Chapter Thirteen Viola
An untrained Mortemagi is a dead Mortemagi.
thirteen | viola
Archyr didn’t kill my sister. Of this I am certain. He seems like he would take pride in that. Instead, I see a mage torn between wanting closure and wanting to burn down the world.
I am also certain that the boy who told me to run at Dearly Departed was his brother. His picture was on the newspaper Lorne was holding. Beau. The name is fitting: he was beautiful, and he saved my life.
“What did High Magus Archyr want?” Overseer Delaney asks as we walk into the study hall—it was closed while Lorne took me on the tour yesterday morning.
Paneled glass lines the domed roof. The faint light of the moon shines through the glass, and the sky is peppered with diamonds.
We may have the same sky in Albion, but here, it’s mesmerizing.
Rows of packed shelves line the walls, and freestanding curved bookshelves frame sofa nooks.
In the middle, three long tables are littered with open books and stacks of parchment, with students scattered across the benches.
“I was lost and asking for directions.” A lie.
“Magister Lawton left in the middle of his tour yesterday.” A truth.
Like a shadow whose name has been spoken into existence, Lorne peels his tall frame from a nearby bookcase. When his eyes land on me, he frowns. “Miss Corvi, I’m so sorry for leaving you in the middle of Hollow Tree yesterday. I had to attend to urgent House matters.”
My shoulders relax. I don’t care if he’s lying to save himself; his half lie confirms my statement and eases Delaney’s suspicions.
“Good evening, Overseer Delaney.” He bows his head in a way I’ve only seen subjects do to their kings in the staged plays I used to watch in Albion.
She doesn’t acknowledge his greeting. “Miss Corvi needs rest. Will you walk her to her room?”
I don’t need rest. I need answers. But I am not foolish enough to protest, so I thank her, fake a yawn, and turn to Lorne. “Shall we?”
His eyes beam in answer. They light in the same way my heart leaps in the stolen seconds I forget Olivia is no longer here. Lorne didn’t only know my sister; he was close to her, which makes his earlier lie even more suspicious.
We walk the length of a corridor with the same dark walls and red candles that seem to be a recurring theme for the House of Death, take a narrow stairwell that looks like it hasn’t been renovated since the 1500s, and finally walk down a short hallway where the carpet changes from black to a black-and-white diamond pattern.
We’ve reached the sleeping quarters, and we turn one more corner before we arrive at Olivia’s room… my room.
If Lorne has been saying anything, I’ve heard nothing. I am too busy looking for hidden doors, side rooms, or back stairwells I can use to slip out unnoticed. But these quarters are a fort—the only way in or out is through the main entrance. Olivia couldn’t have gotten out of here unseen.
I waste no time getting into my room, eager to be rid of Lorne.
“Wait.” He runs a hand across his face. I wonder what Olivia saw in him. He’s so… unmemorable. “I’m sorry for being an idiot in Hollow Tree.”
A real apology. It comes unexpected, to both of us, judging by the way he glances to the side. “She loved rolled toast with strawberry jam and fresh cream in the morning.” He blinks a few times, then looks up, huffing out a long breath.
My heart tugs. That is my favorite breakfast. Olivia loved an egg, sausage, and spinach casserole that Mother makes so well.
The first year she left for Gorhail Academy, Mother drove all the way from Albion to drop weekly servings of her favorite meal.
It comforts me to know that she carried a part of me with her through my favorite food.
“She would never pass up a roast. And she loved helping people—” He lets out a muffled laugh, and I realize he’s crying.
“I’m sorry.” I’m more uncomfortable than apologetic. I understand his grief, but I don’t see why he is crying about her when he could be helping me find her killer. Or does he, too, believe it was an accident?
My answer comes at once.
“I don’t understand how this could have happened to her. She knew the boardwalk was slippery from all the rain,” he sobs. “I loved her.”
My hands ball into fists. Liar, I want to shout, all sympathy for him gone in an instant.
If he loved her, it wouldn’t have been a question at all.
My sister was terrified of water; she wouldn’t even go near a shallow pond.
And if he knew her, he would’ve known she would’ve never strolled along the boardwalk after curfew in her nightgown in the middle of winter.
“It’s impossible not to see her in you.” His tears won’t stop. “I never even knew she was a nonmagi. She was so bright…”
“I’m sorry,” I say again. I don’t know what I am apologizing for. His foolishness for thinking he was in love with her or his delusion for thinking we look alike.
After a back-and-forth that lasts longer than I have the patience for, I close the door, pressing my back against the cold metal.
This will be harder than I thought. My only hope lies in the hands of someone who could kill me in a second, someone who I’m sure will drop me the moment I help him find his brother.
Archyr couldn’t care less about Olivia, but he does care about Beau.
Someone knocks again. Once, twice.
Does this man have no friends? No duties to attend?
Flinging the door open, I groan. “I’m tired, Lo—”
I swallow my words.
Archyr stands across from the door, one leg propped against the wall, a playful smirk in place of the earlier scowl. The soft reflection of the moon in the skylight kisses his black hair with a faint silver glow. He doesn’t look real at all.
“I thought he would never leave.” He pushes off the wall, dusting his hands on his black pants. My eyes linger on his short-sleeved shirt. Isn’t he cold? Immediately, I shake my head. It is none of my concern.
I step outside, look left and right. “How did you get in here?”
On our walk, Lorne drilled into my head that other Houses aren’t allowed through the main entrance, which only means that there are hidden passageways into the House of Death. That must be how Olivia got out.
“I told you I’d find you, so I did.” He holds my gaze like he’s fulfilled a sacred promise. “Besides, I am the master of stealth.”
I wouldn’t call him the master of stealth when he commands the attention of every person around. If the walls could speak, they would only speak of him.
“Your brother—” I clear my throat, trying to refocus the conversation.
His eyes light up, and guilt eats at me.
The moment I made the connection between Archyr and Beau earlier, I realized I could use the latter’s whereabouts as leverage.
I hate it, especially when Beau saved me from Mara.
I also hate it because Gorhail is already changing me; I’m justifying emotional manipulation as a means to solve my sister’s murder, using someone’s despair to help myself.
Maybe Delaney and Parrish were right. I belong here because, deep down, I’m just like them.
“Erm— Should we speak somewhere else?” I need to know how Archyr can move around Gorhail unnoticed so I can continue my investigation past curfew.
He rubs his chin, considering my request, then beckons me to follow him in the opposite direction Lorne and I came from earlier. A dead end, but not for long because Archyr runs his hands over the wall, pushes in a small rectangular brick, and a panel slides open to a steep spiral staircase.
“Another Arkani invention,” he explains. “They may seem boring, but we wouldn’t have Gorhail without their advancements.”
I wouldn’t call Arkani boring. I spent months reading every book I could find about their inventions and innovations. And now, being at Gorhail and witnessing their magic in every crack of every stone is fascinating. Why couldn’t I have inherited useful magic like theirs?
“After you.” He gestures to the darkness, and I step inside.
Behind us, the door slides shut, and I gasp as I look up and down to find an expansive stairway that seems to never end.
The same candles that light the hallways of the House of Death hug the stone walls, except these are white and hang from an intricate gold laurel candleholder.
They don’t offer nearly as much light as we need to navigate this place, but it’s better than nothing.
Right as this thought crosses my mind, the candles glow a little brighter.
I frown, but Archyr looks at me with amusement. “They only light up when they see fit.”
Suddenly, the temperature drops, and I wrap my arms around my middle, trying to quell the sense of foreboding crawling through me.
Archyr starts climbing down the steps, and I follow closely.
I take the first step, immediately grabbing on to the freezing railing for dear life.
It’s slippery, steep, and I make the mistake of peeking down to see more never-ending stairs that wrap around like a serpent.
The ominous feeling surges through me. What if Archyr did kill Olivia and he wants to make my death look like an accident, too?
Archyr stops, throwing me a glance over his shoulder. “Do you need help?”
“No,” I retort, taking the stiffest second step. A murderer wouldn’t offer to help me, would he?
We take a while to climb down, and I’m surprised he says nothing about my tortoise steps.
When we reach another platform, he motions me forward.
I follow him down an all-white hallway, then take a turn into an all-black one, and finally we arrive in one with wooden flooring.
After two more turns, I no longer know where we are.
I realize that if he wants to kill me, he could do it right here and now, and no one would even know what happened to me.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he says nonchalantly.
“Do you read minds?”