Chapter 18 Sylas #2
“It was all orchestrated. Sorin’s escape from The Void being facilitated.
The way it happened, it had to be a necromancer.
They were watching us. They knew the four of us had drawn close, knew about the exact state of my sickness and what would push me over the edge.
Knew I’d perform Auctoritas Mortis when Sorin killed Velra.
They also knew with how sick I was that I wouldn’t be able to hold it, which led to me killing myself and entering the Valley of the Dead that way.
Combined then with Kai backpacking off my power to pull Velra and I out…
it destabilized the Valley. It was exactly what they wanted.
They knew you’d pull something reckless and that was you leaving the protection of Cassius and Ketheron’s place, where Halrow was then able to attack you.
They knew I’d need to have my magic bound—or die. ”
“Shit.”
“These necromancers being murdered… it’s all part of it.
To prevent me from being cured, but also to take out any rivals, anyone who had the specialized magical knowledge and ability to stop Scion.
The only things that they couldn’t predict correctly were Remnant’s reactions, this transplant situation, and the fact that Velra didn’t spiral after what was done to her, that she’s actually grown a great deal stronger with her power. ”
“You’re saying this Scion isn’t an organization? It’s a person? Not only that… they’re a necromancer?”
“Yes.”
“And you know who it is, don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” I ground out.
“Who, Sylas? Who’s pulling all these fucking strings alongside Puritas?”
I sucked in a breath and steeled myself. “Morien Morgrave.” I shifted my weight. “My father.”
A gasp left him and he looked shocked to his core.
Join the party.
“I thought he was dead.”
I walked to a hook on my wall and snatched up my hooded leather coat, then shrugged it on with a heavy sigh.
“That was the consensus. Across the entire supernatural world, actually. Especially given the fact that Ryker killed him over a decade ago.”
“Ryker Morgan? The Head of the Guardian Movement?”
“The very one.”
“So, that’s why he let five arrests slide? Why he—”
“Took it easy on me and even gave me a way out by sending me to Wraeven Academy, instead of shoving me into The Void? I’d say that has a lot to do with it.
It was misplaced guilt toward me, though.
My father needed putting down. He didn’t leave Ryker a choice with how it played out either.
It’s just… with my mother and sister already dead…
it left me an orphan, so it hit harder for him. ”
“Fuck,” he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair. “What do you think your father wants? Why is he allying with Puritas? Is he all about pure bloodlines too?”
“No. He isn’t. He wants what every megalomaniac wants: unlimited and unchallenged power.
I’ve been trying to figure out what that means precisely for him more than just that abstract concept.
And how he’s… back. How he survived. Both I need to know and understand in order to send him screaming back to hell. ”
“This transplant… my dad saying you’re needed back at top form… it’s absolutely true, fucking vital now knowing this. But are you… I mean… are you even in the right frame of mind to be put through an ordeal like that, that sort of procedure? What I walked in on earlier was really concerning.”
“I was using my magic to hold it at bay, to reinforce my compartmentalization of certain… tragedies and… trauma. Discovering the dead bodies of my mom and little sister when I was a teenager, and some things I’ve done—one in particular.”
“Glasswake?”
I started.
Off my reaction, he told me, “Victor Halrow mentioned it when he attacked us. I put some of the pieces together. People died, right? It was an accident.”
“It was a setup.” I sank against the wall.
“Masterminded by Corvin Morvain. He arranged the whole nightmare, had me murder all the residents of the Glasswake Settlement. I thought they were Animated Fleshwork, but… they weren’t.
And in my shock and… grief… he extracted a portion of my necromantic core, injected me with his specially made poison that caused this sickness that’s been plaguing me ever since.
And what you saw, it was me trying to fight off the flashes of that… the guilt… the pain.”
He stared at me for several moments, obviously fighting to process.
I didn’t blame him.
I could still barely process it and I’d lived it.
I swallowed hard, realizing how much his reaction to it was weighing on me.
How much I needed it to be… not disgust or horror toward me.
And then he threw his arms around me. “I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry, Sylas.” He breathed me in. “I’m really glad you told me. You’ve been carrying this for so long all on your own.”
“Without my magic, it’s heavier than ever. I guess… letting you in… it could help.”
He eased back and smiled at me. “That’s one of the most emotionally healthy things you’ve ever said.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s a fluke.”
“I doubt it,” he said, kissing my cheek. “You maddening bastard.”
“How well you know me.”
He chuckled.
But then the seriousness returned, as it had a knack for doing of late.
Constantly.
“So long as I’m careful and discreet while I’m back above ground, I’ve got some time. It’ll give you time to think about the transplant, make sure you’re ready. I told Velra and Cassius to expect me, so come with me and we’ll have it out together, figure it out together as a unit.”
I was about to respond when he suddenly swung his head toward my bedroom door.
Not a split-second later, a thunderous crash sounded, wood cracking, glass smashing.
Lazriel burst toward the bedroom door and threw it open, a curse escaping him.
I came up beside him and looked to see a familiar hulking bastard standing at the threshold of the front door to my house. The front door that was now in pieces over the living room.
Victor fucking Halrow.
“No one is going anywhere,” he hissed, his fangs dropping, features twisting as he vamped out, his talons digging into either side of the door frame as he leaned in all creepy casual.
“You’re mine to play with,” he told Lazriel.
Then his gaze flicked to mine. “And you won’t make it through the night, necromancer. ”
Well, then.