“Good.” I pulled away from Zota, but not before giving him one last pat on the neck. “Though I’m surprised you’re not going with her.”
Heat flickered in his eyes. “If you think I’m leaving any of you unattended after a stunt like that, then you don’t know me in the slightest.”
“Fair enough.” I sighed. “Noam still wants to visit Lysa and see if she’ll join us.”
“That’s fine.” Rorik’s answer was curt. In fact, his entire body was rigid. His gaze bounced from one thing to the next, assessing where the threat came from and when it would strike again. “I’ll be sitting with the driver anyway. I’d prefer to have a clear view of our surroundings.”
“Rorik.” I reached for him, and while he let me grip his hand, he didn’t react to my touch at all.
“Get in,” he said with a nod toward the cabin as Noam and Nohr exited the house. “I don’t want to linger.”
I didn’t argue as I climbed in and slid across the tufted seats. Noam and Nohr joined me with small canvas bags packed full of clothes, and then Rorik slammed the door shut. The carriage creaked as he hauled himself up beside the driver, and before I could blink, we were heading back into town.
“And you still want to head to their estate,” Nohr muttered. He’d sidled beside me, knowing full well that if Lysa did join us she’d be cozied up with Noam on his bench.
“Not now, Nohr.” I rubbed my temples.
“I’m not letting go of this, Edira,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re already pushing yourself too far.”
“I’m fine, just tired.” And that was partially true. With the sudden depletion of adrenaline, my body all too easily sagged into the overstuffed cushions of the carriage. I rested my head against the paneling and stared out the window. I couldn’t see Rorik out there, but I could feel his anger. I had a feeling it would only fester as the days went on. Still, the message was effective. Rorik wouldn’t dream of standing against the Embergraves if this was how they reacted. And it was enough to push Nohr into coming to Fernglove.
My family was safe. We would attend the fete.
I would find that fucking blade and drive it through Death’s chest.
And then we wouldfinallyhave some peace.
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.”
