FRIDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1939
Sylas.” I open the door of Founder’s Room to let him in. “Beau’s accompanying Lyria to St. Fabian’s in Riverview. They won’t let her stay at the infirmary—”
He doesn’t give me a second. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer to him. I relax in the warmth his body provides, and he lowers his head until our foreheads meet.
Time stills.
His every breath plays the strings of my heart like a fiddle. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, and I wish he would. I wish he would make me forget the horrors that await us. I wish we could go back to when our biggest problem was each other.
Pulling away, he stares at me for a second and lets out a slow exhale.
“Come with me.” He drags me past the kitchen and Lyria’s room, through the living room, past his bedroom, and behind the study area and Beau’s room to the large balcony outside.
In the daylight, the magnificent range of Mount Chazal stands in all her glory. With the clouds gone, we can see its long waterfall cascade like silk into the sea. Three spitfire hawks fly in a circle, their screech piercing through the distance. Gorhail is so beautiful. One day, if Death allows, Iwish to explore Mount Chazal and collect these tiny moments of nature’s perfection.
“Did you know your grandmother killed my mother?” He lets go of me, flexing his fingers.
For a moment, I don’t speak. Because I don’t know what to say. His words are so ugly in contrast to the beauty that’s in front of us. Of course Nan didn’t kill his mother. She was wrong for not telling me about my mother and sending Olivia to Gorhail to hide me, but now I know she had her reasons. If Lyria’s predicament is a small glimpse into what Grimm’s magic can do, Nan was right to hide the cuff.
“Why would—”
“I saw it.” Accusation laces his words with venom. He finally looks at me, but I don’t recognize the Sylas I know. This one glowers at me like I’ve betrayed him, like I’m withholding truths that I’m unaware of.
“Sylas,” I start.
“Viola.” He stops me, and takes a sharp inhale. “Rhea Corvi didn’t just murder my mother. She killed your mother and father, too.”
“Enough.” I back away from him. His venom holds no truth. Is he spewing these lies to make me go away? Did Beau tell him of my plans to stand as bait?
He lifts his right forearm, and Scar slithers along, glaring at my cuff and hissing at it violently. It’s one thing to reject me, but must the traitor aspier so vehemently remind me of how she hates this side of me?
“It’s no surprise Scar refuses to have anything to do with you while you wear this.” His mouth curls at the cuff in disgust. “This cuff was used to kill her Aspieri, your mother.”
Scar’s head bobs.
The air around me grows thicker. I struggle to swallow, struggle to breathe. My head is spinning. Nan would never kill Dad. She mourned him every single day, kept him alive through every single story she told us about him, through every one of his favorite meals she made. Why would she hurt so much for someone she murdered?
“You’re wrong.”
“Viola, you are my reason to breathe. Fuck, I’m in love with you.” Sylas cups my face, the gentleness of his fingers a stark contrast to the anger in his tear-filled eyes. “I have no reason to lie to you.”
One breath. He’s in love with me. Two breaths. Nan sent Olivia to her death to protect me. Three breaths. Was it to protect me, or my magic, orthe cuff she knew I would inherit? The cuff that helped seal Willow away so Grimm couldn’t regain his magic.
I hold his stare for a moment, notice the tears pooling in his eyes. Gods, I love him, too, I love him like I’ve never loved anyone before, like I’ll never love anyone after him, but I can’t stand here and let him slander Nan.
“It could have been poachers.” The excuse spills out of my lips, a poor attempt to quell my racing thoughts.
Sylas’s mouth draws into a line.
Nan knowingly sacrificed Olivia, so the harrowing possibility of her murdering our parents for the same cause rings true. Gods, have mercy.
“We know there are Mortemagi poachers.” I offer yet another feeble attempt to defend her. I don’t know why. Maybe I owe it to the person I thought she was, to the years when she was the only one who kept me safe.
“My mother died because she was protectingyou.” His voice breaks as he drops his hands to his sides. Tears stream down his cheeks, and I want to reach out to him. He is fighting against himself… over me, over whether I am worth the pain of the constant reminder of his mother’s death.
“Nan isn’t a murderer.” I gently push him away. “Maybe someone lied to you.”
“Vi, I saw a collection of memories from my parents, your nan, and you. A reader’s magic is always true.”