Chapter Thirty-Eight Sylas #2
Pacing back and forth, I weigh my options.
The main entrance is barred, my only access to the Poisoned Stairwell is locked, and I have to assume that they’ve locked all the others, too.
Haal, make yourself useful for once. I slam on the panel a second time, and Raiku startles awake and hisses at me.
“Sylas,” Beau calls out as he walks out of his room. “What’s wrong?”
I look at him, a lump in my throat. I shouldn’t be here right now. I should be tearing down the doors of the House of Death. “Viola…”
He glances at the angry mark on my fist. “If you break into the House of Death, Firstline will take you away… you know it as well as I do.”
Lyria opens her door moments later. She takes one look at me, and her hands twist together. “They still haven’t approved my clearance,” she says, shaking her head.
“Sylas, what’s going on?” Beau demands as he strides toward me.
“Our theory, your findings about the families, Viola’s theory…
” I speak every word that comes to my mind.
“I don’t think this was about Grimm at all.
The killer used Grimm’s return and Faro’s Cuff to throw us off.
” I pause, catching my breath. “Delaney is behind all this. She’s trying to resurrect her daughter with the relics. ”
Lyria glares at me like I’ve said something sacrilegious.
“Sylas, you’re ridiculous.” She laughs, fixing a stack of books on the nearest shelf right outside her bedroom door.
“Delaney would never do that. She has her quirks, but she bleeds for Gorhail.” She shakes her head.
“Besides, her daughter has been dead for over twenty years. If she required the relics to resurrect her, she could’ve killed everyone while they were children. ”
Beau’s eyes meet mine, a frown knotting them. “Not if she didn’t know she needed the relics,” he says, slowly turning to face our sister.
Lyria’s face goes through the five stages of grief in mere seconds.
My naive sister thinks that the rules are written in our favor and those who maintain them do so with honor.
In an ideal world, she would be right. As I watch her face fall at the realization that someone she respects so much betrayed the order and structure she stands for, I feel like I failed her.
“The Founder’s Book…” she lets out, clasping her mouth.
“The last time Olivia went back to Albion—three weeks ago—she retrieved The Founder’s Book of Relics from her grandmother’s library,” I remind them. “The heirloom thefts and murders started around that time. The first one was Victor, then Beau, then Olivia…”
“Gods,” she utters. “Delaney probably told Olivia to get the book… Viola… Sylas, Viola is at the House of Death.”
My stomach roils with agony, as if I haven’t replayed the first night I met Viola a thousand times over in my head. She could be dead right now, and I wouldn’t know. I have no way of getting to her. The moment the thought crosses my mind, I let out a curse.
Beau’s head whips to me, and he approaches, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Listen, Sy. I hate Lorne, but I guarantee you he won’t leave her alone. And the House of Death is stacked with Firstline officers, because they’re already suspecting a Mortemagi.”
That Beau’s mind went straight to where mine went earlier eases me a little. I have to believe that Viola is safe, and once Lyria receives her clearance pass, she’ll be with her. As if my sister hears my thoughts, she says, “The second I receive my pass, I’ll run… Now, tell us everything.”
After a moment, I nod in gratitude and walk over to the coffee table by the fireplace.
I kneel, pulling the photograph out of my pocket.
If we have to wait, I might as well walk them through our findings.
Beau and Lyria join me, kneeling opposite me.
My brother opens the drawer under the table and retrieves two pens and blank pages.
He starts scribbling down the dead family lines: Cardot, Carver, Quince, Rowan.
“Corvi, because we know they are after Viola’s relic. Sierra, because Aunt Yas was gone before Willow died, and Mom died before Willow,” I tell him.
Beau breathes out a curse. “All this time, we’re worrying about Faro’s Cuff being missing, and it was right here, under our noses, at Gorhail. I wish I could say we were blind, but I would never have thought—”
The Poisoned Stairwell door jerks open, startling the three of us. I scramble to my feet, thinking it’s Viola and she’s found a way to me instead. But Paltro walks in, a small pouch in his hands.
“Uncle,” Lyria exclaims. He returns her greeting with less enthusiasm than usual. Something is wrong, I see it in the slight twitch of his lips, the flare of his nostrils, the purse of his lips. He lingers on every one of us, before settling on me.
“Is Sierra—” I ask, realizing he can get in and out of the Poisoned Stairwell. Thank Haal, I have a way to Viola. I move, but Paltro’s words stop me.
“Rest assured, Miss Ducas had her magic sealed and left her relic behind. She’s now in Riverview. I was patrolling the stairwell and thought to drop some tea off.” His eyes move to my hands. “You have to trust that we’re doing our job, Sylas.”
“Sierra sealed her magic?” I ask.
“It was the only way to kill her line without killing her—you know that.”
I know that, just like I know that magic, once sealed, never comes back. She’ll live out her days as a nonmagi, never fulfilling her dream of being a reader at DOTS, all because of Delaney and her bloodlust. All because she was forced to trade her magic for her life.
I close the distance to where Paltro stands. I feel sorry for my friend, but she’ll live. I can’t say the same for Viola if I don’t get to her in time. Now that I have a way into the Poisoned Stairwell, I need to go to her.
“Here you go.” Paltro hands me the pouch and blocks the door. “It should help with all the stress.”
I snatch the pouch out of his hands. “What is this?”
“Memories Zoya was willing to offer.” He inhales. “About your parents.”
Paltro doesn’t care about my stress at all. My parents are already dead; their memories will remain whether I look at them now or in ten years.
Haal, Viola is dying, and Paltro wants to force memories down my throat through tea.
I huff out a frustrated breath, but he continues, “Zoya is one of our most precious assets at Gorhail. She harbors the memories of every student who has ever crossed the library, unless they remember to block them out before they step in.”
So this is why she insists on greeting every one of us. It isn’t endearing at all. It’s a violation of our minds. Haal, everything is wrong with this institute.
“Not now, Uncle.” I return the pouch to Paltro. No memory that Zoya has for me will ease the sheer panic that I may never see Viola again. The longer he keeps me here, the higher the likelihood that Delaney’s got her claws on her.
“Viola…” Lyria steps forward, Beau right behind her. “Uncle, Viola is at the House of Death, and Delaney is there, too… Please let Sylas through.”
Paltro regards me with disappointment. Maybe if he knew who Viola was, he would be more inclined to help her. Everything unsaid piles at my throat, and I look at my uncle with a silent plea.
“It’s her,” I confess. “She’s the Deathbringer’s daughter.”
“Ah,” he says, without a hint of surprise. Did he already know? “A word of advice, if I may?” Paltro blows out a breath. Whether I want to hear it or not, Paltro has the key to the Poisoned Stairwell, and he’ll hold me hostage until he’s said what he wants.
“Aspieri-Mortemagi crossmages are volatile. They rarely survive to tell their story. I would advise Viola to seal her Aspieri magic and return Scar to DOTS,” he says calmly.
Now my impatience bleeds into anger. All this talk about loyalty, but when it comes to Viola, she must seal away her magic.
“It won’t change that she’s one of us.” I hold his disapproving stare. Viola, a half Aspieri, daughter of the Deathbringer, might die, and he’s more concerned with getting Scar back. “Bound by loyalty, Uncle.”
“Mortemagi know little of loyalty, Sylas.”
“She’s different,” I plead, slowly realizing that Paltro is just as much a purist as those he condemns. Just because he isn’t prejudiced against Arkani crossmages doesn’t mean he doesn’t share purist ideologies. “She sacrificed her own life to bring Beau back.”
“Would she have done so had she known the cost?” Paltro taunts. I look away, hating the seed of doubt he’s sowing in my mind.
Beau’s stare bores into my eyes for a few seconds, and I realize I’m an idiot for even doubting that she would. Without looking away from me, Beau answers, “She would.”
Paltro sighs, shaking his head. “Not even Parrish would be able to sway DOTS’s decision when it comes to an Aspieri-Mortemagi cross-mage, not even if she’s the Deathbringer’s daughter.” He walks back to the Poisoned Stairwell. “Rhodes can take her to Gorhail’s magic sealer. It’s for the best.”
“Do not tell Rhodes.” Viola isn’t just any Mortemagi. She is the daughter of a Draterran legend. Above all, she is my Mortemagi, and I will fight so she can tell her story.
“Son.” Paltro holds my eyes for a moment, one hand on the stairwell door. “Young love is ephemeral. Your House is permanent.”
It was fine when I had to “bond” with a Mortemagi to keep my aspier, but now it’s my House over the Mortemagi they shoved onto me. “Uncle, please…”
But Paltro leaves my plea hanging and pulls the door closed behind him. I release a painful breath. My only way to Viola is gone, and my heart feels like it’s caving in. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just… wait and have faith in a system that routinely fails us.
“She’s one of us, Sy,” my sister says, drawing my attention as she grabs her coat from the entryway. “Aspieri or not, she’s been one of us for a while now, and we fight for our own. I’ll go to the House of Death, under the guise of looking for my clearance pass.”
“And I”—Beau joins her by the door, glancing at the clock—“will sneak out through the woods to see if I can convince Grayson to read Victor’s mom.”
I don’t say anything, my tongue still paralyzed by worry. The last time we decided to take things into our own hands, Beau died. He lifts his head and immediately narrows his eyes. “Sy… look behind you. I didn’t hear… I think… Paltro left the door unlocked.”
I whirl around without thinking twice and reach for the handle. It clicks, and the door opens. I linger for a few seconds, caught between Paltro’s bitter words and the fact that he did leave the door unlocked. Even in his hostility, he’s still bound by loyalty.
“Go,” my siblings yell at the same time. My feet propel me into the dark.
And for the first time in my life, I pray to the God of Death.