“Oh.” I laugh, desperate to sway him away from my rocking boat of lies. The metallic tang of blood wafts through my nostrils, and I tense. “I cut myself getting the tags off my shirt earlier.”
Lorne reaches for my hand, but I press it to my side. He stares at it for a moment, then nods and begins to walk away. Right as he reaches the end of the hallway, he stops and turns around. Stray rays of the rising sun soften his features, and I pity my sister for not looking past his good looks to see the rot within. “I loved Olivia. I know you don’t quite believe me yet, Viola, but I really did love her.”
My room is eerily still when I finally step inside. The cloudy skies framed by the window bask the room in a quiet glow, and a part of me wants to sink into my bed, hoping it’ll swallow this nightmare. It’s been one week since I last saw Olivia alive, and none of it feels real. Olivia’s murder. Me at Gorhail. Working with Archyr.
I flip the light switch on, and a deep sense of unease curdles within my stomach. Everything is intact, down to the sweater I threw across the bed yesterday, the notebooks I neatly stacked, and the three pairs of shoes scattered across the floor. Neatly folded in a corner is a single black dress that Delaney must have had sent from the house. Olivia had the same in pink. Long sleeves, a light flare at the waist reaching just below the knees.
Grief clutches my heart. I hate how it comes in waves, at the glance of a dress, the scent of a flower, the laugh of a stranger. And yet, I still question my place in this grief.
Sighing at the dress, I turn around and head straight for the shower,desperate to scrub away the remnants of my blood and my integrity. Before magic ruined my life, I never deceived anyone. Soon, I’ll start to question even myself.
My fingers unclasp the cuff. The cold metal sits in my palm. Dark red—almost brown—streaks line the filigree. It’s twisted, a symbol of all the blood this magic has spilled. In a few hours, I will watch the earth swallow my sister’s body as she watches me live the life she died for.
When I look at the mirror, my hand flies to my mouth. The cuff slips from the other hand, meeting the floor in a clang. The foggy mirror reads the words I’ve been hearing in my waking dreams.He whom you seek lies in the catacombs.But below it are new words I’ve never heard before.
I know who killed your sister.
Aspieri need special permission from the Grand Master of Death to study at the House of Death. Unless Aspieri are pioneering revolutionary research to advance the House of Death, consider all applications rejected.
Unless bonded with an Aspieri, Mortemagi aren’t allowed to study poison magic. A reminder that Aspieri-Mortemagi bonding is hazardous and should be performed only in dire circumstances, such as the end of the world.
RULES AND REGULATIONS OF GORHAIL, 6TH EDITION
sixteen | sylas
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1939
Why would I harbor anyone from the House of Death?” I ask no one in particular as a Mortemagi turns over our sofa cushions, as if Viola would be hiding there. “In what used to be my mother’s rooms?”
“Three students are dead, Overseer Delaney.” Rhodes stands next to Paltro, clasping her hands together as she looks over the circus of Mortemagi pulling out chairs, looking under tables, and opening drawers. What exactly are they hoping to find? “DOTS is requesting more paperwork than can fill this room. You best have an infallible reason for bringing me here.”
Paltro gives me a look. I expect him to tell me to be quiet, but his eyebrows arch ever so slightly. “Aurelia, you won’t find her here. The House of Poison and the House of Death have a complicated history, as you know, and after what happened to Lilyana…”
Delaney’s green eyes snap to Overseer Paltro and Rhodes, then to me. They look like an endless pit of torture. I wonder if she’ll say anything about Mom, given that she was a Magister when one of her Mortemagi murdered my mother. She had profusely apologized to Dad at the time, even sanctioned the whole forsaken House, but by the time I joined Gor-hail, she was a different person. Power will do that to you.
“Open this door.” Delaney signals to one of her minions. She’s standing right in front of Lyria’s door. Why can’t she open it herself?
Paltro hovers by the front door, unimpressed. He glances at his watch, sighing. He is the overseer of this House, so why isn’t he overseeing Delaneyout? And Rhodes stands next to Paltro, in her usual red garb, her lips pulled in a grimace. Delaney reports to her—why is she letting this happen?
Lyria’s door opens to an empty room.
Delaney surveys the room, pausing on the large sheets of paper glued to the wall. They are filled with Mom’s lifedrain theory. I’ve always wondered why Mom chose to pursue lifedrain—her research, albeit not nefarious, is an expansion of Rafael Grimm’s own lifedrain theory with healing aspiers, enough to make our ancestors roll in their graves.
“Impressive,” Delaney muses as she studies the equations.
I breathe out. Thank the Gods for Lyria’s obsession with the House of the Forsaken.
“Are you satisfied now, Overseer Delaney?” Rhodes unclasps her hands. “Before I leave, I require both you and Overseer Paltro in my office. DOTS wants to know why mages are leaving Gorhail past curfew, despite yourdraconianrules.”
I stifle a smile. As long as they leave the Poisoned Stairwell open, mages will never respect curfew. Preventing us from leaving Gorhail grounds is reasonable, of course. But locking us in our rooms from ten at night until six in the morning is preposterous, even for the children at the academy.
“Out,” Delaney barks at the Mortemagi, as if she’s not the one who told them to search our rooms in the first place. She scowls at me as she follows Rhodes out and slams the door in Paltro’s face. The overseer pinches the bridge of his nose, as he often does whenever he deals with the Mortemagi… or me.
“Where is she?” he snaps.
“Who?” Inside, I am sweating. I cannot lie to Paltro, and the more he lingers, the more I will say.
“The Mortemagi, Sylas.” Paltro shakes his head.