Chapter Thirty-Two Sylas
Tilda, perhaps consider upholding curfew. Gorhail students were at a bar in Riverview in the wee hours of the morning.
thirty-two | sylas
The atrocious dark green carpet leading to the library is as hideous as it was six years ago, the last time I set foot in here.
Nothing about this place invites knowledge.
From the black candles staggered on either side of the never-ending hallway to the wrought iron grill in front of the black double doors, it might as well be the path to the Underworld.
Gryff is recovering at the infirmary, and he refuses to speak to me.
On Lyria’s advice, I decided to leave him alone for a bit, but I don’t blame him.
As I was sitting there this morning, waiting to be treated, I learned that Wren was getting married in two weeks, and one of the dead Mortemagi had just had their first baby.
Now someone’s lost a wife and another a parent.
All these lives stolen, because of my recklessness and blind rage. How many more will die because of me?
“Paltro is furious,” Beau says, and my head whips to him. I had forgotten he was walking beside me. Railesza lifts her head in question. As much as I want to take her back, I can’t until Beau gets his new aspier. “I overheard him saying you are mentally unfit for Firstline.”
One moment, I am unfit for Gorhail; the next, I am unfit for Firstline.
But I am somehow not unfit to wield one of the three most powerful relics.
That’s the problem with this administration.
They only care about our magic, never us—we are only as valuable as our relics.
The unit hasn’t even been dead for a few hours, and they’ve already replaced them, while I wander around the halls of Gorhail with a slap on the wrist because Paltro likely pulled strings again.
This is when the Grand House should push for an execution, but where is Viv Rowan with her pitchfork now?
They had no problem sentencing me over murders I didn’t commit, and now… I have to live with what I did.
“Sylas.” Beau stops me, and I turn to face him. “Stop doing this,” he pleads. “You’re going back to your ways right after Dad died. You cannot do this to yourself… you cannot do this to us.”
I shake my head. Beau doesn’t understand what it’s like to have so much blood on your hands that you’re afraid your palms will never be rid of the red tinge.
He doesn’t understand the tightness in my chest that makes every breath a chore.
He doesn’t understand the guilt that sears my insides like the brand of death.
“Sy.” He grips my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Gryff told me what happened. Yes, you lost control… but those were whisperer-reader poachers. They could’ve manipulated anyone; you just happened to be the easiest to read. That’s not your fault. We’ve lost so much…”
“No one else broke the line.” Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. I was under strict orders, and I broke the line out of my own free will. The poacher didn’t force my legs forward. “I did,” I say, and it will sit with me until the day I die.
“They spoke to no one but you,” Beau says, trying again. “Gryff told us. So you don’t know what anyone else would have done.”
I don’t reply, and we continue our walk in silence. After a brief moment, Beau breaks it. “Paltro and Rhodes were arguing outside his office.” He lowers his voice. “Paltro mentioned your father’s reports about Grimm, and Rhodes shut him down so fast.”
“Paltro was alarmed when I told him the poachers left every other relic, except for Wren’s, but Rhodes is in denial,” I tell Beau.
It’s natural that Rhodes would dismiss anything that would ruin her image as Gorhail’s most peaceful dean.
So far, she’s done nothing but cover up murders and dismiss any mention of a Grimm copycat.
If Dad spent his last days investigating it, he must have been onto something.
Maybe they could’ve even killed him for it.
“With Wren’s relic, I am certain they are collecting one relic from each magic class. We just need to find the link between all of them,” I explain. “It has to do with the families, but I don’t know how they’re all related.”
“Victor’s laurel, my aspier, Fable’s pen, Wren’s knife, and we know they want Vi’s cuff. So what remains is a reader’s key,” Beau muses aloud as he pushes open the door.
The moment we walk through the doors of the library, wildberry incense wafts into my nostrils, taking me back to when Gryff and I were barely eighteen, being confined to the navy study desk in the middle of the main floor so the librarian could have eyes on us.
In the far left, the wrought iron stairs we’d use to sneak to the higher floors stands frozen in time.
In the back of the room, right in front of the shortest bookcase there, the broken floorboard under which we hid past exam books draws my attention.
It’s off center by a couple of degrees. I wonder what secrets it holds now.
We follow the light incense smoke to the custodian’s desk. Zoya sits behind the newest issue of The Daily Mage, a steaming cup of tea in front of her.
“What tea smells so good today?” Beau reaches over to shake her hand. Zoya has been around since my parents were students at Gorhail. No one knows how old she is, but she has this sweet habit of personally welcoming every single person who walks into her library.
She presses against her desk to stand. I almost stop her, but I know how important it is for her to connect with each student.
“White peony rose, a nonmagi blend and as delicious as the name,” she tells him.
Beau nods and clears his throat. “I need to access the faculty’s section on the sixth floor. I no longer have the rank, but—”
“Oh, Beau, you probably know all the texts by heart anyway—off you go.”
Then her wrinkled hands wrap around mine. “Your smile is as beautiful as your mother’s. How can I help, Sylas?”
Her words take me by surprise. My throat thickens, and I can’t answer. I squeeze her hands and blink away the tears that weaseled their way into my eyes. “I… I need all the books you have on relics.”
“Third floor.” Her eyes crinkle as she releases my hands. “Follow the signs.”
Beau waits for me at the base of the stairs. “I’ll pull as much history as I can on everyone who has been killed and their families. You gather as much relevant information on heirloom relics. We must find something.”
“Have you seen Viola?” I ask Beau before he takes the stairs. I need to see her. To beg for forgiveness if I must, because at least she’s alive to forgive. Everyone else is dead. More than anything, I need her, because no one else will understand the chaos threatening to rip apart my insides.
His face twists with a grimace. “She was with us this morning at the infirmary. Then Paltro told her she had no business being there.”
Gods, Paltro. She gave up her own years to bring Beau back. She has every right to be anywhere she wants. And she’s my… I shake my head. “I’ll deal with it afterward.”
Beau’s eyebrows furrow, his face calculated. “Sy, how hard would it be to get authorization to visit a prisoner?”
I step back. I can’t believe Beau is asking me to breach the rules again… after this morning. Even if I wanted to help, Paltro will probably rescind my Firstline appointment, so I’ll have no clearance. “Why?” I ask instead of answering.
The corners of his lips pull up. “I need an audience with Victor Carver. His mother went to school with our parents, and he’s the only one with access to her. That, and Viola wants to speak with him about Olivia.”
I glare at my brother. Of course he had to mention Viola.
Even if Paltro doesn’t kick me out of Firstline, none of them will be allowed at the Riverview Prison.
We’ll have to leave right after curfew, forge passes, and risk Lyria and Beau being demoted further.
I can’t believe I’m considering his ask, but I suppose it would bring us closer to who is behind the murders.
“I’ll see what I can do. If we get caught—”
“We won’t get caught.” Beau snorts. “I’m not used to seeing this side of you.”
“What side?”
“The cautious side.”
I let out a dry laugh. What I don’t tell him is that I’m not risking any of their lives or their ranks again; I refuse to have more blood on my hands, and especially not that of my siblings… and Viola.
“Go before I change my mind.” Then I nod at Railesza. “Stop looking so miserable. You’ll be back soon.” She turns her head away from me, glancing at the third floor, as if she’s telling me to leave already.
“Seriously?” I blink at her, but she coils back to sleep around Beau’s arm as he heads to the sixth floor.
I climb the stairs by twos, breaking off at the third floor.
The study area is empty. Lyria always complains about how packed the library gets, that she has to ask for special authorization to study on the sixth floor.
As hard as Rhodes is working to retain a semblance of normalcy within the institute, mages are afraid and mostly seem to be keeping to themselves.
I follow the signs, crossing seven rows of shelves until I see the back wall, lined with shelves that are too tall for me to reach.
It smells like old books and the sandalwood of Paltro’s office.
A page flips, and my steps slow. A muffled voice asks a question, but no one answers. Around my wrist, Raiku’s head perks. He throws me a cautious glance, and I lower my arm, letting him slither to the floor.
One second, there’s no sound.
Two seconds, the book shuts.
Three seconds, he doesn’t come back.
I turn right into one of the nooks, expecting to see a poacher. Or worse, the puppeteer. But Viola kneels on the ground, brushing her knuckles on Raiku’s scaly head, and my aspier rubs against her hand like a house cat.
“Sylas…” she breathes as our eyes meet; my lungs empty, and my heart caves.
In her voice, I find peace.