Five #2
“What are you doing here.” Rorik’s tone was hard, no hint of a question lingering beneath his words. My temple throbbed as the anger brewing in my gut churned.
“We need to speak.” I forced myself to hold his gaze, to scour his face for any hint of those spiraling emotions I’d felt only moments ago, but his expression was a carefully crafted, stoic facade.
“Preferably alone,” Seville said as she eyed Ossanna.
Ossanna smirked but said nothing as she straightened and removed her hand from Rorik.
Her slim-fitting gown was sleeveless, and when she folded her arms across her chest, the pointed tips of her nails grazed the swirling tattoos wrapping her biceps.
The longer I stared at those cobalt lines, the more they seemed to move like that of a turbulent river.
It was the mark of her family. Of a Waterstone.
“I should be getting back anyway.” She tossed one lingering look at Rorik before skirting the table.
She paused for the briefest of moments before me, grinning and giving me a thorough once-over.
“Edira. How fortunate death hasn’t caught up with you yet.
” And then she gave a flippant wave and left, her footsteps fading into nothing as the front doors opened and closed.
Unease crept up my spine. Whatever her agenda was with Rorik and the Ferngloves, I doubted it was good.
“Edira.” My stomach clenched at the sound of my name on Rorik’s lips. “Why are you here?”
“I saw blight on your . . .” I searched for the word and failed, not wanting to utter it aloud in his presence. I didn’t know if it would cause the floodgates to open again, leaving me wholly unprepared for whatever he was feeling.
The tension in his jaw relaxed, and he rolled his eyes before skewering Vora with a bored look. “Didn’t I tell you everything was fine? Why did you let her come back here?”
I practically spit fire as I took an angry step toward him. “I am perfectly capable of doing whatever I please whenever I please. I don’t need anyone’s permission.”
Vora merely lifted a shoulder in agreement, but her stare had narrowed on Rorik with a hint of distaste.
Seville pulled out a chair and slid into it, ignoring the empty plate and the prepared dishes lining the pale blue table runner.
She passed up everything for the decanter of wine and poured herself a heavy glass.
“You never were a great liar.” Seville took a long pull before setting the glass down.
Then, with practiced ease, she stripped her glamour and revealed the small pocket of blight marring the space beneath her ear.
Amalyss and Tasia gasped, and they slowly sat as their gazes flitted between me and Seville’s illness.
Lydia blanched, and her grip on Clesian’s hand tightened.
“I take it none of you are sick, then?” I gestured to Lydia and her family.
“No,” Clesian murmured. His gaze shot toward his daughters, peeling away their glamour to perform a quick examination. I knew he’d found nothing of concern when he let loose a heavy exhale.
“How long?” Lydia tipped her chin toward Seville, her voice wavering as canyons of doubt formed across her forehead.
“Not long.” Seville drained the rest of her wine. “Based on what Edira shared with me, I’m guessing Rorik’s blight came back shortly before mine.”
“Do I look sick to you?” He waved a hand along his body. “I know you can tear apart my glamour just fine.”
“But not your clothing. What are you hiding under there?” She chuckled to herself. “Not that I want to see, but that would explain why I dragged Edira back—”
Warmth flushed my cheeks at the same time Rorik launched from his chair. He moved so fast I barely registered that he’d been sitting and was now standing inches from Seville, his back within grazing distance of my fingers. Heat radiated off his body in tantalizing waves, and my core tightened.
“She was supposed to be done with this family,” Rorik hissed. Magic began to cloud the room and perfume the air with the rich aroma of freshly tilled earth.
It should’ve frightened me. But a slow-moving heat pulsed through my center at the display of his power. His magic lived in my bones, and my body recognized it on such a deep, visceral level that my breath caught in my lungs.
This heartbond would be the death of me. Gritting my teeth, I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and yanked him back a step. “I am tired of being spoken about instead of being spoken to.”
Rorik stilled. For a moment, his gaze dipped to my fingers, and I could’ve sworn I glimpsed a hint of longing buried deep in his eyes. But it was gone before I could blink. He turned fully to me then, giving me the weight of his glare while he tugged his wrist free of my grasp.
“I am not sick.” He took a step toward me. His breath was warm against my cheeks. “You should go.”
Indignation flared in me, and I leaned closer to him while fisting my hands by my sides.
“I was already ordered around by one Fernglove and look what good came from it.” My words were a war decree, and the air snapped with electric tension as everyone fell deathly still.
They all knew what Orin did. And they knew what I’d sacrificed to heal them all.
Life threads severed in a breath, my days immediately shortened just so they could continue breathing.
Living. All because of Orin and his words.
Never again.
“Yes, Seville wants my help. But maybe I have something to gain from this, too.” I folded my arms across my chest, daring him to dissuade me. Seville’s brows disappeared toward her hairline as her gaze momentarily shifted between me and her brother.
Rorik let out a brittle chuckle. “Gain? And what on earth could you possibly gain from this place?”
“Not from this place.” My heart thundered in my throat. “From you.”
“Oh?”
“The bond. I want to learn how to use it.”
Surprise flashed through his stare. “You’re not an Ever. You don’t have the skill or latent talent to handle our magic.”
“I’ll show you exactly what skill and talent I do have,” I spat, resisting the urge to punch him square on the jaw.
“No.”
“I’m not leaving here until you teach me something.”
“Fine. Stay as long as you like.” Slowly, he leaned down so our noses were only inches apart. “I will never force you to do anything against your will. Unless you forgot about that promise, too.”
The dining room disappeared as I fell into a memory and found myself standing outside for the silver fete.
He’d asked me to dance. I’d been stricken with his beetle-black eyes, with his gilded wings and the tailored cut of his sable suit.
With the ruby stain of wine on his lips, his smirk full of dangerous want.
I’d been unable to find my words at first, and my voice had been nothing more than a hoarse whisper as I questioned whether he was commanding me to take his hand.
He’d responded with soft, heated words as he dragged his finger along my neck.
I would never force you to do something you didn’t want to.
Rorik watched me closely, as if he could see me parsing every moment of that memory, and a satisfied smirk lifted one corner of his mouth.
Then his attention dropped to Ywena, who’d been quiet from her nest on my shoulder, and she let out a low chitter.
Rorik’s expression softened, the leer shifting to a hesitant, almost sad look, and he extended one finger to gently graze the curve of Ywena’s wing. His gaze never left her as he spoke.
“Do what you want, Edira. But I’ll take no part in it.” With that, he abruptly turned on his heel and left. The magic he’d summoned followed him out, and Ywena flapped her paper-thin wings in agitation. A series of images—all of Rorik, his smile too genuine and raw in her memories—flooded my mind.
“Go,” I murmured, and she left without another word from me. He’d once given her to me for comfort, and while I didn’t understand why, it felt like he needed her now for the same reason.
“That went about as well as I expected.” Vora tipped her head back and sighed.
“I’m going to check in with some of the attendants and see how they’re doing.
It’s been a while.” She started for the archway but paused, her hand lingering on the polished wooden frame. “Should I have a room made up for you?”
There was no judgment in her eyes, only a sliver of concern that felt too permanent these days. “No sense in going back tonight,” I said.
Vora nodded once and then left, and I took that moment to finally find a seat beside Seville and pour my own much-needed glass of wine.
With Rorik gone, the rest of the tension evaporated from the room, and Amalyss and Tasia came bounding around the table to sit beside me.
Amalyss heaped roasted chicken and savory, buttery green beans onto my plate, while Tasia took it upon herself to fill me in on all that they’d been doing for the past few months.
Lydia and Clesian said little, only offering small clarifications here and there, but their timid smiles were real, and they leaned against each other with a sense of love and relief.
It was so starkly different from how they used to be.
Before, they’d been an icy front of disdain and skepticism—Lydia more so than Clesian, but neither had been truly approachable—as if they were holding their breath in preparation for death.
But now, they were breathing for the first time in years.
When I’d finished my dinner and Amalyss and Tasia had run out of things to say, Lydia finally cleared her throat. “So, what now?”
I rotated the stem of my crystal glass, eyeing the last eddies of wine. “I convince Rorik to help me.”