9. Syneca
Syneca
Never thank the rain aloud. It keeps a ledger, and gratitude is a debt it collects in floods.
Iwas going to burn his house down.
The thought sat heavy in my chest as I pulled an oversized sweater from the dresser in my room. Simple pants followed. They were practical. The kind you wore when you expected to destroy everything around you.
I braided my hair back with shaking fingers, watching in the mirror as the copper curls around my face refused to be tamed. They always did. I’d spent my life trying to control them the way I tried to control everything else, and they still did whatever they wanted.
Maybe that should have told me something.
The study wasn’t far. Just down the hall, through corridors I’d memorized while avoiding everyone.
Dez sat in one of the velvet chairs, holding up what looked like a hand mirror, but inside, figures moved like they were alive. Pip perched on the armrest beside him, wings fluttering with excitement.
“—and that’s a foul,” Dez was saying, pointing at something in the mirror’s surface. “See? He can’t do that. The ref’s going to—there it is. Penalty.”
“What happens now?” Pip leaned closer.
“Now Falstaff’s team gets possession, and—” Dez looked up and saw me in the doorway.
His expression shifted immediately. Concern first, softening to the easy humor he usually wore. Then he tried for a smile. “Morning, Syn. Ready to burn some shit down?”
I didn’t answer because I couldn’t muster words that felt adequate.
“Or you could just stand there in awkward silence,” he continued, undeterred. “That works too. Very dramatic. I appreciate the commitment to the aesthetic.”
Lore entered, dressed in her typical leather that looked like it would stop a blade. Maybe it could. She took one look at the room and sighed before shuffling in, letting the door shut behind her. “Fair warning. Silas is in a mood.”
“When isn’t he?” Dez muttered.
“Today’s worse.”
The door slammed open.
Silas walked in and the temperature in the room dropped. He didn’t greet anyone. Didn’t acknowledge Lore or Dez’s presence or Pip’s nervous wave.
He just grabbed a candle from the mantle, crossed the room, and tossed it to me.
I caught it.
“Light it,” he said.
“Silas—”
“Light. It.”
He turned to Dez. “Ready?”
Dez nodded, setting the mirror aside before he waved his arm in a gesture that looked casual but felt heavy with magic I couldn’t see. The air in the room shifted. Thickened.
“What was that?” Pip asked, flying up slightly.
“Shielding the house,” Dez said. “So when people look, they’ll feel me and Si instead of—” He gestured vaguely at me. “You know.”
All eyes turned to me.
I looked down at the candle in my hands. Simple white wax. An ordinary wick.
“Ignis,” I whispered.
Nothing happened.
Silas crossed his arms. “Louder.”
“It doesn’t matter how loud I say it,” I barked at him.
“Correct. So say it louder.”
“Ignis.”
Still nothing. The wick sat cold and lifeless.
“Pathetic,” Silas said. “Fire answers to you before it answers to anyone else. Yet you can’t even light a candle.”
Heat flared in my chest. Anger, not magic.
“Maybe if you actually taught me instead of insulting me.”
“I’m not here to coddle you.” He moved closer. “You want gentle instruction? Ask Dez. He’s good at making people feel better about their failures. I’m here to make sure you don’t die the next time a demon climbs through your window.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re weak.” He said it flatly. “Trembling in the Underworld because you’re too afraid to use the one thing that might keep you alive.”
Pip gasped. “Silas!”
“It’s true.” He didn’t take his eyes off me. “She’d rather die than accept what she is. Rather let everyone around her exhaust themselves protecting her than do the work herself.”
Heat crawled up my neck; shame and fury tangled so tight I couldn’t separate them. “That’s not tr—”
“Isn’t it?” His voice dropped lower. “Dez has been shielding you for days. I haven’t slept because I’m spreading my magic over this manor like a blanket, trying to hide you. And you still can’t help yourself.”
The candle in my hands began to warm. The wax melted around my fingers.
“There it is,” he said dangerously. “There’s the fire. Now use it.”
I gripped the candle tighter. Felt the heat building under my skin. “Ignis.”
A spark. Tiny but gone almost immediately.
“Again.”
“One true thing,” I said, desperate for a break.
His jaw tightened. “What?”
“That’s the game, isn’t it? You started it.
One true thing, I hate the color yellow.
” I let the candle hang at my side. “So give me a real one this time. Not what color you hate. Tell me what you are. Tell me how you grew up, what you do when you’re not brooding, tell me one single thing that actually matters.
Prove there’s a person under there and not just a shitty attitude. ”
His perfect brow arched. “I like my tea unsweetened. Dez ruins his with honey.” He nodded at the candle. “Again.”
The rage that went through me wasn’t magic, but it lit the wick anyway. “That doesn’t count.”
“It’s true. It matters to me. You didn’t specify it had to matter to you.” The corner of his mouth moved, not quite a smile. “Words are currency. You should know that by now. Again.”
I took a step back. “I’m trying—”
“To distract me. I’m aware. It’s not going to work.”
“Maybe you should be teaching her to use a blade instead,” Lore said from where she leaned against the wall. “Magic’s not the only way to stay alive.”
“Wickett tried that approach,” Silas said, still watching me. “Worked out great for him. Oh wait—he stabbed her with it.”
Rage exploded through me. White-hot and all-consuming.
The candle’s flame burned so bright I had to close my eyes. Fire raced up my arms, across my shoulders, hungry and wild and desperate to burn everything within reach.
“Whoa!” Dez was on his feet.
But Silas was faster. His hand closed around my wrist, and the magic—stopped. Not disappeared. Just contained. Held in place by whatever power he was using.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Now do it again. Without the rage.”
“I can’t—”
“Again.”
We went through it seventeen more times. Each one ending with fire I couldn’t control and Silas tamping it down before I could burn the study to ash. Each time leaving me more exhausted, more frustrated, more desperate.
Pip tried to cheer. “You’re doing great! That last one almost didn’t explode!”
Dez offered actual encouragement. “Focus on the feeling right before it sparks. That’s your entry point.”
Lore just watched with kind eyes and glares shot at the men when they became insufferable. And Silas pushed. Harder each time. Finding every button he could press, every wound he could open, every word that would make me angry enough to pull the fire forward.
By the end, I was shaking. Exhausted and furious and so tired of failing that I wanted to cry.
“Again,” Silas said.
“No.”
“Do it again, Syneca.”
“I can’t!” My voice cracked. “I’ve tried seventeen times and I can’t do it.”
“Then try nineteen.” He crossed his arms, completely unmoved. “Twenty. However many it takes.”
I felt so small as everyone watched me fail. “It’s not working.”
Silas’s eyes narrowed, darkening his features. “Because you’re not trying. You’re going through the motions. Whispering spells like you’re afraid of them. Like you’re afraid of yourself.”
“I’m not—”
“You are!” He moved closer. “You’re terrified of what happens if you actually succeed. If the fire answers and you have to accept what you are.”
“Just because you can feel my emotions, just because we were close before, doesn’t mean you know me. I showed up. I’m standing here. I’m fucking trying. You need to back off.”
His glare was merciless. “Admit it. You’d rather stand here failing than risk being the Phoenix. You’d rather choose to be weak and helpless than become something that might actually survive.”
The words built on top of each other. Weak. Helpless. Afraid. Each one stripping away another layer until I felt raw and exposed.
“Stop,” I said.
“Stop what? Pushing you?” He didn’t back down. “Everyone else will coddle you. Tell you it’s okay to fail. That you’re trying your best. But your best isn’t good enough, Syneca. Not here. Not when demons are hunting you.”
“You’re being cruel.”
The asshole tilted his head, jaw tight. “It’s not my fault you only respond to one emotion. I’m keeping you alive. And if that means making you hate me enough to actually fight back, then hate me. Use it. It’ll certainly make this easier.”
“I don’t need your—”
“You do.” He gestured sharply at the candle on the floor. “Because right now, you’re useless. Standing in my study, begging me to stop pushing you because it’s easier to give up than keep trying.”
“Silas…” Lore said quietly.
Heat flooded my chest. Not magic. Pure rage at being dissected like this. At having every fear and weakness laid bare by someone who knew exactly where to cut.
“You don’t get to do this,” I said, my voice shaking.
“You don’t get to stand there and tear me apart just because you think it’ll make me stronger.
You don’t get to make me hate you because you’re dealing with your own shit.
You don’t get to control me either. You know what?
” I took a step toward him, swiped up the candle, and slammed it into his chest. “You’re no better than Wickett was.
And one day, I’ll be the reason for your destruction. ”
The room went still.
Silas’s expression flickered before melting back to cold and empty.
“Tomorrow you meet Celeste,” he said quietly. “And since you owe a life debt to the Fury sister that’s supposed to be dead, it’s best you listen. Your life depends on what she tells you. And not even I can save you from that.”
Then he walked out, leaving me standing in the middle of his study with shaking hands and the taste of ash on my tongue.