Chapter 23 It Will Get Worse
It Will Get Worse
Desdemona
I
scour the halls, searching for the dead body before Lucian finds it.
I don’t know what I’m going to do or if I have any moral high ground here.
I need the Soul Ruby, but Azaire can’t come back to life.
We can’t create another Eira—another evil.
That’s one more sin I can’t afford carved into my soul.
As I walk, the chattering in the hallway picks up. I follow the noise to a group of students surrounding a dead body. Of course they found it.
I step through the crowd, approaching the body. It’s a boy. His pale hair reminds me of Fleur. His gray lips and skin don’t remind me of anything. He looks like he doesn’t belong to the universe anymore.
“What if she did it?” The words echo through the halls. “She shows up, and someone dies.”
“We saw her at the brawl,” another says. “She almost killed Lucian.”
I look up. They’re talking about me.
“I wouldn’t have minded,” one laughs.
“Hey!” Lilac steps forward. I hadn’t realized she was here. “What did you say?”
The boy who laughed—Alec—looks at Lilac. “If the new girl did this, it’s a pity she didn’t extend her talent to Lucian.”
Lilac’s bright blue eyes flicker alight.
“Why don’t you wait until you have a crown to attack me?” Alec says, his tone smug, turning away.
Lilac doesn’t move. Her jaw clenches, and her expression darkens, gaze remaining on Alec as he tries to walk away. He doesn’t make it far.
Black smoke pours from his mouth—from his eyes, ears, and nostrils—dark as paint.
It coils through the air toward Lilac, entering her nose and mouth.
It swirls through her eyes until there are no whites, no pupils, only darkness.
The color drains from Alec’s face, leaving him unsettlingly pale before he falls to his knees.
Gasps of horror ring through the room, but no one stops Lilac. I don’t think anyone could. When she looks up, the darkness drains from her eyes as if entering her veins. She stares past Alec. I follow her gaze to Lucian, who pushes through the crowd.
Shaking her head, Lilac whispers, “I–my apologies. He said—”
“It’s all right,” Lucian answers. Most people look down, maybe scared of speaking against them. Only a few dare to glare.
Lilac glances at her hands. Bits of shadow—the darkness she pulled from Alec—cover her fingers like ink. “I can’t give it back.” Her lower lip wobbles.
“Everyone out!” Lucian shouts.
The crowd listens. Most people leave immediately, but a small group walks to Alec, helping him up. Lilac looks away as Aralia, my old suitemate, struggles to walk toward her. I glance down as she approaches, but it’s not like she’d recognize me.
Lucian’s right behind me now. I fight with myself, determined not to look at him, and I think he does the same. I’ve never seen him so unsure. His gaze flits like a moth between Lilac, the body, and me.
“Lucy, I didn’t mean it,” Lilac says, her hands shaking.
Suddenly, Lucian is very sure. He strides to his sister, hugs her, holds her. “It’s gonna be all right.” He looks at Lilac’s hands, the magic staining them slowly dissipating. “Aralia, can you take her back to her suite?”
“Yeah,” Aralia answers, grabbing Lilac’s hand and glancing back at me. Or maybe not. It’s a split second of eye contact.
As soon as Aralia and Lilac turn a corner, Lucian lowers his voice. “What happened?”
He doesn’t come closer. Doesn’t touch me. He barely looks at me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Thanks for asking.” It’s not the right thing to say. It’s stupid to be offended. I sigh. “Some idiot said something about… that I should have killed you in the brawl.”
“Oh,” he mutters.
“Yeah.”
Maybe it would’ve been easier.
He’s slow to ask, “Why didn’t you?” His tone tells me it’s a genuine question. As if I could kill a prince and manage to escape. I’d be handing over my immortal life, and he must know that.
I raise an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you?”
He tips his head back, making a point to look down at me. “I should have, shouldn’t I?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I shrug. “It seems like you need me.”
“If that’s what you tell yourself to sleep at night,” Lucian replies, looking away.
I can feel his attention dissipate, almost physically.
It’s like he was just holding me up, and now he’s pushing me down.
He steps past me toward the body. Wendy is already there, treating the dead boy like one of her animals.
It was one thing with the animals—and not a comfortable thing, either.
But animating a human body without bringing him back to life… Mial had tried to warn me.
“I don’t think this is—”
“Then leave, Althenia,” Lucian says, cutting me off.
I move closer, sitting next to Wendy, trying to speak to her humanity because Lucian has clearly turned off his for me. “What if the hallucinations get worse?”
Wendy doesn’t listen. She wiggles her finger, working to move the corpse. Nothing happens, and I glance at the ceiling, trying to think of something more to say.
“What if we—”
A voice I don’t recognize interrupts, “Your friends are in a state of desperation.”
I look at Lucian, then Wendy, but neither stirs. I glance around the room.
“Down here,” the voice croons.
The dead boy. His eyes are open. Lucian and Wendy don’t move an inch—not even to breathe. It’s like they’ve been turned to stone.
I see.
I back away from the body, leaning against the wall. “They’re not my friends. But you already know that.”
“I do.” The dead boy sits up, his movements swift and nimble. “You’re smart to believe this is a bad idea. Not strong enough to change the end.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is that all you came to tell me? That I’m weak? Because if you know so much, then you know that’s not true.”
“No, it’s not true. Nor is it what I mean.” His cold hands gently touch my face, brushing my hair. I shudder. “You’re the strongest of all, dear destroyer. But even the strongest cannot rewrite history.”
I grab his hand—his skin sliding from the bone, decaying beneath my touch. My fingers loosen, but I don’t let go.
“Do you have anything else to add?” I ask.
The dead boy falls back into place, still and unmoving—lifeless. Dead, again. I look up, and Wendy turns to me, her brown hair shifting to silver, her dull eyes brightening to green. Her mouth opens, and while it’s Wendy’s voice that emerges, the words aren’t hers.
“This poor girl,” Not Wendy says, looking down at her body.
“She would have preferred death to having her soul trapped in the physical.” She rises with an eerie calm, her steps graceful before settling beside me against the wall.
“Since she was six, she has begged for peace. Because of you, she will never get it.”
Not Wendy seizes my hand, and for the first time since this hallucination began, I flinch. Her grasp is as strong as the bark of an ancient tree, and the harder I pull, the tighter it becomes.
It’s almost as if I feel the words before they leave Not Wendy’s mouth. “You’ll hurt people you swore to protect. You’ll call it affection until you realize it’s rot. You think now that love is circumstantial. You’ll learn that your love is corrupt.”
I’ve hardly processed the words by the time I rip my hand out of hers and lunge forward. My weight holds her down, knees pinning her wrists. I don’t believe her—or it, or whatever this is.
My fingers curl around her neck, as tight as I can. Her silver hair fans out wildly as I slam her head against the floor, again and again, each impact sending shockwaves through my arms.
“Or I could kill you right now and end this,” I snarl through clenched teeth.
Her voice is calm, entirely unshaken as she smiles, blood dripping from her mouth. “I am the symptom, not the disease.”
Before I can respond, the world goes black. When I blink, it’s been replaced. I’m lying on my back, looking up at Lucian. His wavy hair dangles over my face, and a bandage hangs loose around his neck, revealing the cut I left. It’s still bleeding. Droplets of blood fall on me.
I’m waiting for him to say something, but he just looks at me. His lips part, his eyes widen, and I can’t help but hope he sees me—the me he once knew, however impossible that is.
However far gone she is.
“Lucian,” Wendy says. He doesn’t move. His eyes don’t leave mine. But I can’t read them.
“Lucian!”
His eyes flicker. The connection breaks. Whatever he was thinking about ceases.
Just like that, he gets up.
That’s when I see the dead boy standing. His limbs jerk awkwardly, his eyes wide and glassy, resembling anything but life. Wendy wiggles a finger, and the boy’s arm lifts in perfect synchronization.
Lucian gasps, his face alight, while mine is carved with horror.
It will get worse, something inside me says.
This is why I couldn’t stay in The Void. Does this boy have a soul, or is it gone, just like Eira’s?
I watch Wendy, but she doesn’t notice me. She’s entirely captivated by the body—her creation. As she moves the boy, another strand of her hair shifts, dulling and draining of color.
Gray, just like the hallucination.
?
“Leiholan!” I shout, walking straight into the combat training room. My body screams as I move; the day has gnawed away at me. “Dear, sweet Leiholan, please tell me you’re in here.”
I fall to the floor. He’s sitting across the room from me, his prosthetic gone, with two crutches lying beside him.
“What do you want, little Arcane?” He takes a sip of his alcohol.
I clutch my temples, my head pounding. “Do you do anything other than drink?”
“At this hour, no. It’s my peace-and-quiet time.” He gives me a look that I can easily read. I am not welcome during his peace-and-quiet time. It’s nice to know that some things don’t change.
I stand and walk across the room, each step slow, as if weights are tied to my legs. By the time I reach Leiholan, specks of light begin to steal my vision, and I drop back down next to him.
“Give me some, and I’ll be out of your hair,” I say, looking at him through spinning vision.
Leiholan glares back at me. “I don’t let fifteen-year-olds drink.”
“I’m not fifteen.”