies. The final attendant did a quick sweep of the room and then quickly shut the door behind him.
“It’s more of a safety precaution.” Dermon filled his own glass with red wine and took a heady drink.
I opened my mouth to ask more, but at that point Zeverin clapped his hands together again, and the room fell silent. With his hands outstretched, he turned his palms toward the rafters and smiled brightly.
“It has been too long since our last coupling fete. As such, I find it important for us to honor the traditions of our past.” A subtle red glow began to outline his body, and a sweltering heat baked the air. Sweat gathered at the nape of my neck, and I shot Rorik and Seville a warning look. They were both stiff in their seats, gazes fixated on Zeverin. Even Ossanna and Issa seemed tense.
“These festivities are meant to unite us, to give us a chance to pass along the gifts our ancestors left us. But in order to preserve the sanctity of our magic, we must all be aware of each other’s strengths... and weaknesses.” The heat ratcheted higher, and twin flames snarled to life in his palms. “In the early days, we hid nothing from each other. So we will honor that custom, at least for tonight.”
“Fuck,” Rorik muttered beneath his breath as his gaze snapped to one of the exits. Then another. “Fuck.”
Adrenaline shot through me as my chest tightened. “What’s happening?”
“Why the hell is he doing this?” Seville hissed. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide.
