Chapter 41
C HAPTER 41
RUBY
With two out of three Blackgates frozen on the lawn, we converge on the final one.
I hold tight to Auden, my side pressed into his as the weight of his arm drapes over my shoulders. Though my body trembles with bruising magic—the skin around my ankles as black as ash, my throat raw, my head throbbing—I feel warm and safe, if not okay.
Cool relief swells through me at the sight of Wren, standing whole without a scratch on her, the butter knife tight in her grip. My sister watches Marsyas as if the woman isn’t incapacitated, as if she’ll burst free from her improvised bindings. Not likely, given the Death witch is face down on the garden tiles, her arms sucked into the earth all the way up to her shoulders, her head tilted awkwardly to one side.
Evander has squatted to Marsyas’s level, all four master relics bulging in his sweatpants pockets.
He doesn’t say anything until we’re all assembled.
The Cerises—Ada alive but barely, as pale as a sheet and silently propped against her brother, who’s smudged in a tapestry of blood and dirt, and grinning something ferocious. Infinity and Winter bracket the other side, grass staining their clothing, twigs lodged in Winter’s long hair as Infinity pats their short, wiry curls, dirt raining onto their broad shoulders.
We stare down at Marsyas. Waiting. Watching.
Finally, Evander presses a hand to a mélange of pebbled dirt and cracked stone tiles in front of her.
“I want to hear your plan from the very beginning. Don’t leave any part out. And don’t excuse any of the elders. We know you met with Luna and Hector. We know you killed them both. I want con firmation about which one of you killed Ursula. If I have to, I will use a truth spell on you.” Evander pauses, and gestures to the group at large, even Wren and me. “If we use a truth spell and are still unsure, you will die before midnight to ensure we satisfy Ursula’s spell, so I would be honest with us, even if it implicates yourself. We are the future of the Four Lines, and we need to hear every word of your betrayal so that we may never allow something like it again.”
Marsyas seems to consider this with a thin inhale and the purse of her expressive mouth. It’s clear she doesn’t appreciate being lectured at by someone barely older than her granddaughters.
“The story is long and tedious. Therefore, I do think it would be a much more pleasant experience for both myself and you as listeners if you were able to secure me in a different manner before I begin.”
In answer, Evander stands from his crouch and hauls a dining chair from the table to the most level set of tiles near Marsyas. Again, he squats down to look her in the eye.
“I will release you and escort you to this chair. When you are seated, I will freeze your limbs to guarantee you do not run and you do not use your magic as you tell the story.”
Marsyas’s answer is to fire back with her own set of demands. “Before I tell my tale, I want you to promise me that my granddaughters are safe. They had no hand in any of these murders and do not deserve the ultimate punishment. Do not make examples out of them, Evander Hegemony. Their father’s life became forfeit, and I need you to promise me you will not punish them for something they did not do.”
Evander looks her in the eye. “I promise you they will live.”
Marsyas’s mouth sets in a grim line and she nods.
Evander presses a hand to the earth. It immediately shudders, releasing her. He gets her upright, his grasp unyielding as he carefully spins her toward the chair, checking his watch. “We have mere hours left. Tell your story accurately and fully. Do not leave anything out.”
The woman waves him off and cackles .
“I’m old but you don’t have to repeat yourself. My mind’s as sharp as a knife.”
Before the fall of the last word, Marsyas’s hand whips out and snatches the butter knife from Wren’s grasp.
“ No! ” I cry in the same moment Evander flings an arm out, an unseen shield shooting out to cover my sister’s shocked form.
But when the knife comes down, it isn’t aimed at Wren.
Or Evander.
Or anyone else in our group.
Marsyas aims the knife at herself.
With one violent slash, she drags the weak serrations of the blade across the width of her throat.
Despite the dull tool, the awkward angle, the slim opportunity, Marsyas hits her mark.
A wave of gasps, averted eyes, and pivoting bodies ripples through us as blood spurts from the wound in a jittering spray. Marsyas flops backward too fast, too heavy for Evander’s hold on her single arm. Hex lunges forward, blood streaking down his own makeshift shield as he casts it aside to latch onto her opposite side and get her into a more controlled fall to the terra-cotta.
When Marsyas is on the ground, her eyes are wide, dark, glassy. Unseeing. Her body shudders violently as Hex wrenches the knife from her grasp and sends it skidding away, under the table. Then, she goes still. Evander and Hex sit back on their heels. Hands drop away from shocked mouths.
In a blink it becomes clear that the time to save Marsyas from herself has passed.
In that quiet, there’s a pop, like air releasing under pressure.
Then a lightning bolt of magic crackles in the air around us. I may not be able to see magic, not like the witches, but I can register the aftereffects.
The tiles beneath our feet reshape, reform, smooth and whole.
Verdant green zips through the garden grounds, from the topiary to the lawn, to the dead rose bushes and hedges lining the edges, each plant and blade and bloom acting as a brush, soaking up a fresh coat of paint.
There’s a groan and sigh as every crack and fissure in the foundation, floors, and walls of Hegemony Manor seal and smooth.
A rustle as two waiters stir from their quarantined sleep; the murmur of a man pulling himself up from behind the bar beside the tearoom entrance.
The creak and sweep of the gates of Hegemony Manor yawn open.
Ursula’s final tasks, her last spell, fulfilled.
The murderer has been punished. All the relics collected.
Wren backs up and slots in beside me, her hand slipping into mine. I squeeze my own sister’s pinky as a new stillness settles over us like a blanket. Just one moment of calm. There is no assembled army of Death witches outside, waiting to pounce.
There’s nothing but the spell lifting. Totally. Fully. Comple—we’re going to make it out.
But not before the magic has its way with Marsyas Blackgate.
Like Ursula, she ages rapidly, her corpse shriveling as the years pile on. She didn’t enchant herself to look as young as Ursula, but still, the effect is stunning. Like watching a caterpillar emerge as a butterfly at warp speed.
Then, when the last of her true age is etched into mottled skin, Marsyas’s soul’s truth shimmers into place.
It’s the same ghostly brilliance of Ursula’s, the same dour expression on the smoky bust of Marsyas’s face despite the perennial upturn to the corners of her mouth that made it always look like she was smiling even when at her most furious.
I’ve witnessed this before, yet I still fear some sort of magical trick, some sort of illusion made to appear like the soul’s truth to deceive us into a momentary lapse of complacency.
But when it speaks in that wry, raspy voice, I know Marsyas Blackgate is truly dead.
“I, Marsyas Lavinia Blackgate, matriarch of the Death Line, commit that this is my soul’s truth, bare for any and all living creatures to witness.”
The ghostly bust pauses, eyes focusing on her audience, as clever and spry as in life.
I know what’s coming next. Still, it’s a shock when Marsyas gazes out at us with those sightless eyes, no longer amused and ornery. They’re accusing.
“My truth is this: I have taken my own life.”
Even though I understand her endgame—destruction of the Four Lines, destruction of all of us—a pang of guilt still chimes in my gut, unbidden but undeniable.
“To those hearing my truth, know this now: my death was an act of self-defense and should not be punished.”
Auden squeezes my shoulders, and I tuck my cheek into the crook of his neck. His pulse a steady, calming rhythm. This boy I met two days ago—who I lied to because of this woman who is dead now before us—is the anchor I have in what is real and not. Still, my heart breaks as Marsyas’s truth unfurls.
“It must be said that this outcome was a decade in the making. The day my son, Marcos Aurelius Blackgate, was executed at the hands of Ursula Elvire Muscatel Hegemony, High Sorcerer of the Four Lines, was the day I chose this path. A path that had only two possible ends when I began it: with my death, or with Ursula’s. My destination wasn’t control, it was revenge.”
Auden exhales as if he can’t believe it. A truth that provides answers rather than fuel for more endless questions.
“I plotted alone for almost ten years before I pulled the others in. Luna, who knew it was a coin flip between Erasmus and Marcos for who took the fall for Ursula’s three-pronged grief. Hector, who would do anything to squeeze more from Marcos’s death than his own survival and a never-ending stream of guilt to compound the furnace of inadequacy that drove him. But they were never my partners. Those who lived when my son did not were as much my enemy as Ursula.”
The rabbiting of my heart slows as the inevitability of what comes next falls into place.
“The plan we agreed upon was simple. Take out Ursula at the very beginning of her traditional speech. I would exit the moment she prepared to speak, a red herring on the outside, two marks left on the inside. Disposable, non-magical decoys.”
That confirmation burns all the way down as it plops in my gut.
We’re the marks. But we also survived this long.
“Luna didn’t care for power; she simply wanted her master relic and an exit. But the moment Hector saw what was truly at stake, the plan began to dissolve. He was blinded by vengeance and accessible power, eager to right a wrong that he’d been born with. By the time I’d returned to the game as agreed, he had unshakable designs on holding the High Sorcerer title. I immediately stole the Celestial relic, and when I found Hector bargaining to hold the Elemental master with Winter, I knew he had to die.”
Hex punches out a breath, from his spot on the ground. Ada’s head lolls. Winter is stone-still as Infinity turns to look at her, even as they don’t abandon their embrace.
Evander and Auden both want to ask but it’s the patriarch who does it. “Win, is that true?”
Tears pool in her eyes as Winter nods, her whole face crumpled together, shoulders quaking. “Yes. I thought giving Hector our master would just end it. Without violence or bloodshed. I meant it when I said I didn’t believe it was worth it. Evander, don’t—”
What she tries to say next is cut off by Marsyas, her truth still marching on.
“But Wren beat me to the confrontation, and was enough of a distraction that not only was I not able to snatch away the Blood master, but I couldn’t gain the Elemental relic either, as Wren had stolen it to activate Ursula’s spell and protect herself. Winter must have heard the commotion, came back, and found the mess. She heard the Cerises’ soul’s truths. I will admit, I could have tampered with their shrouds right away but did not, hoping the remaining witches would finally condemn the imposters I had hired, which would give me more time to set up my final push for vengeance.”
Auden’s arm tightens around my shoulders. I squeeze my sister’s hand.
“I wasn’t going to be happy with control, I was only going to be happy with annihilation. Of Ursula, of all the Hegemonys, of the other High Families. I wanted to leave here with my granddaughters, and scorched earth. Instead, I will leave as ash.”
I think that’s it, but the projection’s gaze finds Ursula’s body, Marsyas’s gaseous lips pulling into a cavernous Blackgate smile as storm clouds crowd her dark eyes.
I imagine her seeing red.
“I will end my truth by telling you that when I reached for the Death essence within the body of Ursula Hegemony, I connected with the last minutes of her life.”
Auden inhales sharply—surprised.
“Ursula knew what I had planned. She knew for months. I do not know how she knew, only that she intended to address it head-on and would have if the poison had not done its work. She’d meant to out us, punish us, and leave our successors to take over—this was precisely why she demanded two generations at dinner when she’d been lax before, especially with my own line.”
Evander’s green eyes flash between Auden and Ursula’s corpse. He nods to himself, jaw flexing.
The soul’s truth continues.
“Ursula knew it was a gamble to confront us instead of chaining us up the moment we arrived on site, but she wanted to surprise us, shame us, and keep the Four Lines intact for younger generations. She truly believed she was doing good work, rooting out bad behavior, but it was her iron fist in leading the line that led to her life’s biggest tragedy—and the final road for both of us.”
That’s the last word.
The soul’s truth shimmers, flickers, and then disappears, evaporating into the silver clouds above.
Hex and Evander stand, backing away toward us.
There won’t be a victim’s shroud this time. She wasn’t murdered. There’s no evidence to preserve.
Still, Evander holds out his hands, and together, six witches and two regular girls watch as the body of Marsyas Blackgate is wrapped in magic, finally at peace after a decade of unimaginable suffering.
My heart twists for Marsyas. For all she’s done—to me, to them, to their unbreakable, unusual family —a piece of me still aches for her losses and the way they’ve shaped her, motivated her, and, finally, betrayed her.
In the silence that follows, the carnage is strewn about, much like the shattered remains of the meal that started it all, still littering the dinner table.
The bodies of Ursula, Luna, Hector, and Sanguine lie inert, rotting heaps crumpled at odd angles, falling in convenience, not any natural manner.
One by one, Evander covers their bodies in the same frozen protection. A temporary shroud, a temporary rest. The skeletons receive no such grace, heaps of bones that they are. I wonder if the Hegemonys will be able to determine who they are and where they belong. It strikes me as something that will need privacy—sorting out the last of ancestors and stowing them away like pieces of a board game tipped over.
The forms of the real Lavinia and Kaysa stand like new statues among the refreshed topiaries, bubbling fountain, the onyx splendor that is Hegemony Manor.
Evander returns to us, jaw set in a tight line, his strong arms hanging at his sides, wrung out. “It’s done.”
“Not yet.” Auden shifts, squeezing my shoulder once before removing his arm entirely and stepping out of my grasp. Despite the rising summer heat, cool air hits me in the loss of his body next to mine. But as he takes that step forward, and gathers one of the two chains at his throat and pulls it over his head, a new warmth spreads through my body like a shockwave—relief. “You have one more thing to do.”
The High Sorcerer’s ring glints between us all, the gems glowing red, black, green, and white.
Evander freezes. Winter gasps. The twins gape. Infinity stiffens.
“You—you didn’t destroy it?” Wren asks, quietly, in awe.
“It’s not possible to destroy the ring with magic as long as all of the master relics are tethered to it.” Auden’s gaze meets Evander’s eyes. “Something Marsyas clearly didn’t know.”
“But you did.”
It’s not a question, but a statement from Evander.
“That, I did know.”
Something passes between the cousins, wordless but worth a note within their shared history.
Evander swallows. Auden raises the ring higher and looks each one of the remaining witches in the face. “If any of you have objections to Evander Hegemony wearing the High Sorcerer’s ring, say it now.”
“I do.”
Infinity has removed Winter’s arm from their shoulders, stepping forward—but it’s not their voice in objection.
It’s Evander’s.
We all stare at him. “I do,” he repeats. “Our parents tried to change the lines to make things better for us, and they all suffered because of it. We suffered because of it. Our parents were right to question how we govern the lines, Infinity and Luna were right to question it too. I think perhaps we need some time away to really think about what we want as the future of the Four Lines, no matter what that looks like.”
Then, Evander reaches into his pockets and pulls out the Celestial and Blood relics. The vial of Nostradamus’s blood glints in the light as it sits in his open palm, while the box is heavy and solid. Both, an offering, one extended toward Infinity, the other toward the twins.
“Take the relics and your dead—and all the time you need.”
In that moment, Evander is every inch a leader as Ursula seemed to be in the short time we’d known her. He gestures to the whole of the group—even Wren and me. “We’re the future of the Four Lines. We’ll be here when you—when all of us—decide if it is together or apart.”
Infinity and Hex accept the relics, and face their loved ones, broken upon the grass. Winter moves to join Infinity, and they let her.
My heart lifts at that.
But it falls just as quickly when a small sound catches my attention and I see Auden and Evander have moved to stand before us now. They’re tall and clear-eyed, shoulder to shoulder, facing where Wren and I cling together, fingers still entwined.
I can still feel the warmth of Auden’s body pressed against mine. See the fear in his eyes when Marsyas held my life in her hands. But that was then and this is now.
And I’m not one of them.
I never was.
This is it, then. The moment when our status as liars, as outsiders, as regular people can no longer go unaddressed.
I tip up my chin, and wait for him to say it.
For the words to come out of that too-perfect mouth. The one that kissed me only hours ago.
That the Four Lines can’t let us leave with what we know. For their magic to flood my senses until I don’t remember a thing. I’ll awake with Wren somewhere near here, dumped on the side of the road, expected to point ourselves home.
But then, Auden’s hand slips into mine—the one stained with visual proof of my lies. The one he healed. Those magical eyes of his crinkle in the corners, and for a wingbeat of a second I have hope.
“Now it’s over, Ruby. Time for you to go home.”