Chapter Twenty-One Viola #3
“Is that a threat, Corvi?” Sylas runs his finger down the side of my neck, over my collarbone, dragging my attention back to him.
Raiku slides over my shoulder, grazing the skin of my throat as he coils back around Sylas’s wrist. I gulp, forgetting the world around us.
My cheeks feel warm, and my breath wavers.
His gaze darkens, dropping to my mouth then back to my eyes.
He smirks again; this time it’s triumphant.
It’s just a game, I tell myself. One that I refuse to play.
“I don’t make threats, Archyr.” I swat his hand away, our gazes locked on each other.
Raiku flinches, his murderous eyes looking at me with curiosity.
This feels like an echo of our exchange before he stabbed me behind the Doors of Desire.
It’s only been a few days, but it feels like ages have passed.
“I apologize for my brother,” Beau says. “His manners are lacking. He’s trying to tell you that he doesn’t want you as bait. And neither do I.”
Sylas takes a single step away from me, a scowl on his face.
As my eyes shift from him to his brother, I realize once again that Sylas is offering me a way out.
First, he was willing to give up on the catacombs, and now he’s willing to give up on getting his brother back.
And Beau… he’s giving up a second chance at life.
“I’ll be fine.” I don’t know if I’m reassuring him or myself. “I want to do this. For them. For answers. For Olivia.”
Beau nods with a sigh, but Sylas won’t even look my way.
“Puppets are controlled by threads of magic. Mortemagi can take over the threads. Is there any chance you…” Beau trails off as he walks over to us.
“No,” I cut him off. I wish I understood my magic better, but since Lyria mentioned anchoring, I’m fairly certain it wasn’t me at all who threaded the voices into the river—the ghost from Death Spire probably took pity on me and helped.
Besides, I’m not going to become an experienced mage overnight.
“Unless you have a crash course in death magic.”
Beau laughs, and the world stops. His eyes crinkle, and his laugh is so pure; it’s like soft classical music on a quiet morning. How could anyone kill him?
Victor joins Beau, his amber eyes full of hope. “If you do this for me… for us,” he says, his gaze lingering on Beau, “I swear to you on my mother, I will help you find your sister’s killer.”
“Beau.” Sylas’s low voice pulls me back to him, reminding me that he’s still very close to me.
His lips press together, and he draws in a sharp breath.
His face is unreadable. “Take Victor downstairs and choose a spare Arkani relic from the safe; Lyria has collected many from her years earning her Grand Magus rank at the House of Arcane. We’ll grab it before we leave.
You can have Raiku or Railesza until you get your father’s aspier from the crypt. ”
In silence, Beau and Victor walk through the desk and head toward the small spiral staircase at the far left corner in front of the window. I hadn’t even realized that staircase was there.
“Why are you such a martyr?” Sylas asks when we’re finally alone. He cocks his head, a smirk grazing his lips. It’s wicked, it’s beautiful, and it’s murderous. “You are so small, so fragile—”
“Is that how you see me?” I square my shoulders, tipping my head back. “A fragile thing?”
“All I’m saying is…” He rubs his chin, then his eyes briefly drop to my lips. “If you insist on going to the funeral home, just let me go in first. You’re not alone anymore.”
And there he is again, the man who tugs at the strings of my foolish heart. The same man will rip all the strings just as fast. “For how long? Until you get what you want, or until you decide you hate me again?” I bite my tongue for being so loose.
“I haven’t decided yet.” He brushes a stray strand of hair from my face, and my thumping heart betrays me once more. He studies every inch of my face, as if he’s trying to unravel secrets he thinks I’m hiding.
“Why?” he asks when I don’t respond, his low voice ensnaring me further into the madness of us. He doesn’t have to speak anymore; I know he wants to know why I’m helping them. If I were him, I would be suspicious, too.
A flicker of concern flashes across his eyes.
He loosens his back and lowers his head, his eyebrows twitching ever so slightly.
My delusions would have me believe that the answer I’m about to give worries him.
I loathe every second of it. Because he wraps me with this illusion of safety, this silent promise that he will catch me if I fall.
“Because for the first time, I feel that my actions, no matter how small, how useless…” I stress on the last word, and he winces.
“I feel like they matter.” My heart drums against my rib cage.
And for the first time since Olivia’s murder, I let my fears out.
“If I weren’t so passive, Olivia would be alive today.
She wouldn’t have gone to Gorhail on my behalf, and she’d be safe at home right now.
Maybe by bringing your brother and Victor back, it’s my way of seeking forgiveness.
Of choosing to be different. I couldn’t save her, but maybe I can save them. ”
“Stop.” He frowns, running his fingers through my hair, the softness of his palm cradling my cheek. “Your sister’s death is not on you. You didn’t tell her to lie her way through Gorhail.”
He’s right. I didn’t. But even hearing it out loud does nothing to make me feel better.
Before I’m able to stop myself, my hand reaches for his. My heart is a fool. Every single touch from Sylas brings it to life. It doesn’t yet understand that fools are always the first to die.
But there it is again. That look that makes my knees weak and my chest flutter. The seconds stretch into one another, and neither of us move.
Finally, Sylas whispers, “I’ll wheel out the bodies. You’ll go in alone, but Raiku will be with you.”
“That thing tried to kill me once—” I recoil.
The black aspier’s enigmatic onyx eyes bore into me. His hiss cuts between us; either he’s offended that I called him a thing or reminded him that he did, in fact, try to kill me.
“Besides, how will you defend yourself without your weapon?”
A faint smile tugs at his lips, and he drops his arms. “I’m immortal, Viola. I could fight with a spoon and still live.”
He’s immortal. I am not. The Gods must be laughing at the impossibility of it all.
“You don’t need to beguile me further, Sylas. I will bring your brother back.” I break away from the invisible hold he has on me. No matter how much I’ve tried to reject it, I’m a Mortemagi. I will never be anything more than that to him, to any of them. It serves me to remember my place.
“Beguile you? Is that what you think I’m doing?” His voice breaks. In the same breath, the hurt across his face dissipates, giving way to the Sylas I’m familiar with. Cold and calculating. Without looking away from me, he pulls my cuff from his pocket and sets it on the table behind me.
“It’s your life to bargain,” he mutters before we step into the Poisoned Stairwell.