Of Thorn and Thread (Daughters of Eville #4) - Chanda Hahn Page 0,4

My head dropped, and then I collapsed to my knees. Tears pooled in my eyes and snot ran down my nose. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been so afraid of the pain from those men’s thoughts, Meri wouldn’t have had to defend me. She wouldn’t have accidentally killed Armon and run away.”

“That was her decision,” Honor said coolly. “We all must be held accountable for our own actions. You can only atone for your own.” She looked down on me, and I felt small and weak in her eyes.

“I’m not strong like you,” I whispered.

“No, you’re not,” Honor stated truthfully, never one to sugarcoat her feelings. “But you’re good.” I saw a flicker of sadness, then she looked away, and I wondered what she was hiding. “Come, I will escort you home.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I muttered, pushing myself to my feet.

“I never suggested otherwise.” Honor’s hand rested on the handle of her short sword, her eyes scanning the woods. “We don’t know what made those wounds, or what kind of danger he may be in.”

I sighed. She was guarding me, and as we walked back to the house, I was grateful for the added protection. With the mental shape I was in, I wasn’t sure if I could fight off an attack.

The trek home was silent and weary. Honor was on high alert, and she tiptoed through the woods. I followed, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other while my mind replayed the events.

Who was that man? Where was he from? And last, was he dangerous?

Chapter Two

By the time we made it home, dusk had settled, and our tower had become a dark and ominous outline on the horizon. Our home, once an abandoned guard structure, had been expanded over the years and now included a main house and work room. My sisters—seven in all—each adopted by Lady Eville, lived in the top three floors of the tower, and our adoptive mother trained us in the way of magic and vengeance.

Bug, our donkey, stood by the front entrance, his enormous head protruding through the doorframe as he spied the goings-on inside. Honor awkwardly stepped around him and didn’t even give him a second glance. I placed my hand on Bug’s side and felt a shiver ripple through his hindquarters.

He backed out of the doorway and gave me a forlorn look.

“That bad, huh?”

Bad. His tail flicked, and he moved back to watch the commotion. Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself and headed inside. Our mahogany dining table had been hastily cleared off to make room for the stranger. The shepherd’s pie knocked to the floor along with our freshly baked bread. Hack was under the table, making sure the scraps didn’t go to waste, his face buried in the potatoes as he greedily licked up the food. He didn’t even seem to mind the green things.

Mother Eville looked foreboding in a black high neck gown, her hair braided into a soft crown around her head. Her dark brows knit into a line of worry, her face grim. Even with her sleeves rolled up and her hands covered in blood, she was a magnificent beauty. One that had made six princes argue over her hand in marriage. That was before she saw how cold and cruel their hearts truly were, and she vowed retribution upon them.

Ever since, she swore off love and focused on revenge, only helping those she deemed worthy of her time. Lorn was holding the injured man’s shoulders down to keep him from moving while Mother worked. Honor moved to his feet and assisted her mentor, Lorn. Rhea was absent, and Maeve was pacing in the back of the room.

The man moaned softly as my mother poked and prodded his stomach. “There’s something inside. I can’t remove it with what I have here, and we have little time. Maeve, I need you.”

“Got it.” My sister’s eyes gleamed as she shifted into a crow and hopped onto the man’s chest. Her head tilted side to side as she studied the wound area. Her bird-like eyes searching for what our human eyes couldn’t see. The crow had a shorter and thinner beak over the larger raven, perfect for being a pair of tweezers in emergencies.

Maeve’s dark head bobbed and struck, coming up with a sharp object between her beak. She promptly dropped it into her mother’s palm. Her head tilted, and she studied the wound. She flapped her wings, flew to the middle of