Chapter Seventeen Viola #2
My guidance. I inhale sharply, and she immediately adds, “I know they can be deadly for untrained whisperers, but I know almost everything about death magic, and I’ll never leave your side.”
Her confidence helps me dismiss Parrish’s warning. Deadly or not, I’ll have to go there to find Victor’s ghost.
Archyr clears his throat, his arms tensing as he grips the wheel. Raiku awakens with a glare, slithering from his wrist to his arm.
“No,” he says with finality. “I’ve changed my mind about the cata-combs.
We know where Beau’s and Victor’s bodies are, and Olivia confirmed that a puppeteer is behind this.
” His knuckles are white on the wheel as he crosses the border between Albion and Gorhail.
“We don’t need to waste our time with the catacombs.
I’ll inform Paltro and Gryff, and they’ll send a unit to retrieve the bodies.
Now that we know where to find Victor, one of Firstline’s whisperers will find him and they’ll investigate the murders. ”
“But Beau…” Lyria protests.
“Lyria,” he snaps. “You know our brother. I think it’s time we stop pretending his ghost is still around. He would’ve gotten a message across somehow.”
“Sylas, do you hear yourself?” Lyria’s words are strangled with pain. “That would mean that he’s lost in the Underiver forever… or worse, that he’s become a wandering ghost!”
“Unfounded hope strangles you when reality pulls the strings of truth,” he replies. “It’s been five days, Lyria, and he hasn’t attempted to speak with us once, while Victor has had no trouble contacting Viola.”
“You’re giving up on him…” Lyria’s lower lip trembles, and I cut in.
“You don’t know that. We haven’t even tried…”
Although I initially shared his thoughts, I refuse to lose hope for Lyria. Still, the nagging feeling within me wonders whether Mara’s puppeteer is a conduit who could’ve intentionally led Beau into the Underiver before his burial.
“Corvi, please stay out of family matters.”
The abrupt dismissal pricks at my pride.
I’m good enough when I give him information, but disposable when I fulfill my end of the bargain.
Why did he even show up at Olivia’s funeral, if he was just going to dismiss me?
He even pretended to care, and like a fool, I told him everything about Mara, about Victor, about Olivia.
“I still have to speak to Victor,” I maintain.
“Olivia told you who killed her.” He huffs a frustrated sigh. “They’re all dead because of their relics. Let Firstline investigate—that’s their job.” He stresses on the last three words.
“Yes, but…”
“Then our bargain is fulfilled,” he says through gritted teeth. His words cut through my chest, their sharpness a reminder of my place in this world. Curse the moment I thought something had changed between us. These mages are all the same—they wring you dry, then toss you aside.
The car comes to a halt in front of the eastern entrance of Gorhail. Lyria’s eyebrows pinch in apology, but it’s not her fault she’s related to an ill-mannered baboon with the temperament of a child.
“Very well.” I step out, slam the door, and then stand in the rain, watching the car speed away in the opposite direction.
Once again, I am alone, a complete fool for believing they cared.
Walking back into Gorhail, I strengthen my resolve.
Olivia was strong enough to survive this place for twelve years.
I can, too.
I have to.
Until I know who killed her.
A few dozen pairs of eyes lock on me the moment I walk through Ghost Hall, the great hall of the House of Death.
Ghost Hall is vastly different from Circle Three.
Round dark mahogany tables are scattered around the perimeter, with an open kitchen spanning half the hall.
The other half is bordered by low bookcases, evenly spaced to create little paths leading to private dining nooks, with the occasional hanging firepits offering warmth.
From the entrance, the hall looks like a skull with a top hat.
Lorne hesitates when he sees me, then rushes to me while taking his coat off. He throws it around me, and I consider shoving him and the coat away, but I am freezing.
“Viola.” He holds my face up. “You’re so cold. You need to see a healer.”
“I need…” I clasp his hands, dragging them off my face. “I need to go to my room.”
“I’ll walk you then,” he offers. I don’t have any more fight left in me today, so I don’t argue.
My limbs are shaking, my teeth are chattering, and my face feels like it’s about to turn to ice.
Gorhail’s angry chill has turned my wet clothes into a freezer.
I should never have been fooled by the warm morning sun.
Bale’s weather is as fickle as my mother.
She gave me a single nod of acknowledgment today, which was more than I expected.
“I’m sorry about Olivia,” Lorne mumbles as we climb the narrow stairwell to the student rooms. My eyes glaze over the gold-framed portraits on the wall; a few of Nan’s, several of a beautiful woman with fiery red hair, some of Delaney, and some more of people I don’t recognize.
“Why, Lorne?” I manage between clenched teeth. “Where were you the night she left Gorhail? Since you loved her so much. Where… were… you?”
Lorne pauses at the top of the stairs. I tip my head up, meeting his moss-green eyes. They brim with tears, while mine are filled with rage. We stand, water dripping from my dress, pooling at my feet, and him inches away from me, lips parted but unable to answer.
“I need time to grieve,” I bite. “And I think you do, too.” Then I walk away, his coat still wrapped around me.
Right before I take a right to my room, he says, “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to talk.”
“Fuck off,” I bark, before hurrying to my room. I hope the message was strong enough to make him stay away. I am going to the catacombs with or without Archyr tonight, and I don’t need Lorne poking around.
A quick shower later, I slip into my pajamas and climb into bed, tugging the covers to my chin. Not even the scorching heat of the water could wash away the coldness Archyr seared onto my heart. He played me like a fiddle and broke all the strings before I could learn the music.
Sleep comes at once, throwing me in the middle of my usual dream of the golden-eyed woman with long black hair. This time, she takes me foraging through the woods, telling me which fruits I can eat and which I shouldn’t. She’s so gentle, so calm, so happy. I wonder who she is.
Someone raps on the door, jolting me awake.
I ignore the first three times, but the sound is incessant.
My eyelids reluctantly pull apart. At first, I don’t note anything odd, but one glance at the window and I am on my feet.
The sun is long gone, and Lorne—who doesn’t understand personal space—is surely wondering whether I’ve had dinner.
I barely turn the handle when someone pushes their way in.
Archyr presses me against the wall adjacent to the door, one hand palming my waist and the other on my mouth. He glances at the closed door, then back at me, slowly shaking his head. What is he doing here? Our bargain is over; he was crystal clear. What more does he want?
Two gentle knocks startle me. “Viola?” Lorne.
Archyr looks into my eyes, then slowly slides his hand away from my mouth.
My heart pounds against my chest, the earlier frost thawing into something I have no business entertaining.
He nods at the door. I think he wants me to say something, and I try to speak, but no sound comes out.
I am ensnared in this moment, ensorcelled by him.
My gaze trails to his mouth, and the shadow of a smirk grazes his perfect lips, telling me that he knows.
His fingers close around my waist, and I can feel the warmth of his touch through the thin fabric of my pajamas. Gods, I hate him.
“Viola.” Lorne’s voice comes through again. “I saw the door close as I was walking past. Is someone in there with you?”
I search Archyr’s face for answers, but his smirk grows into a cocky grin, followed by a lazy shrug. By one or multiple divine interventions, I snap out of my delusion.
“I’ll be there in a second.” I don’t leave Archyr’s eyes, not when they widen when he realizes Lorne may ask to come in, not when they narrow when he realizes that he’ll have to hide in this tiny room, and not when they shift to something I cannot decipher.
A warning, telling me that I’m starting something dangerous.
And because I have nothing more to lose, I press the door handle.