Chapter Thirty-Three Viola #2
“Lyr, we’ll be fine. Visiting Victor won’t take long, and my parents’ vault is near the entrance of the crypt, so it’ll be quick. We’ll be at Rhea Corvi’s library in no time,” Beau reassures her from the driver’s seat.
“The last time you said we’d be fine, you died,” Lyria clips, and he sighs. There’s not much arguing with that.
Beau parks the car, and we get out in silence.
I glance at the white square building in front of us.
Sterile. That’s the best word for Riverview.
Albion and Gorhail have so much character compared to the boxy buildings and carefully manicured lawns in this town.
Even their sidewalk is a series of perfectly cut concrete slabs.
“Sy’s waiting at the entrance,” Beau says, and I seek him out. He leans against the building, clad in his all-black Firstline uniform; he looks as deadly as he did the night we broke into Dearly Departed.
When he notices us, he pushes himself off and takes a few steps forward, waiting at the top of the stairs.
I straighten my borrowed jacket; Beau insisted that we all wear combat jackets in case we run into poachers, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the jackets wouldn’t matter.
If we run into poachers tonight, we’re dead.
“You look fine.” Lyria stifles a smile as she loops her arm through mine.
The three of us cross the road and climb up the steps. Beau made us rehearse the script at least three times today: Beau is taking his sister— me—to see his boyfriend under the supervision of Sylas, whom Lyria is shadowing on duty.
Sylas glances at our locked arms and sighs.
“Lyr, the officer on duty is thinking of earning his Grand Magus rank in death magic—distract him so he doesn’t ask too many questions as they’re visiting Victor.
Our brother unfortunately has a very memorable face, and I doubt the fake passes will hold for long. ”
Beau winks at Sylas. “Just say I’m handsome.”
“Beau,” Lyria hisses, letting go of my arm and walking ahead. “Stop joking around. You’re supposed to be sad.”
As we watch his siblings walk in ahead of us, Sylas leans his head to the side. “Poison’s red looks better on you than Death’s blue.”
Before I’m able to process his words, he files into the narrow door of the prison, following Lyria and Beau. I let out a shaky breath; now isn’t the time to think about the meaning of his words.
The entrance opens to a rectangular room with a single raised desk in the back.
Again, everything is white: the walls, the tiles, the desk.
It’s nauseating. The four of us step forward until we stand in front of the desk.
An officer, dressed in black from head to toe, waves us over.
He sticks out like a sore thumb. “Passes,” he barks.
We hand them over in silence. He notices the slight shake of my hand, considers it for a moment, then his curious eyes land on me. “First time in a prison, miss?”
“Y-yes.” I force a smile.
“Who are we here to see?” The man’s eyes shift between my face and the pass. “A lover, perhaps?” Beside me, Sylas shifts his weight, and it takes all my might not to glower at him.
“Yes.” Beau gently nudges me out of the way, inserting himself between Sylas and me. “We’re here to see my lover. I want my sister to meet him in case he’s placed on death row.”
I glare at Beau. Someone whose boyfriend is on death row wouldn’t wear the world’s biggest smile. His face immediately drops into a solemn look.
The man grimaces, then looks at our passes again. “Weren’t you the dead boy on the front page of The Daily Mage?”
So much for a distraction.
Beau throws his head back in laughter. “Pray tell, how would I have been able to drive a car here?”
The officer’s look lingers for a second, before shifting to Sylas. “Division?”
“Riverview Division,” Sylas replies. “My sister is shadowing me on orders from Paltro.” He hands the officer Lyria’s pass and a letter. “We’re fine with waiting outside until they’re finished. We have to escort them back to Gorhail.”
The officer scribbles something down, then hands us the passes back. “Second door on the left, down the hallway, and another left. Prisoner is ready in a holding room; your visit was called in an hour ago.”
Beau and I leave Sylas and Lyria chatting with the officer as we walk down the corridor and make our way to the holding room.
When we step in, I bite down a gasp.
Victor sits in the middle of the white room, at a lone white table, hands cuffed and feet bound. His head lifts at Beau. “Was this really necessary?”
Beau adjusts his collar but doesn’t reply.
Firstline is still so cruel, my ghost comments.
I clear my throat. “Hi, Victor… er, I… I’m sorry about the restraints.”
He cleaves your life in four, and you are offering sympathy. She’s been a lot more vocal since our conversation in the library last Thursday, and right now, I wish she wasn’t.
Victor nods, then lowers his head.
“Tell me about Olivia’s last day.” We don’t have long, and I refuse to leave here without answers.
Victor looks up, considers me for a moment. “The last time I spoke to her was the night before I died. She mentioned she was going to leave Gorhail. Otherwise, business as usual.”
My breath catches. She was trying to leave. Does that mean she was really considering coming to Osneau with me? Did the killer find out? “Who else knew?”
“Everyone. She wasn’t distraught or anything. Lorne had planned a getaway for them to Wanora after her promotional exam. I think he was looking to move there for a research position at the local museum.” Victor holds my gaze. He chews on his lower lip, then sighs. “I’m sorry, Viola. I really am.”
Oh. Olivia wasn’t going to leave for me; she was planning to leave with Lorne. Now her hesitation when I mentioned Osneau makes sense. I blink hard; I’m not crying here.
As I stand to the side, trying to quell the knot in my stomach, Beau takes the seat opposite Victor.
He pulls a form from his jacket and lays it flat for Victor to see.
“We think there’s a link between the dead family lines and stolen relics.
Most of these families went to school around the same time. The only person still alive is your—”
“Mom.” Victor jerks his hands forward, but the chains hold him still. “Mom’s been through enough. She doesn’t even speak most days. Did anyone even tell her where I was?”
His eyes are red with anger or despair, I don’t quite get a read. But my heart breaks all the same, watching him hang on to Beau’s next words, and knowing that our ask will shatter him.
“Could we…” Beau tries, looking straight at Victor. “Could we take a reader to her?”
“No.” Tears well in his eyes, and my heart drops at the agony in his voice. “You can’t do that. No one’s authorized to see her other than me. And… I haven’t seen her in weeks. Please, Beau.”
Beau holds Victor’s gaze for a moment, then, without acknowledging him, coldly slides the form in front of him. “This is an authorization form. We’ll make sure she’s taken care of in case anything happens to you.”
“Beau…” Victor pleads, slightly shaking his head. “Please don’t do this.”
The room begins to feel small, and I feel like an intruder. I clear my throat, and Beau glances at me, then sighs. “We don’t have all night.”
Victor looks at him a second longer, then nods.
“In case anything happens to me…” Victor mulls over Beau’s words, lowering his head, tears dripping on his manacled wrists.
“You’ve just confirmed they’ll put me on death row for a crime I didn’t commit.
My only crime was misleading you, Viola, and I could beg for your forgiveness for eternity, but it wouldn’t return your years. ”
I look down, remembering Priya charged him with the murder of a Mortemagi who doesn’t exist.
In a way, he murdered you, the ghost comments. By Death, I wish she would stop.
“You don’t get it. People like you and your siblings, and even you, Viola,” he says through his tears. “What do you even have to worry about? The Archyrs could murder a room of people, and Paltro would erase all their charges. While I’ve had to fend for myself since I was a child.”
Beau flinches but doesn’t say a word. He cannot. Sylas was indirectly responsible for the death of a unit, and nothing happened to him.
“And you, Viola, the Corvi cuff is so valuable, they’d bend over to let you step on them.”
I think of how Priya saved me from execution and how leadership at Gorhail kept quiet. Victor is right. This world is unfair, but we don’t choose our blood; we can, however, choose to alter our legacy.
“I’ll testify that there was no Mortemagi,” I say, and Beau’s head snaps toward me. “As long as you sign the form.”
Your kindness is nauseating.
“Vi, you can’t—” Beau protests. “I’m not letting you take the blame for the resurrection. They won’t care that you barely have any years left. DOTS will execute you.”
“Even if I were to live to a hundred, I’d only have three years left,” I cut him off. “I’m as good as dead, Beau, but Victor has to live with his actions, and I think that’s punishment enough.”
Victor looks at me with gratitude. I wish he wouldn’t; it isn’t much, but I cannot stand here and watch him be put on death row because he loved his mother. We’ve all done desperate things for the people we love.
He scans the form, then he lifts his head at Beau. The disappointment in his eyes tugs at my heart. “I really thought you were different,” he whispers. Then he pulls on the restraints, looking at Beau in question.
“Blood will suffice as an agreement.”
“I’ll sign.” He holds Beau’s stare. “On one condition…”
He’s not in a position to make demands. I know she’s only looking out for me, but Victor is so vulnerable right now that I wish she’d tuck her anger away momentarily.
Victor continues, “Tell my mother I’m away for research. And if something…” He inhales, regaining his composure. “If they end up executing me, don’t tell her. She can’t know I’m dead.”