Chapter 3 - Sylas
~Sylas~
“Your pulse is racing.”
I looked over at Remnant as we strode along the dark beach.
“Adrenaline.”
“You are expending too much energy in order to intensify your compartmentalization, when you should be resting and conserving your strength after what just transpired. You only just underwent the transplant and you were then forced to use your power within an hour of the procedure in an extremely heavy and high-stakes battle. And with your father, no less.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You most certainly will not.”
I shoved a hand through my hair. “I just murdered dozens and—”
“And you must allow yourself to process that.”
“You don’t understand. So, just drop it, all right?”
“This is about Glasswake.”
I came to a sudden stop. “What?”
“What you refer to as Glasswake Massacre.”
“You know about that? Lazriel wouldn’t have told you. He made me a promise and he takes those very seriously.”
“Lazriel is aware of what was done to you?”
“You mean, what I did?”
“No. I mean what was done to you.” Curiosity sparked in his eyes. “How did he react?”
“Like Lazriel. With understanding, compassion, and love.”
He smiled. “Yes. That is my son. Once he allows you beneath the harsher exterior he’s unfortunately felt it necessary to develop—in large part due to my absence from his life for so long.”
“If it’s any consolation, it’s clear he understands the absentee father bit now.
Deeply. And as for that harder outer shell, it’s actually served him well.
Now he balances it better, allows the real, non-repressed version of himself free, allows himself to draw close to those he loves, he’s actually in a good place.
This fucked-up war we find ourselves right, smack damn in the middle of, notwithstanding, of course.
” I sucked in a breath. “So, how do you know about Glasswake?”
“Necromantic expulsion of that magnitude can’t escape the notice of The Shadowed.”
“Given what a threat rogue necromantic action can pose to vampires, specifically. Our ability to puppet your kind.”
He nodded. “When the exact nature of the situation at Glasswake Settlement became clear, I saw to it.”
I frowned. “Saw to it?”
“The Guardian Movement, nor the Unity Council, nor even anyone throughout the supernatural world is aware of your involvement. How do you suppose that is the case, considering the severity of what occurred?”
“I wiped the scene.”
“You didn’t do so sufficiently. You were hurt and emotionally compromised, mentally taxed, at the time. So I saw to it myself.”
“Why? That can’t have been about Lazriel. We hadn’t even met then. Was it about Morien, even back then?”
“He was partial architect of that massacre.”
“I figured that out recently.”
“His claim to you that he’d had a hand in leading you down specific paths is true—to an extent.
You’ve also exerted your own free will and defied much of what he’d intended.
However, he did have a hand in that and other defining moments for you.
I have access to one such thing through a Stone of Recollection, which I mean to show you.
But I can’t risk doing so if you’re in a volatile state. ”
“Whose memories are infused into the Stone? My father’s? One of his associates? Corvin’s?”
“Mine.”
I started. “What? Why would you—”
“I needed proof created, proof that could not be twisted by Morien’s false claims, which he could very well use with you in order to curtail our alliance. Something neither of us—nor the supernatural world as a whole—can afford.”
Well, then.
Curiosity sparked.
And a whole lot of wariness.
I was sure there would have been some personal sentiment there too if I wasn’t currently compartmentalizing to a massive degree now that I had my magic back.
“Me continuing to compartmentalize should be an asset. I won’t have an emotional reaction to whatever it is that you mean to show me.”
“My concern is that what you see will decimate that compartmentalization and leave you unable to control it, or yourself, because you have been shutting down to such a great degree.”
“Jeez. What the fuck is it that you want to show me, then? What could possibly be that devastating to me?”
“After we are done here, you will cease the compartmentalization and grieve the murders you were forced to commit earlier. And at Glasswake. Only at that point will we discuss this any further, only at that point will I show you.”
Before I could get another word out, I was choking as a surge of that acrid black magic taste took me over, power swelling in our vicinity.
I looked to see that through our heavy conversation, I hadn’t noticed that we’d reached the entry point to access our elusive contact.
I saw Remnant watching me closely—too closely—as I spat on the beach, trying to expel it. Why was he studying my reaction to it? He already knew I’d been infected. Morien had spelled that out earlier during our battle. Hell, it was why Remnant had brought me here to this place.
Black power enveloped us and we found ourselves in a void.
Then in a flash of magic, the one we’d ventured here to see came into view.
As his straggly white hair flicked in the magically-induced wind, most of it contained by his hooded studded cloak, his white eyes fixed on me.
“Twice in merely a day, Sylas. I’m honored,” he greeted me drily.
His gaze flicked to Remnant and he jolted.
“You bring a very different companion this time.”
“I brought him,” Remnant corrected him, rather pointedly.
“Ah,” Ambrose said, giving a slow nod. “You’ve come to collect that favor I owe you.”
“One of them,” Remnant rumbled.
Ambrose held up his hand. “All right, yes. I know I owe you three. My apologies, I assumed you’d come together due to the Morien Morgrave situation—you both have dogs in that fight.”
“You felt him using Risen Reckoning earlier?” I asked.
He grimaced. “Yes. A highly corrupted version of it.”
“He also afflicted Sylas with black magic. A great deal of it,” Remnant spoke.
Ambrose drew in a sharp breath. “No.” He addressed me. “Having you ruined by black magic can’t be allowed. You’re vital.” His gaze flicked to Remnant briefly. “In many ways.”
“Many ways? Beyond taking down Morien?” I asked. “Is that what you’re—”
“Assess him,” Remnant cut in.
Before I could get a word out, he stepped up close to Ambrose. “He reacted with distaste to your surge of power moments ago, even spat out the taste.”
Ambrose looked shocked once again.
With everything he’d seen over his many years as a black magic powerhouse and the only person ever not to be corrupted by it, that was absolutely saying something.
A smile spread over his face and then he stepped to me and grasped my arms.
I flinched and pulled away.
What the—
That reaction had just been automatic. I hadn’t intended to do that.
With dying, being bound, enduring that transplant, then being attacked by my father and his despicable magic touching me, I guess I was a little jumpy.
Being touched… it wasn’t sitting well with me right now.
I saw concern spark in Remnant’s eyes and he lifted his chin at Ambrose, silently communicating something to him.
In the next moment, Ambrose stepped back then upturned his palms, his literal black magic shimmering in controlled flames.
He swept it around me without actually making physical contact.
I just felt the unsettling pins and needles sensation very slightly whispering over any exposed skin, like my face, hands, and neck.
“Hmm… you were right with your suspicion,” he told Remnant. His lips lifted. “Finally, it’s happened. I’m no longer the only one.”
“You don’t feel it, do you?” Remnant asked me.
“You were engrossed in our conversation as we approached, so you weren’t focused on it.
But focus now. There’s nothing, yes? No buzzing through your veins, no acrid taste?
You only spat out that taste when we arrived here.
And only once after Morien infected you. Not a single time since.”
Was he saying what I thought?
Was Ambrose also reading the same thing from me?
“I’m not infected anymore?” I asked. Making assumptions where this was concerned was dangerous. And I was an expert in necromancy, not black magic, so I needed to defer to somebody who was incredibly learned in that area to be sure.
Ambrose told me, his eyes shining with incredulity.
“You’re not. There’s no trace of black magic, no trace of that fool’s corrupted magic in your system at all.
Your body has expelled it, your magic has rejected it.
” He lowered his palms. “I’m no longer the only one who can’t be corrupted by black magic.
Now there’s you. Almighty Necromancer indeed. ”
I fought to reconcile his words, the weight to them, the utter shock of them.
“You don’t need to fear it now,” Remnant told me. “Or to allow that fear to determine how you engage Morien in combat.”
“You already suspected. You just brought me here for confirmation—for my own peace of mind? You weren’t actually worried about it yourself?”
“It’s one of your greatest fears. If I, a new ally with mixed motives, had simply told you I knew you weren’t corrupted, that Morien had misjudged the situation greatly, you wouldn’t have believed me.
” He gestured at Ambrose. “So I brought you to a respected black magic authority, one I knew you’d dealt with and trusted in before. ”
“Impressive.” His approach undoubtedly had my respect.
“Morien doesn’t know what he’s truly dealing with,” Ambrose stated. “This changes things. Considerably.”
“It certainly does,” Remnant said.
I smiled, eyeing Remnant. “Well, then. It seems we have a great deal to discuss.”
Despite everything, the pain, the complications, the dire threats we faced, a rush of excitement thrummed through me.
“It’s time,” Remnant announced.
“Time?”
“For you to be immersed in the true Underground.”
“Lead the way.”