“Be back in a bit,” Lyria shouts, and I wave at her.
“Good night, Vi,” Beau says as he pulls the door closed behind them. “Oh, and if you see Sy, tell him Paltro wants to see him.”
Sylas’s room smells like mint and fire. I pause at the portrait of his family on the left wall of his bedroom, gently running my hand over the canvas. Idon’t see the happiness, I only glimpse the reminder that, at any moment, this world can take everything from us.
In the left corner of the room, nestled in a reading nook with three single-seat sofas, a candle flickers on a low table. Next to it is a book with a blank white cover. I pick it up and flip to the bookmarked page. Sylas was in the middle of a collection of field-leader reports from the last twenty years. Every page mentioning searches for the Deathbringer is marked, and he’s been scribbling notes in the margin.
I lift my eyes to the hallway behind the seating area which links Sylas’s room to Beau’s through a door at the end. My legs begin to move, but I stop myself. Something clearly happened, and he wants to be alone. I hate how much I yearn for him when he’s not around, how every little thing triggers a thought of him.
Glancing down at the report, I see that Sylas has been noting potential dates that the Deathbringer could’ve died. I turn the page, and it nicks my finger. “Bloody saints,” I mutter as I set the book down and walk to the bathroom to wash away the faint trickle of blood.
But I’m not alone.
Sylas stands in front of the mirror, a towel loosely wrapped around his middle, sitting right above his hip bones. He tousles his wet hair, then rubs his hands over his face, pausing at the paling bruise on the corner of his lips. My mouth goes dry. I know I should leave right away, but my eyes linger on the flex of his back muscles and the countless white scars on his soft tawny skin. I want to kiss away every one of them.
An involuntary noise rises in my throat, and his eyes catch mine.
“Vi,” he says tentatively.
“I’m so sorry.” My hand reaches for the doorknob behind my back.
“Are you?” He lifts his eyebrows at me in the mirror, and I lower my head. My cheeks are burning, my body somehow shivering, and my throat flushes with a tangle of excuses that never make it out because, no, I am not sorry.
He turns away from the mirror, and my heart leaps with every slow step he takes toward me. He stops right in front of me, our bodies almost touching. My breaths are shallow, out of control, my chest rising and falling raggedly. Can he feel my heartbeat—how a single look from him makes me lose my inhibitions?
“I should have knocked.” The first excuse bubbles out.
He lets out a throaty laugh that sinks into my bones. “You should have.” His breath grazes the shell of my ear, and a shudder dances at the base of my neck. My lips part, but he’s stolen all my words. If I could retrieve them, I’d tell him to undo me.
He leans closer, and I close my eyes. “We can’t,” I groan.
My stomach knots with agony. I would ruin him, like I ruined my mother. Maybe in another life, where being together wouldn’t paint a red cross on our backs.
His eyes darken, kindling a fire low inside my belly. He doesn’t say a word, just looks at me through his impossibly beautiful lashes, with a longing I can’t ignore. In this moment I know I would break a thousand rules for him; I would go to war for him; I would follow him to the depths of the Underworld, if I must. Would he do the same for me?
“You hate my magic. You can’t have one without the other,” I whisper, a mild panic catching at the edge of my words. I stand in front of him, asking him to choose the magic he loathes for me.
Sylas cups my jaw with both hands, one of his thumbs lightly brushing across my lower lip, and Gods, I’m weak—my body yearns for his lips against mine, but I can’t surrender to my desires. He studies my face, as if he’s committing every minor detail to memory. I don’t look away. I can’t. I want the gray of his eyes to swallow me whole.
“I’ve never hated you, not for a single second, not even when your life was in my hands on that cold metal table the first time I saw you.”
My foolish heart tugs. I cling to every word, because I want to believe there exists a world where we can be together. But reality is a cold plunge. He knows it, too. I don’t have much lifeblood left, and Sylas will live forever. We were doomed before we could even begin.
He’s lost too much. I cannot do this to him—give him another person to bury. “You’re only here now because I’m half Aspieri.”
A flicker of hurt crosses his eyes. “I’ve been here.” His hands trace the length of my shoulders, leaving a trail of fire before settling at my waist. “I’ve been here since the first time I saw you confront Lorne in Hollow Tree, and then in the Poisoned Stairwell, and at your sister’s funeral, and in the catacombs… I could go on, Viola.”
He lowers his forehead to mine, the silence telling me everything he doesn’t say. I close my eyes, breathing him in. The softness of mint and vanilla are an eternal reminder of how safe I feel with him. I press my palmsagainst his bare chest, feeling the taut muscles under my fingers. He takes in a sharp inhale. He feels it, too. The undeniable electricity between us. But if I give in, even just this once, I could destroy him.
“We can’t,” I say with finality.
His burning gaze drags across my face, before he nods and gently pulls away. He needs to leavenow, before I change my mind.
“You can have my room. If you need anything, I’ll be next door.” He slides past me, leaving before I can say another word.
That night, I toss and turn, haunted by Sylas’s words. He has been my only constant at Gorhail, and I repaid him by doing what I’ve loathed all my life. I made a choice for him. How am I any better than Nan?
Shoving the covers aside, I swing my legs off the bed, not bothering with slippers. The door to Beau’s room is at the end of the short hallway, behind Sylas’s reading nook. I breathe out, cross the room, and walk down the hall. My heartbeat is the only sound I hear as I stand in the darkness, under the watchful eyes of their ancestors’ portraits.