Sixteen #2
As we rounded the bend, the road shifted to packed earth, and the quaint houses with their varying front doors began to spread farther and farther apart.
The hills marking our countryside had dulled to a soft yellow in the presence of fall.
I was thankful my days of foraging were largely behind me.
This time of the year used to carry a frantic sense of urgency as I tried to unearth the last of my herbs and brew as many tinctures as possible to get through the winter months.
Now, though, I took solace in the crisp air and marveled at the varying shades of ocher and rust that colored the trees.
When my home came into sight, though, some of that anxiety came creeping back. “This should be fun.”
Rorik shrugged. “You could change your mind and run away with them. Find a new place to start up a life away from all this.”
“Yes, because that’s a viable option.”
“It should be.” His words were tight, and I knew I’d be getting exactly zero help from him when it came to convincing my brothers to join me in this mess.
“Come on,” I grumbled. “We need to give them time to pack.”
“Whatever you say,” he mused.
As we passed through the front gate surrounding my mother’s garden and the sound of Noam’s and Nohr’s laughter filtered through an open window, I knew I’d be in for a fight.
AS EXPECTED, MY brOTHERS WERE less than thrilled with my demands.
Noam flat-out refused to leave Lysa. He insisted that if he was in danger, then she must be, too, given how much time they spent together.
Despite my many reassurances that her name was not mentioned, he refused to budge.
Nohr was worse. Throughout the entirety of our conversation, he repeated only one word whenever I expected him to talk: No.
I talked with them for hours to no avail, and Rorik was absolutely useless throughout it all.
He seemed to thrive on their defiance, and his smirk grew deeper and more sinful as time passed.
By the afternoon, I was about ready to throw him out the window just so I wouldn’t have to see his taunting grin.
“Are you going to say anything at all?” I finally exploded as I tore toward him.
We were all in the living room, Noam and Nohr seated on that awful indigo couch, with Rorik leaning against the wall.
He’d propped one elbow on the mantel of our quiet hearth, and his hand was pressed against his temple.
“Far be it from me to interfere in family matters,” he drawled.
I hate you so fucking much, I practically growled at him through our mental connection.
Good. His answer was a silken purr in my mind, and I threw up my hands before turning back to my brothers. “Fine. If Lysa’s family is fine with her staying at the estate for a few days, then she can come, too. Does that work for everybody?”
Noam glanced at Rorik, who simply shrugged. “Plenty of rooms.”
“No,” Nohr said, voice even.
“How old are we again, Nohr?” I glared. “I swear to the gods, if you say that word to me one more time . . .”
He folded his arms across his chest. “No.”
I let out a wordless shriek and yanked on my hair. By the end of this conversation, I was bound to be bald. “I am not doing this to try and make your life difficult. I am trying to keep you out of harm’s way!”
“How bad are these Embergraves?” Noam rubbed his chin as he glanced at his brother.
Please, just help me. Say something remotely useful and convincing, I thought to Rorik without meeting his stare.
“They are one of the oldest lines in our world, and they have resources to do whatever the hell they want. Those able to claim the Embergrave name also have dominion over fire and can burn just about anything to ash. They’re pretty fucking bad,” Rorik said.
Happy? he asked me privately.
Noam paled slightly, but Nohr managed to keep his face impassive, save a raised brow. “Is that supposed to frighten me?”
Rorik’s eyes narrowed. “It should. If it doesn’t, then you’re a fool.”
“Great, and these are the people that you want to visit in a few days? Either they’re so terrifying we should avoid them at all costs, or they’re only mildly annoying but apparently throw a great party that can’t be missed.
” The muscles lining Nohr’s arms tightened. “You can’t have it both ways, Edira.”
“Nohr, I understand your concern, but—”
“No. You’re hiding something.” Nohr leaned toward me. “I know you, Edira. You are my sister, not their threadmender. What could they possibly offer you? Why are you so focused on going to this fete?”
I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. Because of course he knew me, but I knew him better.
“I think you’re forgetting who raised you,” I seethed, not caring that he flinched. “I’ve made choices my entire fucking life to protect this family—all without your knowledge or permission.”
His face twisted in anger. “You still didn’t answer my question.”
And I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. It didn’t matter why I was going to the fete, just that I had to.
That I wanted to. This was my choice. I wanted the power to take back my life and then some.
But he would never accept that. Because the version of me that he knew was the caring older sister who gave everything to keep him safe.
Not this hardened woman before him grasping for what little control she had left.
“I am going to that fete,” I seethed, “to keep them from coming after me and apparently you, too.”
“Why don’t we all leave, then? Find a new place to call home?” Nohr asked with a shrug. Beside him, Noam’s eyes widened, but he kept his mouth shut. If this conversation was any indication, he’d never leave Lysa. But maybe he was already formulating a way to ask her to run away with us.
A saccharine smile claimed Rorik’s lips. “Oh, I knew I liked you.”
“And I don’t like you at all. I hope you can understand.” Nohr’s words were biting, and he finally unfolded his arms and braced his forearms on his legs so he could clasp his hands together.
“Of course.” Rorik’s grin stretched further. “My entire life is composed of one-sided relationships.”
“All right, enough.” I scowled at Rorik and then placed both hands on my hips. “You’re not helping. And, Nohr, I’m not running away to some foreign town to start a new life. I like what I have here.”
“You mean at Fernglove. Not Willowfell. Not this house. Not the life you have, could still have, with us.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but no words spilled out.
Nohr continued to stare directly at me. I couldn’t bring myself to deny it.
Because he was right. Yes, I cared about the Ferngloves.
But it was more than that. It was more than the family and their bantering and their antics.
It was more than the picturesque lands or the warmth of the manor that felt more and more like home every day.
It was more than this heartbond that had been thrust upon me. It was . . .
My throat tightened as I cut a furtive glance at Rorik. His smile was gone. His eyes, dark. When I poked at our bond, it was cold. Empty.
Where did you go? I mentally whispered for only him to hear.
He didn’t answer.
I inhaled deeply, trying to settle myself, when a peculiar scent hit the back of my tongue. I frowned. Breathed again. Smoke tinged the air, and I jerked my head toward the cracked window above the kitchen sink. An orange glow bled through the glass.
“Is that a fire?” I asked.
Everyone’s gazes snapped to the window. Rorik launched from the front room and tore through the door. We were close behind, nearly colliding into his immobile frame just a few feet into the garden.
The heat was an immediate presence, and I backstepped into Nohr’s chest. Snarling flames were hungrily devouring the bronzed field beside our home. They were as tall as the house and growing larger by the second with the cool breeze that swept in from the forest.
Rorik ripped away his glamour and shot into the air.
His wings snapped open, and he flew above the raging fire.
Without hesitating, he held out his hands and commanded the earth to heed his call.
His magic erupted both down our bond and in the world around us.
The ground began to tremble, and suddenly the soil was churning upon itself as layers upon layers of dirt began to suffocate the fire.
The flames sparked and howled, but the soil was unrelenting, and soon all that was left was smoldering charred dirt and the stench of smoke in the breeze.
Rorik hovered for a moment longer before slowly descending to stand among the ashes.
Magic surged from his being, and particles of green showered like mist against the earth.
Blades of fresh grass wormed through the soil, reaching adulthood in seconds and then shifting to a golden amber to match the state of the surrounding fields.
There was still an unmistakable heat in the air and the occasional pocket of smoke that curled from beneath the earth to wrap around Rorik’s body, but, for the most part, he’d quashed the flames.
His wings snapped angrily as his fangs teased his bottom lip, and he ran his pointed nails along his jaw before cursing to himself. Slowly, he turned to meet my stare.