Chapter Twenty-Six Sylas
Mortemagi relics refill magic in two ways.
Every ghost led to the Underiver refills a conduit’s relic.
Every ghost spoken to refills a whisperer’s relic.
twenty-six | sylas
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1939
Resurrection halves the life of a Mortemagi.
Parrish’s words tear through my heart. Viola didn’t know what she agreed to.
Victor never gave her a choice; she was nothing but a pawn in his game.
I look up to the ceiling, forcing myself not to curse out the Gods.
I knew something was off about him, and I said nothing.
I should have drilled him with questions, demanded he explain every part of his plan.
Instead, I was too enthralled by the idea of having my brother back, and I unknowingly bled Viola’s years dry.
“You knew…” I trail off, lowering my glare to Victor. His face twists into an expression I don’t care enough to read. He briefly glances past me, at Beau, then his shoulders drop into a sigh. “I…”
Raiku uncoils himself. He perches on my hand, eyes locked on Victor, fangs out and ready to attack on my command. For a brief second, I consider making the call. Victor knows it, because he steps backward into Parrish’s undead.
“Gods, what have we done?” Beau chokes out behind me, and I turn around. “I… I didn’t know, Viola. I swear on my mother’s grave. I… Can we reverse it?” My brother’s eyes beg Parrish to say yes, but she rubs her thumb into her palm with force, her lips drawn into a straight line.
“If I die again, would she gain her lifeblood back?” Beau pleads.
“No.” The sadness in Parrish’s voice weighs the room with regret; even Paltro looks troubled. I can’t bring myself to look at Viola. She cleaved her lifespan in four to bring my brother back to life.
“Viola.” Victor speaks, and Raiku hisses. “I am sorry. You have to believe me. I really did need magic from the Corvi cuff to materialize us, and I will help you find answers about Olivia.”
It’s too late for apologies. His help won’t give Viola her years back.
“It was her decision to make, not yours.” My rage consumes me, and I see red. I take a step, but Railesza’s hiss holds me back. Perched on Beau’s hand, she studies Viola with interest. It’s one thing to have an affinity for the Mortemagi she bonded to, but she guards Viola as her own.
Viola is still as she watches everything unfold around her. She hasn’t said a single word since Parrish told her, and all I want is to take her away from this madness.
As Parrish and Paltro exchange words that I don’t care to listen to, my eyes are glued to Viola. How will I leave for Firstline today? How will I leave her?
She runs a hand through her black hair and pulls away with a grimace.
It’s matted with blood. Even so, she’s as beautiful as the rising sun on the sand dunes of the Farbon Desert.
Her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, and for the first time, I find myself wondering how it would feel against my lips, if she would kiss me back at all.
Her head tilts at me in confusion. I realize I’m staring, that I should probably stop.
I gulp, suddenly conscious of my every move.
Pathetic. Too much has happened tonight, and my emotions are cloudy. I glare at Railesza; it must be that cursed bond. Having stupid thoughts at inconvenient times will get me in trouble.
“I’d like to leave.” Viola’s low voice quiets the room.
The softness of it carries a silent hope, but the flare of her eyes cannot lie.
She’s afraid. Her chest rises and falls quicker than usual, and she slips on another one of her unreadable masks.
Her calm is unnerving. I want her to be angry, to be so furious at this life she was thrown into, all because her sister wanted to play pretend mage.
Our gaze meets, and hers is empty, as if she’s already accepted death as her fate. My chest tightens, my heart slamming against the walls I so carefully built. I don’t want her to die soon. I don’t want her to die at all.
“Viola.” Parrish opens a drawer from the small console table behind her.
She pulls out a stack of paper with the Grand House’s letterhead.
“From now on, I wouldn’t use any magic other than ghost communication or listening to the dead’s last wishes—bleeding any more years for the blood arts will kill you.
As for your sanction for resurrection, dear child, I think you’ve been punished enough. ”
Viola’s eyes are hollow when she nods. It doesn’t matter that Parrish is sparing her from the Grand House’s judgment; Viola already has one foot in the grave.
Parrish scribbles something on the sheet of paper, signs it, then hands it to her. “Take this to Dean Rhodes. She will arrange for expulsion of the anchored ghost.”
Then she picks another sheet from the stack, scribbles something else, then signs it and gives it to Viola. “Congratulations, Magus Corvi. It’s the least I can do, considering”—she pauses, throwing a disappointing glare at Victor—“your sacrifice.”
It is the least she can do. Viola deserves at least her mastery of Death for her sacrifice, and if Parrish cared about her, she would’ve promoted her to High Magus instead of Magus. None of it matters anyway, no number of promotions will return her lifeblood.
Viola holds the two letters, her blank stare fixed ahead, and once again I want her to be angry.
I want her to lash out at the absurdity of this situation.
In one conversation, the Principal Grand Master of DOTS has wiped our slates clean—there will be no prison, no execution—but the cost is higher than I was prepared to pay.
A week ago, I would’ve jumped at that Firstline assignment, but now I’m already trying to find my way out of it. And Viola… Haal, she cannot die.
“High Magus Archyr.” Parrish clears her throat, and I turn my attention back to her. “Please take High Magus Cardot… and Magus Corvi back to Gorhail, after which you are to leave for the Riverview Division.”
She tugs on her shawl and takes a deep breath.
“Rodric, we’ll walk to DOTS. It’ll give you enough time to practice your lie—you hired a rogue Mortemagi to resurrect Cardot and Carver to investigate…
” She trails off, waiting for Paltro to complete her sentence, as if he were a child.
A strange sight, given Paltro is older than her.
“Grimm… on your behalf,” Paltro finishes.
“Perfect.” She gives me a pointed look, and for a blink, I see her sister, the Deathbringer, in her eyes.
Sometimes I forget that the Deathbringer came from a crossmage family.
It’s easy to forget. Purists celebrate her as if she were a saint, and yet Parrish earns purist-led public protests every few months.
“Did you manage to find the body of a Mortemagi poacher with such short notice?”
“Of course,” Overseer Paltro says. “It has been sent to Firstline headquarters, and readers are rearranging the last memories as we speak.”
Parrish nods at Paltro in gratitude, then takes a step toward Victor.
“Mr. Carver”—she moves her fingers, and the undead that stood behind Victor binds his hands with its own bony fingers—“pending sentencing by the Grand House for the murder of the rogue Mortemagi Rodric hired, you will be transferred to Riverview Prison for Highly Dangerous Individuals—”
By Haal, there is no rogue Mortemagi.
I look back and forth between Paltro and Parrish, and it takes me a moment to realize what they’re doing. They’ve fabricated evidence to accuse Victor of murder so the three of us can walk away without repercussions.
Under normal circumstances, I would be livid, but right now, Victor can rot in a cell.
“No.” Victor lunges forward, but the undead pulls him back. “Let me go. I can’t go to prison. My mother—”
“Would be disappointed in how self-serving her son is,” Parrish finishes with scorn.
Victor shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes. “You can’t do this. She’s alone. She has no one. They won’t keep her at St. Fabian’s if the bills aren’t paid—” He’s screaming now, raw and desperate. “Please, I’m begging you. Please, don’t do this to my mother.”
“You did this to her yourself,” Beau says quietly, before wrapping his hand around Viola’s and tugging her toward the front door. “Let’s go.”
With the same silence and resignation she’s been simmering in for the last half hour, she lets my brother drag her forward.
I reach for her other hand, and our fingers brush against each other’s.
But she doesn’t stop. She is a shell of her former self, and all I want to do is breathe life back into her.
Right as I’m about to leave, Paltro’s heavy hand grips my arm. “Son, I understand the obligations of your bond.” He lifts his nose at Raiku. “But stay away from that Corvi girl. Nothing good comes from that family.”
My head jerks backward. Paltro isn’t drafting me to Firstline to cover for us; he’s doing it to separate me from Viola.
Gorhail Institute is a murder of crows when we cross the main gate. Half the House of Death stands still, their black coats pulled tight, their eyes trained on our car. Above, the dark of the night gives way to the dancing blue and orange hues of the morning sun.
News travels fast, I suppose.
Lorne stands in the middle of the crowd, his face red. Overseer Delaney is at his side. They look like angry parents who have caught their children slipping into their house past curfew.
The moment the car comes to a halt, Lorne jerks the door open, dragging Viola out by the arm. His fingers dig into her skin as he pulls her farther. She stumbles.
Railesza’s head snaps in her direction, uncoiling herself around Beau’s arm. She hisses in frustration. Now that she’s no longer with me, she cannot move at will—she has to wait for Beau’s command.
“Viola, you’re bleeding. What did they do to you?” Lorne squeezes her arm once more.
I’m already out of the car, Raiku’s eyes locked on him.