An altar welcomes me with a single black candelabra in the middle. I run my hands along one of the three long, black candles, feeling the ridges of the melted wax. There is no dust; these candles seem to be new. My finger brushes across the altar, and it comes away with a thick layer of gray.
My suspicions ring true. Someone was here recently.
I glance over my shoulder. No one followed me in. I wonder if they even noticed my absence, but this place won’t let me dwell for too long. The arched opening behind the altar invites me in, and I press my heels into the floor to mute my steps.
Several rows of vaults are laid out in the same fashion as the burial chamber. I approach one. Isobel Corvi, it reads. The next one: Percival Corvi. The next and the next are generations of Corvi I’ve never heard about. When I die, will I be buried here? Or will I be buried next to Olivia in Albion, even if we’ll never be together in death?
I hold the thought, because the inscription on the last vault steals my breath. Rhea Visaya Corvi. Nan. I blink, and I am ten years old again, told I couldn’t attend Nan’s burial because only mages were allowed at mage burials. I had to say goodbye at the vigil, and Olivia was the only one allowed to watch her casket be placed into this vault.
Hesitantly, I brush the plaque with my finger. It’s still bleeding, and red smears across the gold, filling in the cracks of her name. That’s when I hear the quiet scrape of a boot against the marble.
My heart thumps, and I cling to the vault like Nan’s ghost will crawl back from the Underworld to save me. I take comfort that if I do die, I’ll die in my ancestor’s resting place.
“Viola.” Sylas’s voice is breathy. There is no bite to it, only concern and… relief.
I whirl.
His eyebrows pull together as he runs his eyes all over my body, a new habit I’ve noticed since Dearly Departed, as if he’s constantly making sure no part of me is hurt. No one’s ever looked out for me like he does; no one’s ever feared losing me before.
He comes closer, and the thump of his heart sets my own alight. Gods, he must have been worried if he hurried here. I lift my head to meet his eyes, swallowing hard. He’s looking at me like nothing else matters, andGods, I want to run my hands through his soft hair. I want to hold his face and tell him to close the distance between us. And ancestors be damned, I want to kiss him.
His hand brushes my hair behind my ears, and he holds it there, cradling my head as his gaze trails from my eyes to my mouth. “Don’t scare me like that again,” he whispers.
The vault clicks open, startling us. He quickly lowers his hand, and I steal the briefest glance at his flushed cheeks while biting down a smile. Letting out a steadying breath, I return my attention to the vault in front of me, prying the door open with my fingers.
At first, I don’t see anything, but Sylas brushes past me, Raiku perched on his hand, hissing violently. I watch helplessly as his face drains of color and his mouth falls open. Something from the vault rattled him, so much so that he’s not saying anything.
Leaning in, I scan over Nan’s belongings.
In the middle of her jewelry sits something I mistook for a choker countless times when I was a child rummaging through her jewelry drawer. Hidden in plain sight is a scaly, black metallic necklace.
But now I know it’s not a necklace at all. It’s an aspier.
Let me tell you a story woven within the fabric of the castle.
Two Houses at odds
Two lovers with the Gods
A buried tale
A stolen veil
A hidden snake
A life at stake
SONGS FROM THE CATACOMBS
thirty-four | sylas
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1939
The Deathbringer’s aspier sits in the middle of Rhea Corvi’s vault. Raiku is wound so tight around my wrist, my fingers are tingling. If the Deathbringer’s aspier is here, it means that Dad was right, and she is dead. The real question is how did Rhea Corvi have an aspier belonging to one of the most powerful mages in the history of Draterra?
“This is Scar,” I say softly, stepping next to Viola. “The Deathbringer’s aspier.” I would recognize Scar anywhere; she’s exactly as our books described. Mesmerizing onyx imbricate scales wrap around a slender body.
As I move, Beau and Lyria join us, their steps faltering when their eyes land on Scar. Lyria’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide. She tugs on Beau’s sleeve and gestures between Viola and me.