Seventeen
By the time we made it back to Fernglove that evening, Noam, Nohr, and Lysa—whose parents practically shoved her out the door when they realized she was receiving an exclusive invitation to stay at the estate—were all too eager to turn in for the night.
Vora was ecstatic to see them, and she quickly had rooms made up for them next to hers with a promise to give them a tour of the place right after breakfast the next morning.
Rorik was silent as ever. I tried once more to reach him down our heartbond, but I was met with nothing but an indestructible wall sealing his emotions away. The tension only mounted from there.
“We need a plan,” I murmured softly to Seville.
We were together in the library, glasses of wine in our hands, and the manor was largely quiet.
Amalyss and Tasia had retired, too, but Clesian and Lydia had joined us and were sitting together on the couch.
Their fingers were interlaced as they stared at the crackling flames in the hearth.
Rorik stood alone, empty drink in hand, and stared out the window.
“For staying safe at the fete?” Lydia asked, tipping her head to the side. “Families from all across Glaes will attend. Likely Ossanna, too, so perhaps it was a good thing that Rorik kept up niceties with her.”
Rorik snorted. “Only days ago you were chastising me for that choice. I kept Ossanna happy so she would tell us if anyone passed through her lands searching for Edira. Nothing more.”
I chewed on my lip and stared at the ground. He’d done so much just to try to protect what little of a life I had left. It was no wonder he thought I was squandering it now by wanting to meet Death head-on.
With a long exhale, I shook my head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“We need a plan for getting into the Embergrave vault,” Seville mused.
“Gods-dammit, you two are trying to send me to an early grave.” Rorik stalked toward an end table with a decanter full of golden-brown liquid. He poured himself a heavy drink.
“On the contrary, we’re trying to prevent that from happening,” I muttered. It was the first thing I’d said to him since Willowfell, and even though my words were soft and free of malice, he flinched just the same.
“Wait, what did we miss? What do you think is in the vault?” Clesian asked.
“The blade that wounded Death and allowed the first Ever to strike a bargain with him,” Seville said. “Edira needs it, and the fete is the perfect opportunity to steal it while all the other participants are incredibly distracted. The Embergraves will be none the wiser.”
Rorik’s laugh bordered on maniacal as he sank onto the window bench. “And what makes you think you have the skill to steal from them?”
“You can help, or you can leave.” Seville flicked her hair over her shoulder and glared at him, but Rorik only rolled his eyes.
Markedly better than the blowup he’d had this morning, so either he’d given up on swaying me, or he thought it was so thoroughly impossible that it wasn’t even worth the energy to worry. I wagered it was the latter.
“Why do you need the weapon?” Lydia’s gaze swung to me.
“So that I can confront Death and convince him to leave my life threads alone and put an end to the blight.”
Clesian went still. “You mean to wound him. To force a bargain like Rebellyn did.”
“Assuming he’s open to that path,” I said coolly. “The other option is to kill him.”
“You cannot be serious,” Lydia said as she stared slack-jawed at me. “I understand your drive, truly I do. But to take down Death? Many have tried, and none have succeeded. It’s too dangerous.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying,” Rorik muttered.
“I know it’s risky, but I’ve made up my mind. I am the only one among us who can summon him, and I have magic on my side, unlike Rebellyn. Between that and the blade, I have a chance.” My words never faltered, and I held their gazes the entire time. This was my plan. No one would stop me.
Lydia glanced between me and Clesian. “I’m not sure . . .”
“That’s all right. I am.” I drained the rest of my wine and set the glass on the coffee table between us.
“Even so,” Clesian said, drawing out the words slowly, “the first problem lies in acquiring the blade itself. Zeverin will kill you just for trying.”
“And if you think you’re getting anywhere near that vault without everyone’s eyes on you, you’re wrong.
” Rorik’s stare was more intense than the flames at my back.
“You’ll be on display the entire time. Zeverin wants to know if you’re worth stealing.
If you get close to that vault, he’ll just throw you in there. ”
“I’ll do it, then,” Seville said with a shrug.
“Asinine,” Rorik muttered as he pinched his nose.
“Maybe. But while you sit here and refuse to help your heartbond”—her emphasis on the word made Rorik still—“I’ll do whatever I can to help keep her alive. Rumor has it Zeverin is in the market for a partner of his own. I can keep his attention focused elsewhere.”
“You don’t even know where the safe is,” Lydia said. “Is this really the best option?”
“Don’t pretend like you aren’t intrigued by the idea. You’d do anything to protect Amalyss and Tasia from this fate,” Seville said calmly. Lydia sucked in a sharp breath and glowered at her, but Clesian stepped in before she could respond.
“That doesn’t mean we want you aimlessly wandering about the estate.
But I think I can help.” He gripped the back of his neck.
“I’m still in contact with a few friends who were emissaries along with me.
While I didn’t work for the Embergraves, one of them did.
I can talk to them and see what they know. ”
Seville’s eyes lit up. “Fabulous.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Rorik said before finishing his drink.
“Oh, it’s happening. Besides, won’t it be fun to best your old man?” Seville said with a grin. Rorik hissed at that, but she only laughed. “Now, I’m going to get some rest.”
“I’ll visit my friend in the morning. Hopefully I’ll have good news shortly thereafter.” Clesian extended his hand to Lydia, and she took it as she stood up from the couch. After a quick round of good nights, the three of them left and climbed the stairs to their rooms.
A rumble of discontent simmered from somewhere deep in Rorik’s chest. “I hate this.”
“I know.” I stood and stretched my hands toward the ceiling.
My bones creaked with the action, and a yawn threatened to spill from my lips.
“But at least we have a plan and a reason to be there. We can prove how sickly and frail I am.” I filled that last sentence with as much sarcasm as I could muster, but anger still flitted across Rorik’s face. Slowly, he moved toward me.
“So, you admit it,” he murmured.
“Of course.” I frowned. “But that doesn’t change anything. I’ve been ‘sick’ since the day I tried to save my parents as a child.” I looked away, unable to deal with the hammering weight of his stare. “It’s not a recent development like you seem to think.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Static charged the room, and my pulse ratcheted as I stood before him.
“What would you have me do?” he asked, voice strained.
Cautiously, I grabbed one of his hands and upturned his palm. I trailed one finger along the lines and indents marking his skin, and a spark of warmth ignited down our heartbond. “You know what I want. Keep working with me. Keep helping me.”
“Is there nothing that will make you change your mind?”
“Not that I can think of.”
Rorik dipped his head toward mine. “Stubborn little mender.”
“Brutish fucking Ever.” I smacked his chest, though there wasn’t any force behind the hit. “Now, I’m tired. I don’t even have the energy to be angry with you, so we know that’s a sign I need sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I left him standing alone in the library, his gaze fixated on the hand I’d been holding.