“Is she the Firstline officer who went missing years ago?” Viola asks, her voice empty.
“Yes,” I answer. That Rhea Corvi has the Deathbringer’s aspier can mean only one of two things: one, she killed the Deathbringer, which ispreposterous, because Scar would’ve killed her before she could blink, or two, the Deathbringer willingly surrendered her aspier to her, for some inexplicable reason.
“The Deathbringer was a legend.” Lyria fills in the silence. “You’ve seen her around. Her portrait is everywhere: by the entrance of the House of Poison, on the Chiefs of Firstline wall in the hallway next to Rhodes’s office—”
“Parrish’s house,” I say, realizing that maybe Viola hasn’t seen her portrait around Gorhail—she wouldn’t have paid attention to the Chiefs of Firstline wall, and she isn’t allowed in the House of Poison. “Straight black hair, brown skin, gold-brown eyes…” I trail off, studying Viola. My gaze shifts to Beau, then to Lyria, and we all come to the same realization. There’s only one reason the Deathbringer would surrender her aspier.
The Deathbringer had a daughter.
Haal, it all makes sense now. Why she went into hiding and why she may have been killed. I don’t know how I missed it. The resemblance was never to Rhea Corvi at all. She is a mirror of her mother with her nan’s eyes. They have the same golden-brown skin, the same sparkle in their eyes when they smile. Haal, they have the same smile.
“Why does my nan have the Deathbringer’s aspier in her vault?” Viola shakes her head. She takes a step backward, still shaking her head in dis-belief, or maybe shock.
“Vi, you are—” Lyria tries, but Viola cuts her off by holding up her hand. A flash of betrayal passes over her face as she comes to the same realization that we have.
“It… it can’t be. All this time, she knew, and she never bothered to tell me.”
“No.” I stop her. “Vi… no.” I’m terrified to touch her, afraid that I might unleash an avalanche of repressed feelings. “We don’t know your nan’s reasons.” I can’t believe I’m defending Rhea Corvi. Then again, I’d probably defend poachers if it would help Viola.
Viola purses her lips and nods. When her eyes fall on Scar a second time, her breathing quickens and she staggers backward, clutching her chest. Without hesitation my hands wrap around her shoulders, and Railesza is already slithering down her forearm. Her knees buckle, and her body sags against me. I loop a hand around her waist, holding her up. “Vi?”
“I—” She gasps for air. “I— She lied to me.”
I pull her into me, cradling her head against my chest as we stand there, one hand rubbing circles on the small of her back and the other stroking her hair.
“Breathe, Vi.” I press my lips to her hair. Her body feels so small against mine, and I hold her as she falls apart in my arms. The world could end this precise moment, and I would spend every last of my remaining seconds putting together her broken pieces.
I don’t know how long we remain like that. Lyria paces back and forth, occasionally huffing. And Beau stares at Scar, his face still in shock. Every few minutes, Railesza glances at me, and I don’t know what to tell her. She’s looking for something to heal, but she cannot heal heartbreak.
After a while, Viola stops crying. She gently pushes away from me, pressing her knuckles into her eyes. She returns to the open vault, her shoulders caved in. Deep down, I know that she’s mourning more than this moment.
“What was her name?” Viola’s chin wobbles. For a moment, I fear she’s going to cry again, but she straightens up and lets out a slow exhale.
“Alyria.” Lyria smiles at her namesake. “Alyria Parrish. Mom and the Deathbringer were lifelong friends. They met at the academy and were inseparable until Mom took a step back from Firstline when she was pregnant with me.”
The moment my sister mentions Parrish, it occurs to me that Priya Parrish might have had her suspicions. Haal, it would explain her visceral reaction the first night I healed Viola, and how she had no trouble sacrificing Victor to save her. It’s not the Corvi cuff she wanted; it has been Viola all along.
“You have the same name.” Viola’s gaze wanders into nothingness again. I want to erase the sorrow in the depths of her eyes, erase the pain straining her eyebrows, erase the hurt pulling down the corners of her mouth. But nothing I do will help.
Eventually, Viola’s delicate fingers gingerly pick Scar up. I hold my breath, even if I already know what the outcome will be. If Scar awakens with her touch, her existence is in violation of the laws. Mortemagi-Aspieri crossmages are rare. Mainly because we usually can’t stand each other, and aspiers are already notorious for rejecting secondary relics, let alone cuffs. The Mortemagi cuff draws too much magic from the aspiers for them to allow it. Even in the rare instances the aspiers allow it, Mortemagiusually don’t survive long—they become drunk on sheer power, depleting their lifeblood for the blood arts.
Lyria presses her lips together. Beau frowns, tapping his foot. We all wait for Scar to do anything at all. For a moment, she doesn’t, and I question if we were all wrong. But then, she uncoils into a long stretch and a yawn, exposing her sharp fangs. Haal, she wakes from a two-decade-long slumber.
When she opens her golden eyes, we know.
Her sharp face studies every one of us. It’s odd, being judged by an aspier. Then her eyes settle on Raiku. He uncoils from my wrist and gives her a small bow. Only now does it make sense why Raiku was restless around Viola that first night. He must have recognized her blood, and he bit her to confirm it.
“Fascinating.” Beau stares at Scar, half coiled in Viola’s palm. Fascinating? All I hear is that Viola will be dead the moment anyone finds out who she is. It’s only a matter of time before DOTS’s trackers pick up on Scar. I doubt DOTS will give her the option of magic sealing—they rarely do with Mortemagi crossmages, thanks to Grimm.
As if she read my mind, Scar’s yellow eyes narrow at me, following my every move as I pace back and forth, trying to think of something,anything, to save Viola.
“She must have gone into hiding because you are a crossmage,” Lyria muses as she studies Scar from a distance, her eyes lit with wonder.
“Hiding Scar will be impossible.” Beau finally joins the conversation, voicing one of the thoughts racing through my head. “Everyone’s looking for her.”
“Maybe we don’t have to hide her at all. She’s been stuck in this tiny vault for so long,” Viola says softly as she brushes her knuckles over Scar’s head, but the aspier recoils and hisses at her cuff.
“Take off your cuff,” I instruct.