Chapter Forty Sylas #2
My sister sits on the sofa, sets the book at her side, and pats the empty seat next to her.
I walk over with a sigh, sinking into the softness of the velvet.
Lyria leans her head against my arm like she used to do in the early days after Mom’s death.
“Mom would’ve loved her. They’d probably spend hours in the garden together. ”
“You think?”
She hums quietly. It’s all in the words she doesn’t say, the quiet permission to lean into these feelings that have become my reason to breathe. “Tomorrow isn’t promised, Sy,” she murmurs.
I nod against her head. We sit in silence, the soft crackling fire fooling us into a moment of normalcy.
Then Lyria stands and picks up her bag. “If I solve Mom’s theory—as much as I hate to admit it, with Lorne’s help— Viola might have her years back.
” She smiles. It’s ripe with promises of a future I would die for.
I know not to hope in our world, but tonight I will.
“What would I do without you?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.” She winks, then she’s out the door.
The hot water scalds my skin, pooling at my feet in a dark, red puddle, but it does nothing to quell my fears.
Once Delaney realizes she has the wrong cuff, she will come back for Viola.
Even if she sealed her death magic— that’s hardly an option because I would never let her seal her magic, but even if she did—Delaney’s lust for revenge would still hunt her down.
I let out a heavy exhale. Fear is a dangerous thing.
It’s all-encompassing, suffocating, and demanding all at once.
I turn off the water, dry myself, and pull the first pair of pajama pants I find in Beau’s drawers. Coincidentally, they are mine. Actually, most of the clothes in this drawer are mine. I make a mental note to gift my brother a whole new wardrobe for the Pine Festival.
The night is quiet, the stars twinkling low in the sky. It’s treacherous, how close they appear, like the calm that reigns over Gorhail right now. As I stare at the sky, my sister’s words swirl at the forefront of my mind. She’s right. Tomorrow isn’t promised.
I turn on my heels, and head straight toward the inner door linking my and Beau’s rooms. My fist hovers over the wooden panel, but I don’t knock.
I lower my hand; I can’t do this. I can’t feed into the delusion of a happy ending and rope Viola along.
Huffing out a long sigh, I prepare to turn around, but a soft click stops me.
“Sylas.” Viola stands in the doorway wearing one of my shirts, which falls to her upper thigh. My eyes trail the length of her legs, up the curve of her hips, and the dip in her waist. Around her arm, Scar rests peacefully, like she’s always belonged there.
My throat knots, and I nod a second too long.
Viola’s tongue runs over her bottom lip, and… I really cannot be here right now.
“I,” she says, and I become a statue. Her voice is like a siren’s song, luring me to her. I’m fighting every muscle in my body not to press my hands into her waist and devour every inch of her full lips.
“It’s late, Viola.” My voice comes out low and hoarse. I don’t know if I’m trying to convince her or myself. Her gaze meets mine, and I can no longer think straight.
“How do you bond?” she asks.
Did I mishear?
“How do Aspieri bond?” she repeats, the sharp edges of her voice demanding an answer.
Walk away. Walk away, my head screams at me.
“May I…” I swallow hard. My tongue needs to be ripped out. “May I come in?”
Idiot.
“It’s your room—you don’t need my permission.” She leads me through the short hallway, under the glares of my ancestors. Fool, their portraits seem to say. You cannot be considering bonding the Imortalis to a Mortemagi.
I wait by my reading nook as Viola walks to the nightstand. The dark fabric of my shirt sways against her skin when she bends to retrieve her cuff. She must have gotten her relics back from the safe while I was in the shower.
Like a guest in my own room, I settle in the chair facing away from her, reaching for the nearest book from the coffee table. I flip to a random page, burying my face into it. I’m afraid to meet her eyes, afraid that if I take one more look at her lips, I will never leave.
“It’s upside down.” She gestures at the book, a smile playing on her gorgeous lips. She sits in the chair closest to me, her cuff in her right hand. My eyes fall to her exposed thighs, and I avert them immediately.
“Different mages bond differently,” I begin as I slide the book onto the low glass table. I ramble about how Arkani bond with tattoos, Mortemagi with intent, and Aspieri with their relic’s venom. I don’t leave a moment for questions, and I move on to how interclass bonding is a combination of both.
“I’m not asking for a history lesson, Sylas. How do we bond?”
I sink farther in my chair, wishing it would swallow me.
She wants to bond with me. She is part Mortemagi.
Bonding with me lets her pull magic from all three of my aspiers, from Raiek.
Perhaps it’d let her live longer. If it does, the moment she masters her magic, the world will be at her mercy.
But now, instead of running away, I want to be at her side.
What does that say about me—about my loyalty to my House?
“Uh—”
She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t break our gaze, as she moves off her chair and steps in front of me. Leaning forward, her long black hair cascades over my chest. Haal, I want to tangle my hand through her hair and pull her to my lips. I blink the thought away.
Viola brings her forearm next to mine, her cuff clasped in her other hand as it holds on to the arm of the chair for balance.
Her face is only inches away from me; if I wanted to, I could reach for her and kiss her into oblivion.
But I don’t. Instead, my eyes trail over her knitted eyebrows while she murmurs something to Scar.
“Why do you want to bond?” The words catch in my throat.
“A bond is the only way Scar won’t have to choose a new Aspieri when I…” She purses her lips, her eyes watering. “I read that not all aspiers choose new Aspieri; some choose death. I don’t want that for her. And so my ghost won’t become a wandering ghost. She told me…”
Haal, she’s so selfless. She cares more about the fate of an aspier who refuses to accept her cuff and a ghost who anchored to her.
She’s given up so much of herself for all of us.
She brought my brother back without asking for anything in return, and still, no matter how much I tried to push her away, she held her ground.
“Are they the only reasons?” I don’t know why I ask.
Mage bonds are sacred. Firstline mages bond strategically, in order to benefit from magic different from theirs, but most mages bond to honor it, to place the life of the other mage above theirs.
They’re more than a promise; they’re a lifelong commitment, one that doesn’t break until both mages die.
The Gods must be laughing, because only three weeks ago, the prospect of bonding with her was my worst nightmare, and now… I would carve her name into my rib cage.
“No.” She gulps, lifting her eyes to me. “Not the only reasons.”
“Viola… you’re asking me to bond the Imortalis, a healing aspier, and a killing aspier,” I say softly. “Bonds are a commitment that you’ll always value the mage’s life over yours.”
She lets out an abrupt exhale, her eyes not leaving mine.
“I was thrown into your life, and you’ve never once wavered.
You fight harder for my choices than your own.
You gave me a home when mine was shattered.
You are my voice when I’m afraid to speak.
You saved me in more ways than one. I look for you in the dark, and you find me with your eyes closed.
Gods, I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but…
you’re etched in me, Sylas, woven into the fabric of my soul.
I don’t have many years left in this life… and I want them to be yours.”
“Are you saying wh-what I think you’re saying?” I stumble on my words.
“Yes.”
Mom, forgive me, I am in love with a Mortemagi.
My heart thumps at the admission. It’s useless fighting my feelings for her; I love her above my name, above my House, above my aspiers, above my life, and above my God.
“Because I don’t want just this life… I want all of them,” I admit, nudging Raiku awake. He sleepily uncoils himself halfway, wrapping his other half around Viola’s wrist. His fangs hover over her vein.
“You can have this life…” Viola replies, “and the next.” Scar half coils herself around my wrist, her golden eyes drilling into me. A Mortemagi, you, too? She seems to judge me.
“And as many as you want after that,” she adds so quietly. Then, she clips her cuff to the same arm Scar is on. Her aspier’s eyes snap to the cuff, but Raiku hisses at her once, and she turns her head toward him again.
“Are you sure?” I search her eyes for a sliver of hesitation, but she doesn’t waver. Her beautiful mouth moves. “Yes, of course, yes. Sorry, I never asked if you wanted to…” she says. “I don’t know what death magic you’ll inherit. Are you sure?”
Our eyes lock. I lick my lips. I’ve seen mages bond before, and it was nothing like this. Between the stolen glances and the promises, this feels intimate. Yes, I am sure. As sure as I am that my heart is no longer mine.
Raiku bites her, and her eyes flare.
“Does this answer you?” I ask.
Her lips part in a gasp, and Scar bites my wrist. I’m overcome by warmth that I realize is coming from her cuff, followed by liquid ice seeping into my veins, taking over my heart. Is this it? Death’s embrace?
After a few seconds, our aspiers return to us, and Viola unclasps her cuff again and sets it on the table behind her.
“I should… I should probably sleep.” Her whisper drags me back to the reality of us.
Her face inches away from mine, her warm breath on my cheeks.
I’ve bonded with a half Mortemagi, giving her the reins of the founder’s aspier, without knowing what kind of death magic will bleed into my veins.
More importantly, I’ve bonded with a woman I am so hopelessly in love with, and the tragedy of it all is that she doesn’t have many tomorrows left, while I have all of them.
Maybe I should get up, walk away, live my life and let her live hers, save us the heartbreak. But there is no me without her.
Her fingers brush against my arm as she turns away. Against my resolve, I grab her wrist.