“I don’t know. Whatever it is, she’s untrained,” she answers.
Thisis who they bent the rules to save? Who I wasted my only bond on? An untrained Mortemagi is a dead mage. No one has to kill them; their magic does the honor.
Parrish meticulously wipes blood off the Mortemagi’s body. Her touch is so gentle, as if the woman is made of glass. “She cannot die, High Magus Archyr,” she says. “Rhea Corvi’s bloodline cannot end here. Her relic holds centuries of magic.”
I scoff. So that’s why Parrish is so invested. It’s always about the heir-loom relic, never about the mage. If this Mortemagi dies, centuries of magic will end with her. Centuries of harmful, wicked, unnatural magic. Perhaps it’s not so wrong that she dies. I can argue that I tried to save her. I even threw away my only bond to do so.
Pulling my hand away, I nudge Railesza back, but she continues healing the Mortemagi. So I gently tug my hand backward, but my aspier pins me with a glare that makes Raiku perk up. “Railesza,” I call out. She ignores me again and resumes healing.
I’m about to reach out and physically remove my traitor aspier when two brown eyes snap open.
The second they lock on me, a deafening scream leaves the Mortemagi’s mouth.
Raiku reacts before I’m able to catch my bearings. His fangs sink into her veins, and she passes out again. Haal, what has he done? What have I done?
Parrish grabs me by the shoulders, and it becomes clear why she has sovereignty over the Grand House. Her fingers dig into my skin, and through clenched teeth, she utters, “If she dies, I will kill everyone you love while you watch.”
Crossmages could be an asset to Firstline. I have included a twenty-page examination of their potential. Please consider reviewing the decree that one of their classes should be sealed.
LETTER FROM DEAN MATILDA RHODES, MAGUS PRINCIPALIS, TO DOTS, 1929
Case Created No. 3264
DOTS Ruling on Case 3264: Rejected
eleven | viola
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1939
One green eye. A harrowing scream. Everything goes black.
When I come to my senses again, thin rays of sunlight caress old books and dead plants across the room. My vision blurs, and my head hurts like it’s carrying the weight of a tree.
Faint voices murmur in the background, but I can’t make out the words, only the unmistakable inflections of worry. I’m trying to keep my eyes open, but instead, I drift off to a perfect world. A world where Olivia is alive, and I never had magic.
After a while, they open again to flameless torches lighting the room. Faint but beautiful. My vision still struggles to adjust. A woman stands in front of me. She’s my mother’s age. She’s striking, her black hair braided around her head in a crown, dressed in a simple black tunic. An angel of death. Has she come for me? I don’t get my answer because sleep swallows me again.
The third time I open my eyes, I cansee. The ceiling is cherrywood,with several dead plants hanging from the beams. It looks as it smells, old, morbid, and sad. At my side are several bloodied washcloths and a pile of torn pieces of cloth. When I realize these are my clothes, I panic, look down, notice that I’m in a linen robe, and calm down.
“Water,” I croak. The sound coming out of my mouth is not mine.
A chair moves, and a woman approaches with a cup. It is her, the angel of death. Up close, she looks younger than my mother. But her bronze skin has dulled, her brown eyes are sunken, and her mouth is pulled in a frown.
She helps me sit up and brings the cup to my lips. The first sip doesn’t make it down my throat. I cough, spraying water over myself. By the third or fourth sip, I’m fighting back tears. The liquid feels like it’s peeling off the lining of my throat.
“Where am I?” I rasp, my voice still so foreign.
“You’re safe,” the woman says softly. “You’re at the House of Death.” Gorhail.
Why didn’t they just let me die?
“We’ll head to your room when you’re ready.” She brushes my hair tenderly. “The overseer has assigned you your sister’s old room.”
Olivia’s room? Death would have been more merciful. Do they want me to drown in the memories of a sister who was killed because of me? To find pieces of my sister that I lost over the last twelve years and have to say goodbye all over again?
I’ve barely been conscious a minute, and the institute already feels suffocating. I stop myself. Maybe waking up here is a sign from the Gods. Maybe they spared me so I could find out what happened to Olivia.
“Miss Corvi… how are you feeling now?” the woman asks when I don’t reply.