Your kindness is nauseating.
“Vi, you can’t—” Beau protests. “I’m not letting you take the blame for the resurrection. They won’t care that you barely have any years left. DOTSwillexecute you.”
“Even if I were to live to a hundred, I’d only have three years left,” I cut him off. “I’m as good as dead, Beau, but Victor has to live with his actions, and I think that’s punishment enough.”
Victor looks at me with gratitude. I wish he wouldn’t; it isn’t much, but I cannot stand here and watch him be put on death row because he loved his mother. We’ve all done desperate things for the people we love.
He scans the form, then he lifts his head at Beau. The disappointment in his eyes tugs at my heart. “I really thought you were different,” he whispers. Then he pulls on the restraints, looking at Beau in question.
“Blood will suffice as an agreement.”
“I’ll sign.” He holds Beau’s stare. “On one condition…”
He’s not in a position to make demands.I know she’s only looking out for me, but Victor is so vulnerable right now that I wish she’d tuck her anger away momentarily.
Victor continues, “Tell my mother I’m away for research. And if something…” He inhales, regaining his composure. “If they end up executing me, don’t tell her. She can’t know I’m dead.”
“I promise,” Beau murmurs, then he draws his dagger. Ever so carefully,he pokes the tip of Victor’s thumb, holding his hand a moment longer. Victor doesn’t break eye contact with Beau as he presses his thumb to the authorization form.
My hands are clammy as we head to the door. Beau tucks the agreement in his jacket. Before we step out, he gives Victor one last look.
“What was that about?” I ask as we retrace our steps back to the front.
“I’m not as forgiving as you.” Beau looks down. “Even if, sometimes, I wish I were.”
When we come out to the front room, Lyria waits there alone. I wonder where the guard went. She sees us, and her face lights up. “He was trying to dig for old copies ofThe Daily Magewith your picture, Beau. Sylas offered to help him get out of prison duty. They’re in the back room. Let’s go before he’s out and gets suspicious again. Sy will meet us at the cemetery.”
Beau gives her a delayed nod, and she frowns. “Haal, you look frazzled. I’ll drive.”
Lyria drives two streets over from the prison and parks near a large lone mausoleum occupying a vast garden. Willow trees border the garden from the street. I expect to see more greenery and flowers, but the cold white stone building with a vaulted roof sits in the middle of the same unnatural manicured grass that’s all over Riverview.
We step out of the car onto the wet grass. As we get closer to the structure, I pull my jacket closer; maybe it’s just the drop in temperature or maybe it’s my fear creeping up my spine, because I am suddenly deathly afraid of going in there. What if I’m stuck in ghost paralysis again?
I won’t let you, my ghost reminds me. I nod in thanks, unable to form any words.
Beau steps in between the pillars and slides open the heavy door, and we walk in to find a large marble pedestal in the middle of the small, rectangular room. To my right and left are stairways, and toward the back of the room, two other stairways mirroring them.
“It’s the registry,” Lyria says as we pass the thick leatherbound book that sits on the pedestal. She takes the top right stairway and leads me down two flights that open to an endless maze of smaller marbled mausoleums.
If the burial chamber at Gorhail was extravagant, this place was forgedby the Gods. It’s huge, with its own path system and dustmaker-powered streetlamps. I stare in awe as I walk past the individual mausoleums lining the pathways in alphabetical order. All are marked by their House crest. It feels like we’re in a small city, walking through the history of thousands of families.
Beau stops in front of a small white-and-gold mausoleum. “My parents are here,” he says.
I remember Sylas told me most mages were buried in the crypts at Riverview. Beau runs his hand over the black plaque in the middle. Etched in gold is his last name:CARDOT.
He pats his coat, then turns to Lyria. “Do you have your dagger? I think I left mine back at the prison.”
Lyria shakes her head. “Nyx can…”
“What’s the first rule of the field?” Sylas’s voice echoes off the walls before I see his silhouette. Lyria mutters a curse under her breath. “What is it, Beau? Because you’re aregularon the field now.”
“Never step out without a dagger,” Beau mumbles.
“Now, whose genius idea was it to forget all your weapons? It’s after curfew. Do we think Riverview is immune to poachers?” Sylas scolds us as if we’re a group of incapables. Incapable of making our own decisions, incapable of handling ourselves. The last one might hold some truth, but still, the condescension in his tone annoys me to no end.
Sylas hands Beau his dagger, then he cautiously approaches me, his eyes trailing the length of my body. “Did Victor help?”
“Nothing new.” I shake my head. “We did get permission to bring a reader to his mother, but not before he aired out some frustrations about how we are privileged and never face consequences.”