“Paltro has a million reasons—”
“Vi,” he says, his voice softer, his eyes drilling into mine. And right then, I realize this is the end of us. He will never let go of his prejudice of Mortemagi, and I will never apologize enough for the sins of my kin.
“Ihave no reason to lie,” he says, and it breaks me.
“Yes, you do,” I retort, my chin wobbling. “You hate death magic. You’d latch on to any excuse for me to rid that part of myself.” As the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Sylas bonded with me, inherited my magic, which I now claim he despises. But words, once sharpened, can only cut.
“Is that what you think of me?” He backs up toward the door, shaking his head. “That I am telling you all of this because I hate death magic? That I have some ulterior motive for you to destroy a part of yourself?”
I don’t know what I think. My mind is a collection of broken memoriesand the sudden revelation that my life is a lie. He’s telling me I was brought up by my parents’ murderer, who sent my sister to her death and killed the mother of the man I love.
“Gods, Viola.” He looks out to the skies, balling his fists.
My throat lumps with unspoken words. I am terrified that if I utter anything at all, I will unleash a river of rage. My head tells me that Sylas is telling the truth, but my sanity begs for a different story.
“Nan loved me.” I am trying to convince myself. My insides are numb. A knife could cut through my heart right now, and I would feel nothing at all.
“Did she?” His eyes flinch. At the same time, Railesza and Raiku awaken. They both look back and forth between Sylas and me. “Is it out of love that she killed your father? Your mother? Then sent your sister to her death?”
I say nothing.
“Your grandmother reported the highest number of unregistered crossmages to DOTS in the history of Gorhail.” He shifts his weight, and his aspiers won’t even look at me anymore, not even Railesza. “Corvis are notorious purists. Why else would your mother, one of the deadliest mages to ever exist, give up her life to hide you?”
The reminder that I am the reason our world lost the Deathbringer slashes through my insides. If my existence is the cause of so much death and misery, then my choice is clear. The only thing I can do is to stop Grimm from regaining his full magic.
“My mother died protecting you.” Something inexplicable flashes across his eyes. At first, I think it’s anger, but it’s the slow realization that this will always hang between us, keeping me at the mercy of his forgiveness.
“What do you want me to do, Sylas?” I bite, hoping it drives him away. The sooner this is done, the sooner I won’t have to worry about his stopping me. “Apologize? For other people’s choices?”
“Vi.” He runs a hand across his face, blowing out a steadying breath. “Just give me your cuff, and let’s put an end to this. Paltro—”
“That’s what this is about?” I step back until my body presses against the concrete parapet surrounding the balcony. “Paltro hates me. He’s probably made up a mountain of lies so you stay away from me. Why should I give you my cuff?” What I don’t say is that I need the cuff to stop Grimm.
“If anything, do it for Lyria,” he pleads. “She… the night before… she went to the library to figure out how to return your lifeblood.”
My heart sinks. I would give up my life if I could return Lyria’s mind.
“So you’re using Lyria to manipulate me now?” As I speak the words, I want to throw up. I love Lyria like my own sister. “I’m not giving you my cuff, Sylas.”
Sylas takes a step forward, then stops himself, his expression morphing from disappointment to anger. “Paltro was right. Mortemagi know nothing of loyalty.” He shakes his head. “If you don’t care enough to sacrifice one stupid relic, don’t bother visiting my sister at St. Fabian’s. In fact, don’t bother seeing any of us again. I was wrong about you; in the end, you’re just another corrupt Mortemagi.”
“Grow up, Sylas,” I force out, hoping my words push him further away. As his eyes flare at me in surprise, my insides fracture. “Life isn’t black or white. Maybe if you stopped trying to fit everything that goes against your beliefs into a box, you’d not have so much blood on your hands.”
I feel sick, but I need to be certain that he won’t come for me.
Without acknowledging the poison I just spewed, Sylas takes one last look at me, turns, and walks back into Founder’s Room with Scar still wrapped around his arm. I look out over the twisted beauty of this place, praying that crushing my own heart will be worth it.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” I climb the stairs of the Poisoned Stairwell without an aspier.
Ysenia is quiet for a short while. Then she sighs.I’m sorry. I asked around. You need to understand her choices. I’ve known Grimm, Viola. I’ve seen all he can do. Rhea placed her duty toward the people first. Although, I don’t agree with her actions—she could have explained the situation to the Deathbringer instead of murdering her and your father.
Sylas was telling me the truth, and I made him believe he was selfish and threw his vulnerability in his face. I hope that someday he understands why I did what I did, even if he never forgives me for it. If I hadn’t driven him away, he would’ve tried to stop me. Of course, none of it will change the ugly words spoken today.
Footsteps echo behind me.
Bloody saints, I wish Sylas had left me alone long enough for me to wallow in self-pity about losing the greatest love I’ve known, to grieve alife I could have had, to further bury the pain of Nan being a murderer. I’m not ready to talk things through, and I am certainly not ready for him to talk me out of stopping Grimm.
Viola, Ysenia screams.