Chapter Fifty-One Viola
The days without you are long, the nights impossible. I made a mistake letting you go to a world where they hate you because of the magic I gave you.
Come back. Come back, and the Underworld is yours.
LETTER FROM THE GOD OF DEATH TO YSENIA FARO, THE FIRST MORTEMAGI
fifty-one | viola
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1939
Sylas holds my face between his rough hands, pressing his forehead against mine. I place my palm against his racing heart. Finally, his breathing steadies.
“Corvi, if you ever do that again, I will drag you back from the Underworld and kill you myself.”
“I’d haunt you,” I whisper.
He wraps me tighter in the safety of his arms, and my heart beats to the sound of his. We’re home, it seems to say. And I agree. Sylas is my home.
“I should never have left you,” he says softly, pulling back to look at me. “I’m sorry—”
“Sylas.” I push away from him, my eyes narrowing at his bare neck. “Where is Raiek?”
His gaze flicks to my collarbone, but he doesn’t answer me. I scramble to a sitting position, clutching my chest as I look down.
The Imortalis loops around my neck, his head resting at the start of my left shoulder, and his tail stopping at the top of my breastbone. His golden scales glow under the bright light of the full moon.
“Take him back,” I utter.
Does Sylas even remember how to be mortal? He had had Raiek for only five months, but I doubt he’ll shake the recklessness that the Imortalis brought him.
“Raiek is yours.” He helps me up.
He can’t possibly mean that. The Imortalis is his ancestor’s aspier, and I… I stop my spiral. He saved me, like his mother saved his father, like his father saved him. He sacrificed his immortality for me.
“What happens if I take him off?” I ask.
When he doesn’t reply, I step in front of him, lifting my head, forcing him to look at me.
Gods, his face is a mess, temple bloody, cheekbone swollen, lips busted.
His eyes darken, a frown worrying at his eyebrows as his eyes trail down the length of my body.
Even after giving me the Imortalis, he’s still making sure I’m okay. And Gods, I am in love with him.
I reach for his cheek, hesitating. He catches my hand, presses a kiss to my fingers, and whispers, “I don’t want to find out.”
“But—” I protest.
“Vi.” He lowers my hand, his voice firmer than before. “With Raiek, you are invincible; his magic grants you unlimited lifeblood. And now that Grimm no longer has Faro’s Cuff, we may have a chance against him.”
His eyes search mine for hope, but I don’t know what to give him. I hate this magic too much to cultivate it. I’ve always hated it. It cost me my parents, Olivia, and Lyria; and now it might cost me the man I love.
“The magic wasn’t me,” I say. “It was Ysenia.” I look around. “Where’s Grimm?”
As I speak his name, a tall man in his late twenties, with dark hair and eyes as deep as the forest surrounding us, walks toward us from the cottage.
He looks at me, and I’m paralyzed. Death doesn’t scare me as much as the man fiddling with a brass cuff as he stops a few feet away from us.
It’s neither mine nor Ysenia’s, so he must’ve gotten it from one of the poachers in the cottage.
“I knew you were different, darling Viola.” Grimm spreads his arms wide. “I’ve always known. Crossmages are, after all, the backbone of our world.” His eyes fall to Raiek. “Do you know the things we could do together with the Imortalis?”
“The only thing we’ll do together is ensure your death, Grimm,” I reply. Without Faro’s Cuff, he is no longer immortal. If we strike fast, he can die.
Before we can even order the aspiers, Scar slithers to the ground. Raiku uncoils but doesn’t follow her. Instead, he narrows his eyes at Grimm, then hisses at Sylas.
Grimm curls his fingers, and a skeletal hand rises from the ground, grabbing Scar, pinning her in place. Raiku hisses but still doesn’t move.
Grimm laughs. “I am a reader-whisperer, darling. Nothing you do will ever surprise me.”
I scoff. He didn’t see Ysenia coming—Lorne’s magic was probably not strong enough—but I’m not about to antagonize him. Sylas is no longer immortal, and I don’t have a cuff to use my death magic.
“A fool, after all.” He flicks his wrist, and Scar flies across the clearing, past us, and lands against a tree. Then his eyes trail to Sylas, and a slow, sinister cackle trickles from his mouth. “When I left her for dead outside her room, I thought you’d give her the aspier then.”
My throat bobs. This is why he didn’t kill me. He never wanted me dead, because he knew Sylas would come for me. He knew he would save me with Raiek.
“Sylas, run.” My words come out as cold as my insides.
“I’m not going anywhere, Vi.” He laces his fingers through mine, his grip tight with apologies and promises. I glance at him, and he returns my gaze with conviction. Gods, I love him, but if he doesn’t leave, he will die.
“Let me ask you, darling Viola,” Grimm drawls, a sneer on his face. His calculating eyes shift from Sylas to me. A glint of victory flashes across his face. He reeks of arrogance. “Do you want to watch when he dies?”
I won’t let him die.
Sylas’s grip on my hand loosens, but I hold it in place; he’s no longer immortal. I can’t risk his being reckless right now. Scar slithers to my side, her golden eyes trained on Grimm. She hisses once, then buries herself into the ground, slithering ahead.
“Your bravery means nothing when you’re untrained.” Grimm raises his hand, his fingers manipulating invisible threads. “Swear loyalty to me, and I will teach you greatness.”
“Magic has no master, Grimm.” I repeat his own words. “It swears no loyalty.” I take a step forward as Scar’s head emerges an inch from his ankle.
“Stall,” Sylas says, barely above a whisper. “Beau and Gryff should be here soon. Probably Firstline, too.”
Grimm laughs, both his hands weaving an invisible thread now. I blink at Scar, and she strikes. He curses, reaching for her, but my aspier is fast; she slips through his grip, slithering toward the forest.
“Bold choice,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “But not without consequence.”
He waves his hand, and a single undead emerges in front of us.
It lunges forward, and I throw myself in front of Sylas, shielding him with my body.
The long, bony claws slice clean through my rib cage, the frozen graze of death searing my skin with ice.
I wince, bracing myself for the agonizing pain I’m so familiar with, but it never comes.
Instead, Sylas’s arm is around my abdomen, Railesza half coiled around his forearm, her fangs in my veins.
“I can take it,” I whisper. I’ll take every hit, every claw of death if it means keeping him safe.
Behind me, Sylas lets out the faintest groan.
I turn around just in time for him to fall forward, my knees buckling under the weight of his body. I wrap an arm around him to lower him to the ground, resting his head on my lap. When I pull my hand away, it shakes, slick with warm, sticky blood. Sylas’s blood.
“No,” I say so quietly. “No… Sy…”
Railesza’s fangs sink into the veins of his neck, her body gently coiled where Raiek used to be.
Grimm is saying something, but I can’t look away from Sylas’s closed eyes, his waning breaths, on Railesza’s fury as she switches veins.
He’s not dead; she will heal him like she’s healed me so many times before.
“Please don’t leave me.” I hold his face, placing a gentle kiss to his lips, and his eyelids flicker, a strained moan escaping his mouth. His eyes open, and I stroke his hair, begging the Gods to spare him.
“I’ll never leave you,” he murmurs. “I love you.” Then he fades again.
Death be my witness, I love this man through this life, through all my lives.
“Let him go, Viola,” croons Grimm, and I lift my head up to face him. Across the clearing, he stands alone, hands clasped as he looks at us with glee.
Sylas coughs once, and I hold him closer. Blood is trickling down his jaw, and his breaths are now shallow, his lips turning blue. He cannot die. Railesza won’t let him. I won’t let him. Gods, take everything, but I beg you, don’t take him from me.
“Your love for him is pathetic,” Grimm mocks, his palms upturned at his sides.
“What do you even know about love, Grimm? When you sacrificed yours in pursuit of power that will never find you?” I say through gritted teeth. “Your name breeds fear across Draterra; you know nothing of love.”
He shakes his head, a slow smile creeping across his wicked lips. “Love is a necessary sacrifice, darling Viola.”
He closes his fingers, and three claws pierce through Sylas’s chest from the ground.
I don’t hear myself scream, but I am certain that I do.
Time moves so slowly, yet so fast. One of Grimm’s undead drags me away from Sylas, slamming me against a tree a few feet back. The unmistakable sound of my bones breaking fills the air, but I drag myself forward, crawling toward Sylas.
Seconds later, a second undead grabs Railesza and, despite her struggles, cages her to the ground within its claws.
Sylas will die without her healing. I fight back, kicking and reaching for him, but it’s futile.
The undead digs its claws into my ankles, nailing me to the ground.
I howl in pain, tears stinging my eyes. Railesza’s questioning gaze meets mine as she tries to slip out of the cage of bones, but we’re trapped.
And Sylas is dying.
“Ysenia, promise you won’t leave him alone,” I plead, hoping she hears me even if I cannot hear her. I am a Mortemagi. Even if he dies, I will bring him back.
“Nauseating,” Grimm scoffs. He lowers his arms, his fingers weaving anew. Dirt, grass, and rocks swirl around Sylas, and soft tendrils wrap around him.
Gods, Grimm is trying to turn him into a puppet.
“Stop,” I scream, and he pauses, tilts his head at me.
I realize too late what he’s doing.