Chapter Twenty-Nine Viola #3
I have to go to Albion.
There’s a knock on the door, followed by hushed voices and two shushes. “Lorne refuses to elaborate about the blood arts at Gorhail,” I overhear Lyria. “He knows so much, it’s fascinating.”
“Have you considered that it could be because they are forbidden?” Beau teases her.
I open the door. “I need to go to Albion,” I say as I let them in.
“Why?” Lyria frowns as she walks in and takes a seat on my bed. Beau, on the other hand, greets me with a complicit smile, as his tall figure folds into the small chair by my writing desk.
“Because…” I pause, weighing my words. I need them to agree. “There may be books about relics in my nan’s library.”
Lyria’s eyes light up. “Are you inviting us to the legendary Rhea Corvi’s library?”
“You can borrow as many books as you want.” I give her a tight nod. “And…” I pause, facing Beau. “I also need to speak to Victor.”
He sighs, turning his attention to the mess on my desk. His mouth opens, as if to say something, but then he picks up a pen and nervously taps the back to the wood. Finally, he speaks. “Vi, that would—”
“Beau,” I caution.
“Vi.” He holds my gaze, and the tapping stops. We plunge into a brief silence until he breaks eye contact. “I’m not doing anything until we talk about Dearly Departed. You’ve been avoiding the conversation for the past four days, but it’s killing me.”
Gods, we’re not doing this right now. My shoulders drop, and I lean against the dresser, crossing my arms, facing Lyria instead of him. I’m hoping she’ll change the conversation, but she looks back and forth between Beau and me, and shakes her head.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I murmur, sucking in my cheeks. I don’t want to be reminded of my impending death. We have a murderer to find, we can’t wallow on what we cannot change.
“Will you ever forgive me for taking your lifeblood?” His voice breaks, and my head snaps toward him. He looks down at the pen. I take a step forward, placing one hand on the desk and clenching the other at my side.
“Beau, look at me,” I say, and he lifts his head up. “There’s nothing to forgive.” I stress every word.
Victor tricked me, not Beau. With how miserable Beau has been over the last few days, I know if he could trade his life for mine, he would do it in a heartbeat.
“I could have… I should have read more about resurrection before going along with it.”
He should have. I don’t react. Beau might have found out, but I don’t need Lyria to know I anchored to a ghost.
“And so should I.” I pause, watching him wrestle with my answer. Finally, he nods, and I smile. “Now that is settled, you can make it up to me.”
His eyebrows shoot up in question, and I continue, “I need permission to leave Gorhail to go back to my house, and I need your help getting into the prison. Sierra told me Victor may have more information about Olivia’s last days, and she also said you may have a way in?”
Delaney won’t grant me permission to leave because she says it’s too dangerous with a killer roaming about, waiting to murder me for my cuff. But I keep that detail to myself.
“I can help with the visit to Albion…” Lyria shifts, and the bed squeaks.
“I’ll request an official leave for research and say I need your help.
Rhea Corvi’s library is a reference; they won’t deny me.
” She gets up and reaches over Beau, picking up today’s issue of The Daily Mage. Then she lies back on the bed.
“Three pages of Grimm propaganda in the news today. Does The Daily Mage have nothing better to write about?” She frowns as she flips through the newspaper.
“Why is everyone so terrified of Grimm?” I walk over to my wardrobe, shuffling through wool sweaters, pausing at the one Sylas picked for me the night we left for the catacombs.
Beau clicks his tongue, and the chair scrapes against the wooden floor.
“Grimm was the downfall of mages. He’s responsible for two of our biggest problems today: purists and poachers.
After his rise to power, purists argued that all crossmages would be corrupted.
DOTS then passed the law that all crossmages were to seal one of their classes of magic. ”
Lyria hums in agreement. “Poachers were—are—his followers. They believe in his ideologies: magical freedom, free access to the blood arts regardless of the sacrifices it demands—a barbaric way of life. DOTS is right to control magic. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if we were free to practice lifeblood magic?”
A lot of people would certainly die. Still, with DOTS so quick to condemn people to their execution, why didn’t it simply execute Grimm? “What did Grimm do that earned him his fate? Why trap him in a cuff as opposed to killing him?”
I turn around, and Beau and Lyria are looking at me like I’ve asked something sacrilegious. Lyria turns her head back to the newspaper, her voice lowering. “He murdered anyone who crossed him…”
Something tells me that wasn’t the only reason.
DOTS couldn’t care less about murder—poachers murder mages every day, and mages do the same.
As if she hears my thoughts, Lyria takes in a deep breath.
“But I think… he was—still is—dangerous because of his influence. Poachers worshipped him, and to this day, they speak of him like a saint, if not a god.”
It’s been more than four hundred years, and DOTS not being able to control poachers despite its stringent rules is laughable. It’s almost like they want poachers to exist so they can pass and maintain their nonsensical decrees.
After the usual disconcerting quietness that settles whenever Grimm is brought up, Beau says, “The founders didn’t want to risk anyone being able to resurrect him.
” He scoffs. “Magic is always evolving, and I suppose their arrogance is catching up to them—neither the founders nor DOTS accounted for someone else to walk his path.”
“Could the murders really be connected to this?” I speak my thoughts aloud. “And even if they are, why isn’t Firstline doing anything about it?”
Lyria lets the newspaper drop on her face, and Beau lets out an audible groan. “Welcome to politics,” they both say. Then Beau walks up to me, his eyebrows pulled in concern. I lift my head up to face him. He’s an inch taller than Sylas. There I go thinking about Sylas again.
“I’ll take you to Victor, but I need a favor after we’re done. It’s close to the prison…”
“Beau,” Lyria exclaims, shooting upright. She seems to know what he’s about to ask. “You’ve already been demoted once.”
Beau waves her off. “After we see Victor, would you be able to come with me to the crypts in Riverview? I need to retrieve my father’s aspier. Maybe your ghost…”
I’m not helping anyone, the ghost says, and I snort. Besides, you’ll die if I take over your body again.
“No one asked for your help.” I sigh. “You’re barely there as is.”
I’m resting.
“You’re dead…” I say.
Even the dead need rest.
“Who are you…” Lyria’s face blanches. “Viola, you anchored to a ghost? Haal, I told you—”
Damn the Gods. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
“Can we do this later?” Beau’s side glare silences Lyria. “Paltro hasn’t exactly authorized my release yet, but there’s no rule against visiting my parents’ vaults. I’ll arrange for a prison visit, too, and we can leave as soon as that’s set?”
Lyria stretches her arms. “I’ll line up the Albion visit at the same time, so they aren’t suspicious of Viola asking to visit Victor.” Then she looks at me through her lashes. “You said I could borrow anything, right? No limits?” A smile pulls at her lips.
“No limits.” I return her smile. “As long as we don’t speak about my anchored ghost again. She’s nice; she never talks,” I jest.
I heard that.
“I know.” I smile.
Do you wish for me to speak less?
“Speak as much or as little as you wish,” I tell her softly, under Beau’s and Lyria’s confused stares. “See you both in Hollow Tree for breakfast?”
“As long as Beau doesn’t sleep in again.” Lyria laughs as she ushers him out of my room.
I smile, shutting the door behind them. That odd feeling of belonging creeps around me again, but this time, I let it stay, because I know Lyria and Beau aren’t going anywhere.
A cool, crisp breeze caresses my cheek when I turn around.
The smell of fresh linen envelops me, inviting me to my bed.
Sleep doesn’t take long to find me, and I dream of my sister.
She is radiant in a field of tulips. Her white dress billows in the wind as she spins and spins.
When her eyes meet mine, her smile falters.
Red splatters across her dress, and her eyes turn bloody.
I scream, but no sound comes out.
Three loud knocks jolt me awake. It takes a second to catch my bearings. Someone raps quickly against the door. “Vi,” Beau calls. Did I miss breakfast?
When I open the door, Beau wears the same haunted stare as Lyria. “Riverview Division was attacked in Gorhail Woods.”