Friend. I don’t know what to make of that word. I don’t know that I’ve ever had a friend, besides my sister and Mara. One of them is dead, and the other is a monster.
I blink, and Lyria’s gone.
When I reach my room, my hands are shaking from the adrenaline. I will them to steady long enough for me to push the key in the door. But the keys slip and clatter onto the floor.
A hand reaches for them at the same time I do.
“Miss Corvi.”
The unmistakable silvery voice ropes around my neck. My heart races in my throat, and my eyes water from the panic. What lie will I fabricate to explain why I’m outside of my room before curfew is lifted? My mind is empty, and all I want is for him to leave—he sent my sister to her death, and as much as I want to confront him about it, now isn’t the time. Not when he has the power to suspend me. No. I cannot admit defeat so easily. Olivia depends on me. And now, Beau and Victor do, too.
I clench my fist, level my breathing, and blink hard, before reaching to take the keys from Lorne’s hands. “Thank you,” I say. But he doesn’t let go.
“I came by earlier, but you didn’t answer,” he accuses. Why was he at my door before six in the morning?
“I was sleeping.” I lift my face to him. If I’m going to lie, I might as well look him in the eye, like he did when he pretended to be devastated by my sister’s death, when all this time he was thereasonshe left Gorhail.
“Curfew doesn’t lift for another ten minutes. Why are you outside your room?”
“I was on my way to find you.” Why did I say this?
His hand relaxes ever so slightly, and my fingers close around the keys. The lie wasn’t in vain, because Lorne hangs on to my every word with bright eyes and a faint tug at his lips. With every mistruth, self-loathing boils at my throat. I am becoming everything I hate about Gorhail: manipulative and self-serving. But at the same time he deserves all the horror in the world for what he did to Olivia.
“At six in the morning?” He arches a brow.
“Is it not a good time?” I ask innocently. I don’t let him answer, terrified the veil of lies will tear. “I wanted to ask you…”
He takes a step toward me, and my back is against the door, weighing if I should continue with the lie. “Will you…” I ask, and he inches forward. If he comes any closer, I will scream. “Will you come to my sister’s funeral?” I ask in a breath. Olivia, please forgive me for bringingthis lying, deceitful excuse of a mage to your funeral. But I cannot be caught violating curfew, not when my puzzle board has just filled with more pieces.
“Olivia,” I stress on my sister’s name, “would want you there.”
His shoulders sag, his eyes flatten, and he vacates my personal space. I’m careful not to be obvious with my relief. Right when I think that he will agree and leave, he narrows his eyes, studying me like prey. “The funeral isn’t until noon. You could’ve asked me at breakfast,” he says suspiciously.
Oh no. He’s caught my lie. He will report me to Delaney, and if she suspends me or places me under her watch, I won’t be able to go to the catacombs. “Lorne…”
“I understand,” he says, and another wave of panic engulfs me. What does he understand exactly? “I can’t sleep either. It’s not easy knowing you have to bury the person you love the most.”
My skin prickles. Something about the way he speaks of Olivia twists my insides. He cheats on her, causes her to run away, lies about knowing her, then laments her death—his reaction makes no sense. Then again, I can’t imagine my sister with someone like Lorne. He’s too performative. What did she see in him? Or was he the one covering for her while she was here? With the rigidity of Gorhail’s rules, I can’t imagine Olivia’s half truths sufficed as an explanation.
“Were you always at Gorhail?” I ask. “Olivia never mentioned you…”
“She didn’t?” He flinches. “Are you certain?”
If she had, I would have remembered. Olivia only ever spoke of her friends Sierra and Fable. I’m glad he knows she didn’t think him worthy of being introduced. He was seeing someone else. He didn’t even respect her enough to break up with her.
“How long were you and Olivia together?” I ask, feeling like a parent grilling her child.
“A little under a year.” He lowers his head, a shy smile playing on his lips. “I was a self-study from the province of Holm. I only joined Gorhail two years ago, and she offered to show me around. She was so kind, and when Overseer Delaney promoted me to Magister a few months ago, Olivia planned this big celebration. No one ever cared enough to do something like that for me.”
She must have loved him if she was celebrating him. She loved him,and he still tossed her aside for someone else. Shelovedhim, and he was the reason she ran away to her death.
I smile, but it’s empty.
“Well, I’m going to get ready, and you’ll pick me up?” I ask, now certain he won’t say a thing about my breaking curfew.
“Of course.” His eyes travel the length of my shirt, then back up, pausing at the House crest. “Is this blood?”
Archyr stabbed me a few hours ago; of course it’s blood. But I frown and glance at my shirt, thanking the skies that the low morning light and the black of the fabric swallow the maroon of the dried blood. But then, I notice it. In the bottom corner of the House crest is a smidge of rust that leans to black. How did he even notice?