Chapter Twenty-Nine Viola #2
“You see this bird?” He pulls away from me and taps on the book, then moves to the board.
He sketches a bleeding human heart next to the existing bird.
Then another bird. It reminds me of Lyria’s research and the diagrams in Founder’s Room, except she wasn’t killing anything to heal Mortemagi.
Here, Lorne’s suggesting carving out hearts to take lifeblood back.
“The bird was how Rafael Grimm, the father of death magic, discovered lifedrain. He had a pet raven who died prematurely. At her funeral, he took the heart of a living raven and wove its threads into his dead raven. She went on to live longer than him.”
He pauses, a shy smile on his lips. He speaks of Rafael Grimm so fondly, as one would a paternal figure. It’s such a stark contrast to how alarmed everyone else seems to be about a second one coming around. I want to ask, but an odd feeling deep within tells me to stay quiet.
He must notice the questioning look on my face, because he continues, “Rafael Grimm was unfortunately terribly misguided.” He shakes his head.
“He did unspeakable things in the name of magic, things that should never be forgiven nor forgotten. That being said, we can acknowledge his greatness as a scholar while condemning his actions.”
My shoulders drop. For a moment, I thought he may have been one of his followers. “Of course,” I reply. “Tell me more about lifedrain…”
“An animal can only give life back to another of the same kind,” he explains with a nod. “When Mortemagi take a mage’s heart, they absorb their remaining lifeblood—”
I gasp, questioning my hearing. Is he telling me to kill someone so I can live longer? “Lorne—”
His eyebrows lift at his name. He walks over and leans forward on my desk. I back up, terrified of the hunger in his eyes. “Not all lives are equal, Viola. I see raw power within you. With the right guidance, you could alter the fate of all Mortemagi in this world.”
Suddenly, the room feels suffocating. The closer he gets, the more I feel like the walls are closing in on me. “No,” I blurt out. “No. I refuse to kill anyone.”
“I refuse to let you die and waste centuries of cultivated magic.” He slams his hands on the desk, and I jump. My heart races, and I stare at him in disbelief. Why is everyone so obsessed with my magic?
“Poachers are murdering people senselessly. No one will miss their hearts, I assure you,” he adds with the same fervor.
I stand, pressing my hands to my sides to hide that they’re shaking. I need to leave.
“The choice isn’t yours. It’s mine,” I say. Sylas’s face flashes across my mind, but I shove it away.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what it is about you.” He says something else under his breath, but I linger on his frustration. Why is he so concerned about whether I live or die? Maybe if he had shown Olivia the same concern, she wouldn’t be gone.
Only a desk separates us. His eyes lower to mine, and I want to crawl out of my skin. “Viola, there’s something I have to tell—”
He doesn’t finish his sentence because there’s a knock on the door. “What?” he barks.
The door opens, and Rhodes walks in, a smile on her face. The moment her eyes land on us and the board, her smile drops, and she glares at Lorne. I jerk away from the desk, nearly tripping over my chair.
“Magister Lawton is in the middle of a lifedrain lesson?” asks a familiar voice. My limbs relax, pure relief washing over me. I’ve never been happier to hear a voice in my life.
Lyria peeks into the room, winking at me. Behind her, Beau gives Lorne a blank stare. “I hope we’re not too late to join.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Dean Rhodes,” Lorne stutters. “I believe it will be distracting for Viola to have a mage as talented as Grand Magus Archyr in the same class.” He completely ignores Beau.
Dean Rhodes glares at him as if he were a disobedient child. “Their relic lifedrain research could change the fate of Firstline officers. I thought you’d be an excellent pairing, given your… natural interest.” She gestures to the board, and Lorne’s cheeks turn red.
“Let us hope this partnership completes Lilyana Ronin’s Lifedrain Theory. It would serve us well to have something positive to show to DOTS,” Rhodes tells Lyria and Beau before leaving.
Something tells me she doesn’t care about the fate of Firstline officers, and she’s hoping they make a breakthrough so no one questions her leadership.
“Lorne,” Beau drawls. “I am so excited to learn from you.”
“It’s Magister Lawton.” Lorne’s upper lip twitches. “Don’t get too comfortable, Beau.”
“It’s High Magus Archyr.” Beau’s jest is gone. He squares his shoulders, his lips drawn into a line. It reminds me of his brother, and the guilt that’s been circling me since I spoke with Sierra finally chokes me.
“Lesson’s over.” Lorne snatches his book from the desk, burying it under his coat. He gives me a cold glance. “Self-study for the rest of the semester. You may find me in my office, should you need assistance.”
Before he leaves, he turns to Lyria. “Overseer Delaney shared your most recent report with me, and the two equations weaving a healing aspier’s venom into a cuff look very promising. With your help, Grand Magus Archyr, we may very well be at a turning point for Mortemagi.”
Lyria’s eyes light up, and she smiles at him. “Thank you, Magister.”
“Lorne,” he corrects her. “Feel free to drop by my office anytime to discuss.”
With that, he leaves.
“Are you all right?” Lyria hugs me the moment the door closes.
“I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner. Sylas told us to look out for you and not leave you alone with Lorne, but Paltro grounded Beau and stripped him of rank, and I had to make a million excuses about needing him to complete Mom’s research so we could be assigned to the House of Death. ”
I nod, holding back tears. They are here for me. None of it was a facade; somewhere along the way, the lines blurred, and we did become friends.
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1939
The next four days are marked with two unsuccessful attempts in which I tried to seal my magic. The first had Overseer Delaney referring me to the institute’s counselor, and the second had Dean Rhodes shutting her door in my face.
They don’t seem to understand. If the murderer is indeed collecting relics for a ritual, sealing my magic solves a problem: no magic, no relic, no ritual.
Lyria thinks I’m losing my mind and we should focus on finding any hidden clues that we may have missed. Of course, there’s nothing.
Ever since they rescued me from Lorne’s lifedrain lesson, Lyria and Beau have been spending the majority of their time with me.
When we’re not in class, we scour books that Lyria gets from the library to research rituals.
Beau has taken to randomly quizzing me on the history and rules of death magic, and surprisingly, between Olivia’s homework and Nan’s books, I’ve found I’m excellent at theory.
I wish things were going as smoothly with Lyria.
It took me one whole day to learn to grip a fake dagger properly.
Apparently, I have no proper fighting stance, and she says I flail like a fish out of the water when I’m under attack.
She fails to consider that I’ve never had to worry about being murdered before.
Some nights after curfew, we slip into the Poisoned Stairwell, far enough to where I should hear the ghosts, but nothing happens. I think the anchored ghost keeps them away, but she’s been silent since that exchange with Sierra in Hollow Tree.
In the mornings, I arrive early in Hollow Tree to grab the newest edition of The Daily Mage and read it while eating my breakfast. News of the murders are crumbs across the pages, with one tiny headline about Fable’s death titled: “Are We Back to the Age of Grimm?”
Firstline takes up most of the front page and the five that follow.
Somehow The Daily Mage feels the need to report that the Holm Division is getting a brand-new office in the South, and that the Premier Intelligence Division still holds the record for poacher kills.
Sierra wasn’t kidding; they do have a poacher kill count in the margins next to the Firstline unit names.
So far, the Deathbringer holds the record of highest number of poachers killed in a week.
Poachers are terrible, but how can Firstline celebrate death as if it were a game? It makes sense why the Gorhail murders hold so little importance. To mages, death is part of their lives.
In the brief moments I forget that Sylas has the Imortalis, I catch myself wondering if he’s hurt. Every passing day digs a bigger hole in my heart. Our last exchange was a burst of anger I wish I could erase.
Sitting on the ledge of the small window in my room, I run my hand over the shimmering glass.
The faint glimmer of the setting sun caresses my fingers.
I hope Sylas is making progress on the Grimm task force, because Beau, Lyria, and I have been sitting on the same information for a week now.
Three dead relics, not including mine, one missing cuff, one missing book, and, more importantly, a bizarre sense of normalcy, as if the whole institute is under a trance.
My eyes land on the writing desk, now full of books, notebooks, and more homework than I had when I was at the nonmagi university.
Homework makes me think of my sister, and my chest tightens…
Gods, Olivia. What secrets were you keeping?
Why couldn’t you leave me a single clue?
Or maybe she did, and I’m too blind to see it.
We have yet to find the person who was paying Victor to help Olivia lie.
I unclasp my cuff, studying the delicate engraving.
My mind flips through every book I’ve read from Nan’s library.
I wish she were still here to guide me through everything—and suddenly I realize that maybe she is.
Maybe the answer lies in her library, in the old crate of books I haven’t yet gone through.