Nine
Rorik wasn’t in the dining room when I entered that evening, and I was thankful to slide into my chair without his eyes upending my entire world with every casual glance.
Seville was seated beside me, and she tilted her head by way of greeting.
Lydia, Clesian, Amalyss, and Tasia sat across from us, and despite their recent bad news, the girls seemed to be in good spirits.
They chattered away about upcoming travel plans, and I frowned as an attendant began to fill my plate.
“You’re going somewhere?” I asked.
“Not anytime soon,” Tasia said with a wave. “But yes, in a few months.”
“The four of us will be meeting a few other families with Evers our age,” Amalyss said, a sly smile pulling at her lips.
“We thought about holding off, given the recent development, but that’s precisely why we’ll carry on.” Lydia reached for Clesian’s hand and squeezed it tight. “It’s what the girls want, and all Evers have blight, so they won’t be at any additional risk of contracting it or sharing it.”
“We just want to keep living our life, is all,” Tasia said with a sheepish grin. “And I do mean living in every sense of the word.”
“Tasia,” Clesian muttered as he cleared his throat. “We’re at the table.”
“It’s common for Evers to visit other families when they come of age,” Seville said. She reached for her wine and swirled it once before taking a delicate sip. “My father did the same for me, though that hardly worked out.”
Lydia snorted. “You nearly killed every possible suitor just for looking at you wrong.”
“He had horrid ideas for who I should end up with.” Seville shrugged.
“At least we agree about that,” Lydia said.
“How many other families are there?” I asked.
Once, while reading Fable or Fact: A History of Evers, I’d stumbled upon a lineage chart detailing hundreds of Ever families, but outside of the Ferngloves, I’d only ever met the Starglens and Waterstones—neither of which seemed to appeal to Amalyss and Tasia.
“There used to be more,” Clesian said. He nodded his thanks to an attendant who’d set an arranged plate of duck, grilled squash, and freshly baked bread before him. “Back when I was courting, there were dozens of families with eligible partners. But there was only one Lydia.”
She chuckled softly, and a pang of longing spurred in my chest. I busied myself with my squash, spearing the vegetable before taking a quick bite. “How did you two meet?”
Clesian twirled his fork along his plate.
“I used to be an emissary for another prominent house, and I was traveling between families to extend them an invite for a fete. When I got here, Lydia answered the door. Before I could even start, she took one look at the invitation in my hands and tore it to shreds. Then she slammed the door in my face.”
“You make me sound so horrid,” she murmured, but didn’t deny it. Both Amalyss and Tasia giggled.
“Of course you were immediately taken by her absolutely unhinged behavior,” Seville drawled.
But her words lacked any bite, and her lips curved with the barest hint of a smile.
Heartbonds were so revered in Ever society, and here I was, bonded to a colossal ass who would’ve rather seen himself tied to literally anyone else. Possibly even a Waterstone.
Rude, though I’m flattered you’re thinking of my ass.
My fork clattered to my plate, and all eyes rounded on me. I turned in my chair, expecting to find Rorik leaning indolently against the opening to the dining room, but he was still absent.
“Edira?” Seville’s brows drew together. “Something wrong?”
My eye twitched. Slowly, I turned to Lydia. “Can heartbonds talk to each other down their bond?”
“Of course.” Her smile was wide. “I’m assuming that after your physical sparring match there was some additional contact?”
Clesian’s brows shot toward the ceiling as Seville nearly choked on her wine.
“Not like you’re insinuating,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Continue to nurture that bond however you can. Intimacy helps immensely,” she said. “Shame on him for not telling you about mind-speak, though.”
I started cursing vehemently within my mind and prayed Rorik heard every last fuck I threw his way. He must have, because a delicious chuckle sounded in my ears.
I can’t hear everything, just what you choose to share with me. His words were a velvety purr against my consciousness. Unless, of course, you’re not in control of your emotions. Again. Then your thoughts scream so loud I can’t help but listen.
Grimacing, I forced myself to ignore the weight of his voice in my mind. I needed to get a grip on my emotions quickly. He was already under my skin; I didn’t need him loitering around in my thoughts, too.
“He’s such a prick.” Seville snorted. “I suppose the good news is that means he’s finally agreed to help?”
I nodded, and a visible wave of relief washed through the entire family. Seville raised her glass to herself in a mock cheer. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing of consequence. As per usual.” This time, I intentionally sent the words his way.
I’m wounded, he thought back.
I’m sure. Are you coming to dinner?
Why? Miss me?
“Fuck him, I hate everything about this.” I gritted my teeth and stabbed a piece of duck before tearing into it.
Clesian started laughing. It was nothing more than a stifled chortle at first, but the longer it went on the louder it became, and suddenly his whole family was laughing.
Their collective joy practically rumbled the table, and while I silently cursed Rorik—again—for his antics, I couldn’t help but join in after a moment.
When she caught her breath, Lydia offered me a kind smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re not responsible for him.”
“If only,” Seville muttered to herself.
At that moment, Rorik decided to saunter into the dining room, eyes alight with a familiar mischief.
I shut my mouth and leaned away from Seville.
He slid into his chair with ease and nodded to the nearest attendant, who peeled off the wall to fill his plate with food and his glass with wine.
He spared me only the smallest of glances, and my gaze narrowed in response.
Asshole.
In the flesh.
I forced myself to glare at my plate instead of him to avoid giving him any semblance of satisfaction.
Conversation stalled for a few minutes as the scrape of silverware filled the room.
Until finally Seville blew out an unceremoniously loud sigh and turned her focus to Amalyss and Tasia, nettling them for details about their preferred partners.
They were all too eager to comply, their hazel gazes lighting with excitement as they each discussed what kind of Ever they hoped to connect with during their upcoming travels.
After a few minutes, Lydia relaxed and joined in, offering her own tsk of dissatisfaction, often shaking her head at her daughters’ versions of “quality” traits, while Clesian drank.
Heavily. Still, there was a soft smile to his lips that hinted at his true feelings when it came to his daughters’ happiness.
I let myself get lost in their musings, and a strange yearning bloomed in my chest. I’d never allowed myself to think of relationships and courting the way Amalyss and Tasia now did.
Even before this mess with the Ferngloves, my entire experience with the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes of Willowfell was nothing more than dalliances.
Quick interactions full of lust and need, nothing more. I’d never allowed for anything to grow.
Then Orin came along and ruined everything.
Tempered anger festered from the depths of my gut, and I took a long drink from my wine. Rorik watched me quietly, his gaze hammering into me as I drained the last of my glass. He’d barely touched his dinner, instead twirling his knife between his forefinger and thumb for most of the meal.
“And what about you, Rorik?” Lydia asked. Her tone was light, if not a bit sly, and she took a practiced sip from her glass before glancing between Rorik and me. Her question broke my reverie, and I forced myself to meet Rorik’s lingering stare.
“What about me?” he answered, finally slanting his gaze to Lydia.
“Do you have any advice for the girls? For their upcoming courtship travels? Don’t think I forgot about your own journey the moment you came of age.”
Rorik rolled his eyes. “Clearly nothing came of it.”
“No surprise there. You were even more difficult than me, I hear,” Seville said as she pinned her brother with a wry grin.
Amalyss perked up in her chair and pushed her plate forward. She propped her elbows on the table and braided her fingers. “You came back without any prospects?”
“I wasn’t interested in prospects.” Rorik continued to fiddle with his knife, and he nodded to an attendant to refill his wine.
“Just fun,” Seville drawled.
“I can respect that,” Tasia said.
“How befitting,” I murmured as I leaned back in my chair and tipped my head toward the ceiling. A dull ache had started behind my eyes. Just a subtle throb that pounded in time with my heartbeat.
“Befitting?” he mused. “True, I enjoyed my fun.”
Tasia giggled as Seville’s grin stretched further. Immediately I was reminded of our night together, of the wine we shared while taking milk baths and reliving our dalliances. Evers certainly enjoyed the more carnal activities in life. I couldn’t blame them.
“But”—Rorik fixed his eyes on me—“that’s all it was. Fun. There hasn’t been anyone appealing enough to warrant more.”
A fist clenched my heart and twisted it tight. “Interesting.”
Amalyss tilted her head toward me. “What do they do in Willowfell?”
“Nothing elaborate.” I rubbed my temple trying in vain to chase away the growing ache. Rorik’s eyes narrowed as he targeted the action. “We don’t have courtship travels, but I guess that’s a product of necessity for Evers.”
“No gifts? Outings of any kind?” Tasia looked downright abashed on my behalf that I was forced to live such a drab existence. I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Not for me. I didn’t want any additional attention. Fewer opportunities for my partners to discover I was a threadmender. My . . . interactions were far from public.”
“One of these days, I’ll drag you to a coupling fete.
It’s quite the experience,” Seville said.
She skewered her lower lip with her teeth, biting back a teasing smile.
Lydia nodded her agreement as she cut a furtive look toward Rorik, and Clesian coughed.
Both Tasia and Amalyss seemed to vibrate in their seats, their gazes alight with blatant intrigue.
Rorik was the only one who stiffened. His entire expression went cold.
“That is a horrendous idea,” he said, tone unfalteringly even but somehow filled with silent threat.
“Why?” Seville laughed as she finished her wine. “Edira’s life is short, and as Tasia pointed out, her experiences have been lackluster—including the one she entertained within these walls.”
Rorik’s daggered glare sliced through the air, and my stomach knotted at the hint of my relationship with Orin. But rather than utter his name out loud and give him any more space in my life, I gripped on to the one lifeline Seville had tossed: her offer.
“What’s a coupling fete?”
Rorik plunged the knife he’d been twirling into the table. “Something you will not be participating in.”
The pain behind my eyes flared. “Telling me what to do now?”
Seville ignored him entirely. She flipped her hair over her shoulder before reclining in her chair. “The name speaks for itself. It’s a type of fete for Evers to come together and . . . couple, if you will.”
Clesian spoke up then, clearing his throat before meeting my gaze. “Originally it was held as a way for Evers to mingle with the hopes of conceiving a child without formerly attaching themselves to another family.”
“Power sharing is a touchy area for many of our kind,” Lydia said as she straightened in her chair. “Coupling fetes tend to appeal to those who have no desire to form heartbonds. Some attend purely for the fun of it, though. There’s an herb that can be taken by either party to prevent conception.”
“Rorik never did want to be tied down,” Seville said with an exaggerated sigh.
“We were already burdened with Father’s vow. No one else needed to endure that.” His words were clipped, and Seville nodded in agreement.
My chest tightened. I couldn’t bring myself to hold Rorik’s gaze.
Instead, I stared at my empty plate. He’d carried so much weight throughout his life, first with his father, then Orin.
And now, me. We weren’t bound by an evervow, but we were tied together just the same.
He didn’t want to be in this predicament any more than I wanted to.
And while I couldn’t blame him for that, I couldn’t deny the small swell of .
. . sadness? Uncertainty? The foreign, squirming emotion made my stomach roil and my jaw clench.
I hated it even more that I couldn’t tell if it was mine or his.
Fortunately, the headache that’d been brewing all evening decided that now was the time to come in full force, and I sucked in a sharp breath as the throbbing pain crawled down my neck. Slowly, I stood.
“I think I’m going to call it for the night.
” I offered what I hoped was a convincing smile, one that hinted at tiredness but betrayed none of the pain I felt—both the unfamiliar one twisting through my chest and the needling ache in my head.
But while I received polite good nights from the family, Rorik only scrutinized me with narrowed eyes.
What’s wrong? His voice twisted through the fog of discomfort in my mind. Hallucination?
I bit back a groan as I exited the dining room and headed for the stairs. Leave it to Seville to share my vision of the Ever to Rorik. If he thought my health was declining, there was no way he’d continue to train me.
I haven’t had any problems since being back here. Lie. Sort of. At least no hallucinations of Death or insanely attractive Evers. Perhaps my mind had enough material to work with just being back within these halls.
We’ll scale back on training.
We will not, I thought back. I want this. Don’t you dare take it away from me.
Edira . . .
No. One word spoken with all the control and power I could manifest. Thankfully, it was enough to shut him up. Once I was in my room, I let out a sigh as I rubbed my temples. I didn’t even bother to change before slipping into bed and burrowing my head beneath the pillows.
The headache would subside. Everything else . . . Only sleep would tell.