I collapsed before the massive ancestor tree and stared at the gnarled writhing trunk. Shivers raced across the leathery skin of countless deceased Embergraves. Bones cracked and splintered. The hair-raising scrape of battered nails digging into flesh filled my ears. Flashbacks exploded in my mind of the night I’d been pinned to a tree just like this. Of the horrendous feel of limbs dislocating and popping just to snare me in place. It sounded so much like this. Nausea roiled through my stomach. My throat tightened. Dots bloomed across my vision. I didn’t want to touch this tree. I didn’t want to get caught yet again. I didn’t...
For Seville. For Rorik. For me.Swallowing the bile gathering at the back of my throat, I thrust my hands forward and grasped what appeared to be shins from two different descendants. They quaked beneath my touch, and arms unfurled from the massive trunk to trap me in place. But before they could reach down and snatch me, I ignited my Fernglove magic. I thought only of Rorik. Of the beautiful gift he’d given me by asking me to be his heartbond. I thought of all our fights, of our banter, of the way he’d chased me through the woods and how his laughter carried all the way to the tops of the pines. I thought about his unwavering determination, how he did everything to make it possible for me to live; how, even when he disagreed with my choices, he still supported me entirely.
Rorik gave me life. And I would use that life to give his magic form. A burst of green particles exploded from my fingers and showered the bark of the tree. Hands outstretched just inches from my body, the entire thing stilled. Not even a tremor raced through its fingered extremities.
“Please.” My whisper tasted of magic. Heady. Warm. Powerful. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I need your help. I know how to stop the blight, but I need your weapon.”
For a moment, nothing happened. And then the soil just before my knees began to churn on itself. Knock-kneed legs snapped and dislocated to reveal a cavern right at the base of the tree. It widened until the limbs couldn’t shatter any further, and inside was a lone, slender forearm and delicate hand with clawlike nails, its fingers blackened past the second knuckles. And it gripped a blade. Not just any blade. But a blade devoid of life and color, darker than the depths of night. Just like the lore surrounding Rebellyn.
The wrist snapped at an awkward angle, inching the weapon closer to me, but its fingers didn’t loosen.
“Please,” I tried again.
Nothing. Not even a shiver through its aged, decaying skin.
“I’ll save your kin. I promise,” I said, praying Rebellyn heard every ounce of conviction in my tone. The words seemed to burn against my tongue, and then its fingers unfurled from the hilt. The blade sat perfectly still in its open palm.
I hadn’t realized what I’d done until after I’d spoken. Invisible chains wrapped around my arms and left an icy kiss against my skin, and with it the suffocating scent of smoke. Particles of red—like Zeverin’s magic—sparked in the air around me for a moment before dispersing to nothing. The First, it seemed, could enact an evervow even beyond the grave. Such was the power of her magic. And now, if I didn’t save Everkind, I would suffer the consequences.
The magic left in a rush, and the tree resealed as I stared at the weapon. It was as long as my forearm and hypnotically dark. If I stared into the black void of the blade long enough, I feared I’d slip into the abyss and never return. As I found my footing and once again began searching for a way out, an agonizing howl shook the air. Both Seville and Kara were nowhere to be found, but the weapon Seville had used was left behind in a puddle of blood. Zeverin had abandoned his whips and managed to wrap his arms around Rorik’s torso.
And ignited himself.
A column of roaring flames shot toward the sky. I couldn’t see Rorik. But I could hear him. My mind went utterly blank. I felt nothing as I shot toward them, my heart erratically pounding against my rib cage. My breath stung my lungs, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. It was Rorik. And I needed him. I channeled everything I had into my Fernglove magic, and it exploded from my right hand without an ounce of hesitation. Rorik and I came together last night. Our limbs intertwined, our mouths claiming each other, our heartbond full of unending magic and emotion. My power—our power—was fully unfettered, and I would use it to destroy anyone who laid a hand on Rorik. The earth beneath my feet ripped open to devour the flames burning the lawn, leaving me a clear path to the tower of fire.
An earthquake rumbled from somewhere deep in the earth’s core, and the ground splintered right beneath Zeverin’s feet. His footing slipped, and with it his concentration. The flames went out in a rush as Rorik crumpled to the ground.
“Thief!” Zeverin roared, his bulging eyes locked on the blade in my other hand. “I’ll lock you up and drain you of magic for this!”
I barely registered his words. My stare was fixed on Rorik. His blackened skin and hollow eyes awoke a fury in me like I’d never known. Barbed vines erupted from the earth and slammed into Zeverin. I snared him like a doll and thrashed him against the ground. Over and over and over again. I wanted his blood mixed with the soil. I wanted him broken beyond repair. I wanted his line squandered and his insides strewn across the steps of the manor he’d once called his.
But the more I battered his now limp body against the ground, the sharper a similar pain began to spread through my limbs. But I didn’t care. I wanted him dead. I didn’t care if that meant I died, too. Somewhere in the far recesses of my brain, I realized this was the evervow. This was the exact opposite of saving the First’s kin.
But fuck him. Fuck him and his useless pride and his power. Fuck him... A groan slipped from my lips as I doubled over, the effects of the vow and my magic wreaking havoc on my gut. A cool hand gripped my shoulder tight, and I snapped my head up to see Ossanna standing beside me.
“Enough. Escape while he’s unconscious.” She released me, then raised her hands to the sky and summoned a massive orb of swirling water. Salt tinged the air as her magic grew, and then she clapped her hands once. The ball crashed into the earth, flooding the lawns and dousing the wild flames with chilling waves that slammed against our legs. Murmurs of praise rose from the Evers who’d remained, and I stole a glance at the group in search of Seville. Nothing, but I could’ve sworn I saw the hint of a mirage slowly creeping toward the road. The light bent for a breath, and I caught a glimpse of Kara shouldering an unconscious Seville. She held my gaze for a moment, inclined her chin toward the path leading to Stormsend, and then disappeared.
I let my magic fade away as I rushed to Rorik’s side. Ossanna followed closely, her gaze flitting between me and Zeverin’s still form.
“You won’t be able to go to Stormsend.” She knelt beside me and studied his wounds. Grimaced. With a twirl of her fingers, she sent a cooling stream of water across his body. It wrapped around him like a faintly tinted blue bandage. Rorik sighed. Then she made a similar bandage for my leg as well. A prickling chill shot over my calf until a gentle numbness settled deep into my muscles.
“Thank you,” I murmured with a nod toward my leg.
“Your wound was superficial. With this, you’ll recover soon enough. As for Rorik... I can’t heal him, but I can create a temporary cast of sorts that will hold for a few miles. After that, you’re on your own.”
“Why can’t we go to Stormsend?” I asked. Rorik began to stir, his eyes moving restlessly beneath closed lids.
“If Zeverin intended to keep you and Seville, it won’t be safe. Both the Embers and Stormsend will be on high alert for your presence.” Ossanna stood and brushed her hands along her blouse. “Keep to the coast. Be on the lookout for what we discussed earlier.”
The entrance to Death’s domain. “What’s to keep Zeverin from heading to Fernglove? Or Willowfell?”
“What’s to stop him from doing anything?” She looked to her daughter, who was scowling at Zeverin with obvious distaste. “I think our opinion of him has shifted. I won’t go to war against him, but we’ll leave immediately for Fernglove Manor. I’ll get word to your family before Zeverin can act.”
“Ossanna...” Words formed and died on my tongue, none of them carrying the gratitude I wished I could have delivered. “Thank you. For everything.” With gentle hands, I eased Rorik into a sitting position. His eyes peeled open, and he blinked a few times as he studied the stream of watery bandages lining his body.
Ossanna nodded. Her gaze slanted to the blade in my hand. My grip on the hilt hadn’t wavered since Rebellyn bestowed it on me. A flicker of understanding coursed through Ossanna’s ruby eyes; then, hope. Without looking to her daughter, she said, “Issa, your bag.”
Issa came willingly, her hands already tugging at a slender metallic chain across her chest. She pulled it over her head and handed the bag to her mother. The sapphire velvet pouch was cinched closed with a silver cord.
