“Stop,” I scream, and he pauses, tilts his head at me.
I realize too late what he’s doing.
Without breaking our stare his hands part, and in a single motion, the earth swallows Sylas whole. “You cannot resurrect what you cannot reach.”
My mind is empty.
I want to scream, but my lungs give out. I feel like my heart will, too.
“He was but a distraction, darling Viola. Soon, you will learn. They will never accept you for who you are. Not the Aspieri, not the Mortemagi, not Gorhail, not DOTS, no one but me.” Grimm clasps his hands together, and the undead pulls its claws out of my ankles, returning to the ground without resistance.
My body is numb, and I stare at the empty patch of dirt where Sylas was. He can’t be gone. He can’t… He was just here. It’s impossible. Magic can’t do this. Did he bury Sylas alive? Gods. I can’t breathe, can’t think.
“Darling,” Grimm continues, the corner of his mouth pulling into afrightening smile. “They don’t like what they cannot control, andyouare now a weapon fueled by anger so deep it almost terrifies me. Almost.” Then he laughs as he turns toward the woods, to the right of the cottage. “When you are ready, look for me in the darkest hour.”
I watch him walk away, my heart blazing with rage. Right there, I make myself a promise. I will kill him, even if it kills me, even if it brings this entire world down.
As the trees swallow Grimm, poachers peel away from the barks one by one and follow him into the darkness, leaving me alone in the middle of the forest with two aspiers that aren’t mine and one that hates me. A few seconds later, the stupid trees begin to hum again, a melancholic melody that I want to stifle.
My eyes sting, and my lungs strain with every breath.
Sylas is gone.
Railesza slowly approaches me. She coils around my arm and bites my wrist in silence. Soon after, Scar slithers back from the woods. She glances at me, then at Railesza. I extend my arm, and she carefully coils around, laying her head next to Railesza’s.
I look up, expecting Raiku to come back any moment. But the grass doesn’t move. I feel the ground around me, in case one of the undead buried him by accident. When I don’t find him, I drag my body to where the earth is overturned, where Sylas lay only moments ago.
The soil is still wet with his blood; how can he be gone?
Dirt cakes under my fingernails as I dig and dig and dig. I dig until my tongue goes dry and my breath wanes. I dig until my fingers are raw and the world around me fades. I dig until the hole is deep enough to bury me completely.
Sylas died, and I never told him I loved him.
Hands reach out for me, but I shrug them off. I will stay in the grave until Death claims me, too.
“Vi.” Beau’s soft voice carries over to me.
I wish he hadn’t come at all. Why is he here when Sylas is already dead? I want to turn around and yell at him. If only he’d followed Sylas here… if he hadn’t been late… if… if… If I’m honest, I cannot face him with Sylas’s blood imprinted on my palms.
“Stop,” he whispers on a sob.
The warmth of his body grazes my skin when he sits next to me. I don’t utter a word. I want him to go away; maybe if heartbreak won’t take me, the cold will.
After a moment, he wraps me in a hug and pulls me to my feet. I push at him, but his hands hold steady, until I fall apart against his chest, wailing like a child.
“He’s gone.” I gasp between sobs.
“We… we don’t know that,” he says, stroking my hair as my tears spill uncontrollably. Behind him, a quiet shuffle of grass grows louder. I pull back.
A tall man with silver hair, about our age, takes a careful step toward us. He looks around, then asks, “Where’s his body?”
I shake my head, unable to string words together. The man slips past Beau and me until he’s in the middle of the clearing. He kneels and feels the soil. “This is our fault…”
“Don’t,” Beau warns. “Don’t start. Guilt is a slippery slope, Gryff.”
Gryff. How do I tell him his best friend was killed because of me, because he gave me this stupid relic when he was not even supposed to be here? Because, even in his last moments, Sylas put me first.
“We were too late…” Gryff’s voice breaks. “We shouldn’t have gone to alert Paltro.”