Lyria gasps, rolling over the back of the sofa into the empty seat next to me.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Beau exclaims. “Both of you!”
“I’m… surprised,” Lyria says with an eerie calm. “I didn’t think you to be a venom seller. Do you need money, Beau?”
Beau glowers at her, then the edges of his face melt into sympathy. “I didn’t know he was going to inject himself with the venom. He said he needed frost venom for his mother, to help with her seizures. Did you know his mother was at Riverview Ward?”
How would we know that? I press my lips together so I don’t yell at my brother, because, compassionate or not, he’s broken at least four laws by selling aspier venom. If the Grand House finds out, death would be a merciful fate.
“If it was for his mother, why was it in his blood?” Lyria asks.
“He could’ve changed his mind.” Beau shrugs. “Maybe he wanted to stay pretty forever.”
Lyria gags. Even though its primary use is to soothe seizures, frost as-pier venom is sought after on the black market to preserve eternal beauty after death.
“Some people are weird, Lyr. I hear Delaney’s late husband is displayed on her living room couch.”
“That’s simply untrue. Overseer Delaney is one of the most righteous Mortemagi at Gorhail. She knows the importance of mage burials.”
Beau’s laughing at his own quip, and Lyria’s grimacing as if we have all the time in the world and he’s not going to die tomorrow. Neither of them understands the gravity of the situation. Killing a mage is one of the most serious offenses in the provinces. Maybe they think Paltro will swoop in and save Beau. How will anyone defend against the cold, hard proof that Beau’s aspier venom was in Victor’s blood? The Grand House doesn’t care about reasons why, only facts. But I cannot fail my brother like I failed Dad. I will not lose him, even if I have to lose myself proving his innocence.
The hallway to Hollow Tree isn’t as long as it is winding. When I step in, two Magus are fighting over the last slice of honeyfig bread, oblivious to the dangers that hide in every crevice. On a normal day, the main floorbuzzes with the latest gossip, but tonight, it’s a collection of worried faces, nervous chatter, and awkward laughs. They all know something is deeply wrong, yet they’ll do nothing about it. Today, it’smybrother on death row. Tomorrow, it could betheirs.
I pause, taking in the place. I’ve been here six years, and I’m still in awe of the architecture. Hollow Tree is the empty base of a gigantic tree primarily serving as our dining hall. It joins the three Houses on the base level via hallways that act like branches of the tree. The Poison hallway is winding like a serpent, the Arcane hallway’s ceiling has an illusion of the twinkling night sky, and the House of Death’s hallway probably looks and smells like death. I’ll never know, because I never intend to set foot in that torture chamber.
I search the crowd for a head of shiny brown hair. Standing by the entrance of the House of Arcane, she is the only one in a cornflower-blue shirt amid a sea of black.
“Sier.” I touch her elbow as I approach, and she steps aside. Sierra Ducas is a longtime family friend, but more importantly, she is the most gifted reader of her generation, who also happens to be best friends with the Mortemagi who stuck to Victor like glue.
“Sylas.” She looks over both shoulders. “You’ve heard about Victor, I’m sure.” It takes me a second to catch what she means. Her pronunciation leans more toward her native Rignan than Balish when she’s stressed.
“Yes, and I need your help.” I’m about to ask her to break the rules for me, and she knows it. Her clear blue eyes narrow, her nostrils flare, and she steps back, shaking her head. “Not after what happened…”
Not after what happened with my father. Not after she helped Gryff and me get out of Gorhail without approval, and Dad was killed saving us that very night. I don’t blame her reluctance, but Ineedher help.
I lower my voice. “They found Silver’s poison in Victor’s blood.”
She says nothing. Instead, she grabs my hand, and her eyes darken like an angry ocean waiting to swallow whoever dares cross her. Below her collarbone, her relic, a small silver key pendant, faintly glows.
Sierra is a reader Arkani. Their magic lets them read people’s memories, coercing even the darkest secrets. After Gorhail, they’re stationed outside of government buildings, so they can screen anyone who meets with the Grand Masters. They are so crucial to security that even nonmagi officials fight to recruit them.
“How is this possible?” She releases my hand abruptly, wiping her palm, as if this would somehow alter the memory.
“I don’t know, Sier.” I plead. “Beau doesn’t deserve this. It will crush Lyria.” It will crush me.
The moment she hears Lyria’s name, her eyes soften. After Dad died, Sierra took Lyria to our family home in Iserine and spent weeks helping her through her grief. I owe her more than I will ever be able to repay, yet here I am, asking even more of her.
“What do you need?”
“Read Victor’s memories.”
“Sylas.” Her face twists in horror. Reading a dead person’s memory requires lifeblood.
“I know what I’m asking of you.” I hold her stare. “The Grand House will call for Beau’s execution without trial.”
She pauses at my words, but her frown worries me. I’m asking too much. She looks around and lowers her voice. “I know another way, but it will cost you.”
“Anything,” I say.