The grounds of Gorhail exude a quiet hostility that tells us it no longer wants us here. The clouds refuse to let the sun peek—even the trees weep about it, snow weighing down their branches.
I have half a mind to turn around and let Beau tell Paltro instead. But I can’t burden him with that. It is my responsibility, just like it was my responsibility to watch after her, and I failed.
Fresh snow dusts the steps, and Paltro’s office lights are on. I push the door open, and he straightens in his chair. It takes him a second before he scrambles up and meets me by the door.
“Come in, son.”
He wraps his steady arms around me, and I let myself cry. I cry for the mother who was stolen from me, for the father who died saving me, for the brother who was killed because of me, and for the sister who sacrificed her sanity to save someone I love.
Dear Viola, every day I have to lie to you, it kills me. I hope these letters find you one day so you can understand why I did what I did.
UNSENT LETTER FROM OLIVIA CORVI TO VIOLA CORVI, FEBRUARY 1931
forty-three | viola
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1939
Lyria lies flat on her bed, her long black hair neatly splayed on her chest. She looks like she’s dead, but her chest rises and falls steadily, and Nyx checks on her every few minutes.
Beau and I take turns by her side, going through theories about Grimm and Delaney with her in the off chance that she can hear us. Founder’s Room is empty without Lyria’s bright eyes, her excitement over the littlest things, and her optimism through our darkest days. Right now, we could use all of it.
“They won’t be able to come in here,” Beau reminds me for the twelfth time. “Founder’s Room has ancient magic dating back to Sileas Ronin. It works like our aspiers, so if the Aspieri don’t willingly let you in… we’re safest here.”
I nod, then sigh at Ysenia, bringing up the same question I’ve asked repeatedly since Sylas left. “Are you sure that I can’t rearrange Lyria’s mind?”
Yes, unless you’re somehow also a reader, she replies every time. This time, though, she adds,You should probably have bonded with a reader Arkani instead of… the petulant serpent.
I sigh, ignoring her purist comment. She adds,Before you accuse me of being a purist, did it really have to be the descendant of Sileas Ronin? Any other Aspieri would’ve been fine.
“Ysenia, Grimm is back, and Delaney will still try to murder me. Could we talk about your dislike of the Ronins later?”
She doesn’t reply to me.
After a short while, when it is clear Lyria is stable, Beau joins me on the sofa by the fireplace. We sit in silence; every now and then, his eyes glance toward Lyria’s room. “I keep expecting her to get up.”
I nod. Words don’t come easily anymore. Lyria didn’t have anything to do with heirloom relics, Delaney’s revenge, or Grimm. Why her?
I lean back against the couch, and my hand catches on something hard. In the corner of the sofa is Olivia’s book of dark fairy tales. I had forgotten where it went after we came from Albion. I had wanted to read Lyria a few tales; now I don’t know if she would even be able to hear them.
My hands close around the book, Olivia’s DOTS letters extending from the top edge, their golden seal glowing under the muted fire. “Did Gorhail send you these letters?” Beau asks.
I frown. “No, these are letters DOTS sent my sister…” I pull them out, studying the address carefully this time. It reads Olivia’s name and our address in Albion. I blink… this is Olivia’s handwriting.
“Golden seals are from Gorhail, Vi,” he says. “Official DOTS correspondence bears a red seal.”
Why would Olivia send herself self-addressed letters? Before I answer my question, I slide my finger under the lip of one and tear it open. “Ouch.” The paper cuts my skin, and blood smears on the envelope, some over the letter inside. I hand it over to Beau as I put pressure on the paper cut.
Beau winces. “Sorry, do you need a bandage?” he asks. “I’d offer my aspier, but Briar has been a bit reclusive lately.”
I shake my head and gesture for him to continue. He pulls the letter out, his eyebrows knitting together as he unfolds it. “Viola, you have to see this.”
He hands me the letter as the words slowly appear, one after the other, like magic.
“Dear Vi,” it reads. “These two letters are enchanted. My friend, Sierra, made me this sparkly pink dust that makes words disappear. Victor, my other friend, enchanted it so it could only be opened by you and your blood. Morbid, I know. But there is a second letter with instructions, should I leave before I have the chance to speak to you.”
Leave? To go where? I reach for the second envelope, tearing it open. The moment my finger slides across the side, words appear.
“Dear Vi,” I read. My heart slams against my chest. Reading Olivia’s words weeks after she died… I can’t even be happy. Because all I’m thinking about is how I will never see her again, and if we don’t manage to save Lyria, how I will handle losing a second sister.