Seven #3
Lydia crawled toward me on all fours, loose strands falling out of her tight bun to form an erratic halo about her head.
A fist wrenched my heart at the sight of her harrowed expression.
I knew that fear well. It was still etched into my bones, a memory I’d carry with me to the grave.
I’d felt that desperation when I first realized my brothers were infected.
My throat thickened as I held her pleading gaze.
“Save them. Please. I’ll do anything.” Her voice cracked. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but they’re my daughters. Please.”
“Mom.” Amalyss inhaled sharply.
“Edira can’t. It’s okay. We’ll be okay,” Tasia said a breath later.
“No!” Lydia’s chest caved with another wretched sob.
Her hand flew to her mouth to cup the gasp, and she pressed her eyes closed.
A deep pang rooted through my heart, and I struggled to keep my breath even.
Just like Vora, Lydia had gained an ounce of hope.
It hurt all the more stealing it away a second time.
“Lydia.” I rested my hand on her trembling arm. “I’m so sorry. I wish . . .”
“I’ll help you. I’ll do whatever it takes.” She stared at me then with enough fierce determination that my words simply died on my tongue. I rolled my lips together.
“Edira has done enough.” Rorik’s voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable edge to his tone. Lydia rounded on him and bared her teeth, leaping to her feet and pressing a stiff finger against his chest without an ounce of hesitation.
“The only one who can decide that is her.” Her brows drew together in a sharp glare. “And if she decides it’s impossible, then fine. But it better be because she’s had every opportunity to determine that. And I do mean every.”
Static electricity seemed to spark through the room, and my hairs stood on end as Rorik refused to back down.
Magic exploded from him, a suffocating display of power.
It raged like a summer storm, rattling the furniture and sending several glass perfume bottles from the vanity shattering on the floor.
Even the air darkened, and the vines along the roof began to writhe like snakes, their thorns sharpening to elongated points like venomous fangs.
“I’ve made my stance on this perfectly clear.
I will not help her.” His words crashed like thunder, and power trembled down our heartbond.
It was a delicious caress of pure magic along the inside of my skin, and a shiver raced down my spine.
If I could simply grab it and control it myself .
. . I imagined myself pinching it like the end of a needle, like threadmending, and somehow stitching that thread of power deep into my soul.
But the moment I tried to reach for it, it recoiled, and Rorik’s focus snapped to me.
He called back his magic in an instant, but the cloud of darkness he’d somehow summoned lingered in his endless stare.
I let my own magic recede, and the glow emanating from my fingers died. “Why?”
“Because it’s futile.” Snarling, he finally backed away from Lydia to step toward me. “This isn’t something that can be rooted out. You’ve tried, and you failed. Risking your threads for us when you should be off living is a waste.”
A flicker of pain coursed through his molten eyes, and my breath caught in my chest.
You deserve to live.
He’d uttered that to me once before, so many months ago, when I’d ignored his warnings about Orin and thrust myself into my work as a threadmender.
He’d watched me tirelessly sacrifice countless threads of my own just to see if I could cure blight.
And he’d hated every minute of it. My gaze fell to the floor.
First Seville. Then Rorik. Now Amalyss and Tasia.
I had no doubt that Clesian and Lydia would be next.
Rorik was right, I should be off living.
I shouldn’t care at all about what happens to his family.
Maybe if I’d never set foot on his land again, I wouldn’t have.
Or maybe if it’d just been Seville. Or just him .
. . But now it was Amalyss and Tasia. If their lives were snuffed out before they even began, and I had the chance to help them but did nothing, could I even live with myself?
“Rorik,” I started. He leveled me with a look so cold that I froze, and he stalked out of the room without another word.
Lydia’s lower lip trembled, and a broken whimper escaped her lips. “I thought we were done with this.”
“Mom.” Amalyss rushed toward her and wrapped her arms around Lydia.
Tasia did the same, and all I could do was stare as they clung to their mother.
Lydia held them tight before gently stroking the length of their hair.
She looked at me over the tops of their heads, and I knew every unspoken thing lingering in her broken gaze.
I couldn’t have denied her if I wanted to.
“I’ll try.”
“Me, too,” she answered quietly. “Me, too.”
I left them alone after that and went straight to the library, heart heavy but mind clear. With or without Rorik, I’d find a way to help them.