I run a hand over my face. I’ll have to tell him sooner or later.
“We know the killer is collecting a set of relics and is killing mage lines,” I blurt out, dragging the photograph out of my pocket to Paltro’s face. And suddenly it all clicks together. “I think… the killer neededThe Founder’s Book of Relics, the heirlooms, and the dead lines for a ritual. They have an aspier, a laurel, a pen, a knife. We know they want the Corvi cuff, and what remains is—”
“A key. Rituals usually require one of each relic.” Paltro looks at me cautiously.
“Viola…” I clear my throat, looking away. “Viola’s anchored ghost said the killings were personal.” I pause, blowing out a heavy breath. “Everyone in this photograph is dead, Uncle. Save for Aunt Yas, Victor’s mom, and this girl—Willow.” I tap the girl between Mom and the Deathbringer.
Paltro takes the picture from my hands, shaking his head. “Yasmin left Gorhail shortly after this picture was taken. Sadly, Willow died a few years later, not long after your mother. Her death was tragic, a spell gone wrong—all of them were involved, and some say that’s why Elena wentmad. It’s the reason interclass magic is forbidden unless you acquire the proper rank.”
“Did Willow have any children?” I ask. Because this may lead us to the next victim… or maybe to the murderer.
“No.” He reaches for a pen and a stack of letters. “Her father, Noa LaCroix, tragically passed away during her first year at the institute, and her sole living relative is her mother, Overseer Delaney.”
The moment he says her name, my limbs freeze. The pen slides out of Paltro’s hand, clattering onto the desk, and we stare at each other, the air tight with panic and shock. I don’t have to ask; I already know we share the same thought. They’ll need two more relics for their ritual, and if we are to go by this picture, the only two relics that remain are Sierra’s key and Viola’s cuff.
“Check on Sierra, and I’ll go find Viola,” I say as I rush to the door. The next moment, he’s scribbling on multiple sheets of paper, and I am bolting onto the wet grass with the picture in my hand.
Overseer Delaney knows more than she’s letting on. And I would bet my life that she’s trying to resurrect her daughter.
As I run, all I can think of is how Viola is alone in her death lair.
“Have you seen Magus Corvi?” I ask a scrawny Magus Mortemagi when I reach Hollow Tree. The boy’s face pales, his eyes darting to my aspiers. He shakes his head vigorously, scurrying away toward the buffet soon after. One would think I am the murderer around here. Railesza hisses at me to calm down.
I look around and see a few mages eating an early dinner under the watchful eyes of Secondline officers. Two of them bark at a group of boys to finish their meals so they can return to their respective Houses. Gorhail feels more like a prison than usual. With Secondline reduced to sitters, they’re grasping at any avenue to exert their dominance. Pathetic.
I glance toward the entrance to the House of Death. Three Firstline officers stand in front of it, the red glow of the hallway behind them making it look like they’re guarding the doors to the Underworld.
Screw this lockdown—there’s no way they will let me into their forsaken House right now, and I won’t be able to sneak in with Firstline guarding every entrance. So much for being promoted to the highest Firstline Division—I can’t even pull rank to be let in the House of Death.
Still, I have to try. I hope Firstline isn’t also guarding the Poisoned Stairwell. As I rush back to the House of Poison, images of Viola dying cross my mind. I shove them away; I will not rest until I know she is safe and away from Delaney. And as much as I hate Lorne, his overbearingness may prove useful for once. He is likely hovering over Viola like the ghosts he corrals, and Delaney wouldn’t dare kill a Magister in the middle of Gorhail. Would she?
When I cross through Fang’s Nest, I speak to no one. Two Grand Magus try to stop me to talk about the importance of Aspieri staying behind to protect Gorhail. I don’t care. If they knew better, they would be far from this place right now.
I step into Founder’s Room, slamming the door shut behind me. I walk across the living room and head straight for the Poisoned Stairwell, pulling on the door. It doesn’t budge. “Fuck.” My fist slams on the wooden panel, but it doesn’t even shake.
Pacing back and forth, I weigh my options. The main entrance is barred, my only access to the Poisoned Stairwell is locked, and I have to assume that they’ve locked all the others, too. Haal, make yourself useful for once. I slam on the panel a second time, and Raiku startles awake and hisses at me.
“Sylas,” Beau calls out as he walks out of his room. “What’s wrong?”
I look at him, a lump in my throat. I shouldn’t be here right now. I should be tearing down the doors of the House of Death. “Viola…”
He glances at the angry mark on my fist. “If you break into the House of Death, Firstline will take you away… you know it as well as I do.”
Lyria opens her door moments later. She takes one look at me, and her hands twist together. “They still haven’t approved my clearance,” she says, shaking her head.
“Sylas, what’s going on?” Beau demands as he strides toward me.
“Our theory, your findings about the families, Viola’s theory…” I speak every word that comes to my mind. “I don’t think this was about Grimm at all. The killer used Grimm’s return and Faro’s Cuff to throw us off.” I pause, catching my breath. “Delaney is behind all this. She’s trying to resurrect her daughter with the relics.”
Lyria glares at me like I’ve said something sacrilegious. “Sylas, you’re ridiculous.” She laughs, fixing a stack of books on the nearest shelf right outside her bedroom door. “Delaney would never do that. She has her quirks, but she bleeds for Gorhail.” She shakes her head. “Besides, herdaughter has been dead for over twenty years. If she required the relics to resurrect her, she could’ve killed everyone while they were children.”
Beau’s eyes meet mine, a frown knotting them. “Not if she didn’t know she needed the relics,” he says, slowly turning to face our sister.
Lyria’s face goes through the five stages of grief in mere seconds. My naive sister thinks that the rules are written in our favor and those who maintain them do so with honor. In an ideal world, she would be right. As I watch her face fall at the realization that someone she respects so much betrayed the order and structure she stands for, I feel likeIfailed her.
“The Founder’s Book…” she lets out, clasping her mouth.
“The last time Olivia went back to Albion—three weeks ago—she retrievedThe Founder’s Book of Relicsfrom her grandmother’s library,” I remind them. “The heirloom thefts and murders started around that time. The first one was Victor, then Beau, then Olivia…”