forty | sylas
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1939
The Poisoned Stairwell is toying with me.
I’ve been in here for what feels like hours, and the corridors bleed into one another. The lights seem broken, and I have to rely on their faintest glow to make out my path. Even my aspiers are confused. Raiku hisses at Railesza, and she turns her head away from him, eyes focused ahead as we walk. But Raiku’s restlessness stirs a sense of unease within me. What does he know that I don’t?
Railesza’s head jerks to the left toward a dark, narrow hallway with deep red walls and three faint basket lights floating at the top. I follow her lead, every step heavy with a cursed possibility. Soon after, she lets her body drop to the ground, slithering away faster than I can run. Raiku tightens himself around my wrist, his fangs out.
At the end of the hallway, I notice the silhouette of a body.
One step forward, and I curse myself for wishing this is anyone but Viola.
My second step splits my soul in two.
Viola lies face up on the floor, her beautiful hair matted with blood, her eyes swollen and closed. I search for the slightest movement in her chest. It remains still. I glance at her arm and can almost see the ivory ofher bone through the gash that’s still oozing blood. A few inches above, her cuff is gone.
No. She can’t be… I refuse to think about the word.
Railesza violently hisses at me before wrapping herself around Viola’s neck, as if she’s chastising me for even considering the possibility of her dying.
I still don’t move, paralyzed by a fear that slowly seeped into my veins until its tendrils wrapped around my heart. The fear of losing her.
Raiku nudges me with his nose, and I lower myself to the ground. My fingers are cold, shaking, and my heart beats in my ears. It’s so loud that it’s all I can hear.
My movement is almost mechanical; I gather Viola against me, resting her head on my knees. Her body’s still warm. As I brush her hair away from her face, Railesza continues to heal her, but Viola doesn’t respond.
It’s over. I’m too late. She’s dead.
It cannot be.
Raiku glances at me in question, then at Railesza, but she doesn’t look worried at all; in fact, she switches between veins methodically. There’s no frantic movement, nothing like when she was trying to heal Dad or Beau. It almost seems like when it comes to Viola, Railesza heals with certainty.
The seconds bleed one into the next, and I don’t know if we’re here for a minute or an hour, but Viola’s eyelids flicker, and my breath hitches.
I blink hard, peering at her eyes in case I’ve gone mad. Placing two fingers at her wrist, her pulse beats against my touch, slowly at first, then faster.
She’s alive. If the God of Death had a name, I would worship him to eternity.
Viola groans in agony, and I pull her closer, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. She’s alive. I breathe out. And she’s with me.
“Not real,” she mumbles.
“Shhh—” I whisper. “I have you, Vi. I’ll always have you.”
“The cuff.” She forces the word out. “Not real…”
The sound of Viola’s shaky breathing haunts me until I cross the threshold of Founder’s Room with her in my arms. Railesza latches on to her arm, and I thank the Gods for Beau’s defiance to Paltro in retrieving his own aspier earlier. If he still had Railesza, Viola would’ve been dead. My chest constricts again. She’s not dead. That’s all that matters. Finally, her breathing eases into a steadiness that releases my lungs.
“Lyria,” I call out. No answer. “Beau?” Nothing. I begin to panic. It’s night, and they’ve been gone for a while now. Lyria should’ve been back from the House of Death, and Beau should’ve returned from meeting up with Grayson.
Once more, Raiku hisses at me, and I carry Viola to my bedroom. The door welcomes me with an eerie creak. I head straight to the bathroom, and Raiku slithers to the bathtub, pulling the tap. The steam is a warm welcome to the knotted muscles in my back while I wait.
After a minute, the gentle sound of lapping water stirs Viola awake.
Her eyes flare, but when she notices it’s me holding her, her body sags in my arms and she lets out a painfully slow exhale. With all the care in the world, I set her down on the counter between the double sinks. She places both hands at her sides to brace herself and eases herself away from me.
“I changed the cuffs,” she says.