“You are new here, Miss Corvi, but I personally wouldn’t associate with a criminal accused of high treason and murder.” Does she hear herself? First, the charges were dropped, and second, Isavedone of her mages—what an ingrate.
“Perhaps we can walk together, Miss Corvi.” The crone leads the way down the stairs.
Delaney embodies everything I despise about Mortemagi. When she was still a Magister, she would go out of her way to fail everyone from the House of Poison. Dad told me she lobbied the Grand House to dissolve our House because she deemed us too unstable to wield killing aspiers. Meanwhile, she keeps advocating for rogue Mortemagi reform instead of execution.
Corvi glances at me, her eyebrows knitted in concern.
“I’ll find you,” I mouth, before she falls into step with Delaney. But first, I head straight to Overseer Paltro’s office. This bond needs to go.
An untrained Mortemagi is a dead Mortemagi.
LUCIA KAN,UNDERSTANDING DEATH MAGIC, CHAPTER 1
thirteen | viola
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 1939
Archyr didn’t kill my sister. Of this I am certain. He seems like he would take pride in that. Instead, I see a mage torn between wanting closure and wanting to burn down the world.
I am also certain that the boy who told me to run at Dearly Departed was his brother. His picture was on the newspaper Lorne was holding.Beau. The name is fitting: he was beautiful, and he saved my life.
“What did High Magus Archyr want?” Overseer Delaney asks as we walk into the study hall—it was closed while Lorne took me on the tour yesterday morning. Paneled glass lines the domed roof. The faint light of the moon shines through the glass, and the sky is peppered with diamonds. We may have the same sky in Albion, but here, it’s mesmerizing. Rows of packed shelves line the walls, and freestanding curved bookshelves frame sofa nooks. In the middle, three long tables are littered with open books and stacks of parchment, with students scattered across the benches.
“I was lost and asking for directions.” A lie.
“Magister Lawton left in the middle of his tour yesterday.” A truth.
Like a shadow whose name has been spoken into existence, Lorne peels his tall frame from a nearby bookcase. When his eyes land on me, he frowns. “Miss Corvi, I’m so sorry for leaving you in the middle of Hollow Tree yesterday. I had to attend to urgent House matters.”
My shoulders relax. I don’t care if he’s lying to save himself; his half lie confirms my statement and eases Delaney’s suspicions.
“Good evening, Overseer Delaney.” He bows his head in a way I’ve only seen subjects do to their kings in the staged plays I used to watch in Albion.
She doesn’t acknowledge his greeting. “Miss Corvi needs rest. Will you walk her to her room?”
I don’t need rest. I need answers. But I am not foolish enough to protest, so I thank her, fake a yawn, and turn to Lorne. “Shall we?”
His eyes beam in answer. They light in the same way my heart leaps in the stolen seconds I forget Olivia is no longer here. Lorne didn’t only know my sister; he was close to her, which makes his earlier lie even more suspicious.
We walk the length of a corridor with the same dark walls and red candles that seem to be a recurring theme for the House of Death, take a narrow stairwell that looks like it hasn’t been renovated since the 1500s, and finally walk down a short hallway where the carpet changes from black to a black-and-white diamond pattern. We’ve reached the sleeping quarters, and we turn one more corner before we arrive at Olivia’s room…myroom.
If Lorne has been saying anything, I’ve heard nothing. I am too busy looking for hidden doors, side rooms, or back stairwells I can use to slip out unnoticed. But these quarters are a fort—the only way in or out is through the main entrance. Olivia couldn’t have gotten out of here unseen.
I waste no time getting into my room, eager to be rid of Lorne.
“Wait.” He runs a hand across his face. I wonder what Olivia saw in him. He’s so… unmemorable. “I’m sorry for being an idiot in Hollow Tree.”
A real apology. It comes unexpected, to both of us, judging by the way he glances to the side. “She loved rolled toast with strawberry jam and fresh cream in the morning.” He blinks a few times, then looks up, huffing out a long breath.
My heart tugs. That is my favorite breakfast. Olivia loved an egg, sausage, and spinach casserole that Mother makes so well. The first year she left for Gorhail Academy, Mother drove all the way from Albion to drop weekly servings of her favorite meal. It comforts me to know that she carried a part of me with her through my favorite food.
“She would never pass up a roast. And she loved helping people—” He lets out a muffled laugh, and I realize he’s crying.
“I’m sorry.” I’m more uncomfortable than apologetic. I understand his grief, but I don’t see why he is crying about her when he could be helping me find her killer. Or does he, too, believe it was an accident?
My answer comes at once.
“I don’t understand how this could have happened to her. She knew the boardwalk was slippery from all the rain,” he sobs. “I loved her.”