“You know I cannot heal another class of mage without bonding to them. Our bonds are sacred, Uncle.” Bonds are more than a promise. They are a commitment to value the other person’s life over yours. Bonds across different Houses used to be outlawed but now are seen as a strategic part of Firstline. With the proper ranks, mages from different classes can double bond with each other, sharing a fraction of their magic.
“Sylas—”
“I am not throwing away my one bond,” I say. Once I bond with this Mortemagi, I will never be able to bond again until they die. It’s not even a double bond—I’ll get nothing in return. And even if she were conscious to double bond, I would never accept her horrifying magic. “They can have the aspiers back. They can even have Raiek if they can take him off,” I say. Raiku and Railesza hiss at me in disbelief.
“The Rowans have a vendetta against your family. Theywillkill your aspiers,” Paltro reminds me, and I feel like an arse for even suggesting sending them back. “And theywillfind a way to take Raiek. He has been in your mother’s family for centuries, Sylas. The thought of any other bloodline wielding him is revolting.”
My head lowers to face Raiku and Railesza wrapped around my forearms, both staring at me like I’ve deeply betrayed them. “I wasn’t serious. I’ll never let you die,” I murmur in apology.
Is this Mortemagi royalty or a god? Because it makes no sense for the Grand House to break their own rule to save someone’s life. Theyneverrelease people accused of high treason. On top of that, if Viv Rowan learns that this was part of a personal deal between Paltro and the PGM, Parrish could lose her title.
Paltro’s eyes meet mine. I hear everything he doesn’t say. Think of Lyria, Sylas. Think of everything she will lose. Think of Beau, of how his killer runs free while his body lays cold somewhere unknown. Think of the looming threat of dead mages and stolen relics.
“Fine.” I force out the word. With a grunt, I cross into the House of Death, and Paltro leads me through a smaller set of doors on the right.
The room is a small, hexagonal mess. The walls are lined with shelves, filled with books, flasks of potions, dried flowers, hanging bones, and jars full of… body parts that make me want to bolt out of there.
Parrish is bent over someone, wiping their face with a washcloth. The low lighting strains my vision, and I squint, noticing the silhouette of a young woman. She looks a couple of years younger than me. The moment my eyes land on the cuff around her arm, I gasp.
Olivia Corvi. Liar extraordinaire from the House of the Forsaken.
“I can’t heal the dead,” I say. “Is this a sick joke?”
Overseer Paltro ushers me forward. “Look closer.”
My steps are careful as I approach her. This could be a trap.
The young woman is covered in blood, so much blood that my steps falter and my stomach churns. How is she alive? There are open wounds across her chest, her abdomen, her legs. Her face is a canvas of bloodied cuts, and her hair is matted with a mixture of dirt and blood. She looks so fragile I’m afraid to get closer, terrified that even the gentlest touch might break her, terrified that I will fail again. If I couldn’t save my father or Beau, what makes them think I can save this person? She’s lost nearly all the blood in her small body.
“This is Viola Corvi,” Parrish says. “Olivia’s sister.”
My throat bobs. Olivia had a sister? Her eyelids flicker, as if she’s trying to hold on to whatever little life she has left. Every shaky breath she takes threatens to be her last.
I blink hard. This woman looks harmless, but she’s still a Mortemagi. She could kill everyone I love the same way that one of them killed Mom. Or she could become the next Rafael Grimm.
Her breathing quickens. Railesza loosens around my forearm, tightly wrapping her tail around my wrist. For reasons I will never understand, she tugs on my hand until it rests on the woman’s, and she slithers along. When she gets to the tip of my finger, she pauses, as if she, too, is considering whether we should do this. Once her fangs sink into this Mortemagi’s veins, I am bonded to her until I die, or she dies.
Raiku hisses at me. He thinks it’s a mistake, too. He hisses again, at Raiek this time. He is right: the cost is too high. I am not just any Aspieri. I wield the most powerful aspier in history. “I cannot—”
The girl’s breathing begins to drop, and Railesza is already halfway wrapped around her arm and mine. Before biting the Mortemagi, she looks at me in question, or maybe in defiance. She seems to be telling me to think about what Dad would do. Would Dad heal a Mortemagi knowing they killed Mom?We are defined by our actions, not theirs, he would have said.
My teeth cut into my lips. I am not Dad. I cannot bring myself to forgive so easily. But Railesza doesn’t wait for my answer, and her fangs sink into the girl’s wrist. My breath hitches. As much as I want to blame Railesza for making the choice for me, we both know aspiers act on their Aspieri’s desires.
I won’t let her die tonight, that’s the only mercy I can promise, but Gods forgive me, I won’t honor the bond. I will never put a Mortemagi’s life above mine. Even if I have to suffer the consequence of being sent to the tenth circle of the Underworld.
My healing aspier works slowly but with precision. The Mortemagi whimpers as Railesza moves across the wounds, and I find myself holding her hand, silently speaking prayers to the same Gods who took everything from me. If she lives, I am free.
“Is she a mage?” A rhetorical question. Of course she’s a mage. Aspiers can’t bond with nonmagi, let alone heal them.
“Yes,” Parrish croaks. “She’s Rhea Corvi’s legacy.”
My hand pulls away, but Railesza’s grip holds it in place.
Rhea Corvi was the worst of the House of Death. Her tenure as dean of Gorhail saw the highest number of unregistered crossmages sent to DOTS. She ruled with an iron fist and a heart of stone. She is also the reason why Firstline began recruiting select Mortemagi, allowing them to train in the arts of blood magic. Now they are surprised when the same Mortemagi defect to poacher camps. I canhearLyria telling me not all of them are bad, but I disagree; they’re all the same. Give them a taste of power, and they’ll drown in it.
“What’s her magic?” I ask. She’s either a whisperer or a conduit. I doubt she even knows about lifeblood magic; if she did, she wouldn’t have been hanging on to life.
Parrish casts the Mortemagi a sympathetic look, brushing her wet hair away from her forehead. Her empathy unsettles me. It goes against everything I’ve learned about Mortemagi. Why is she so invested in this woman?