Her confidence helps me dismiss Parrish’s warning. Deadly or not, I’ll have to go there to find Victor’s ghost.
Archyr clears his throat, his arms tensing as he grips the wheel. Raiku awakens with a glare, slithering from his wrist to his arm.
“No,” he says with finality. “I’ve changed my mind about the cata-combs. We know where Beau’s and Victor’s bodies are, and Olivia confirmed that a puppeteer is behind this.” His knuckles are white on thewheel as he crosses the border between Albion and Gorhail. “We don’t need to waste our time with the catacombs. I’ll inform Paltro and Gryff, and they’ll send a unit to retrieve the bodies. Now that we know where to find Victor, one of Firstline’s whisperers will find him and they’ll investigate the murders.”
“But Beau…” Lyria protests.
“Lyria,” he snaps. “Youknowour brother. I think it’s time we stop pretending his ghost is still around. He would’ve gotten a message across somehow.”
“Sylas, do you hear yourself?” Lyria’s words are strangled with pain. “That would mean that he’s lost in the Underiver forever… or worse, that he’s become a wandering ghost!”
“Unfounded hope strangles you when reality pulls the strings of truth,” he replies. “It’s been five days, Lyria, and he hasn’t attempted to speak with usonce, while Victor has had no trouble contacting Viola.”
“You’re giving up on him…” Lyria’s lower lip trembles, and I cut in.
“You don’t know that. We haven’t even tried…”
Although I initially shared his thoughts, I refuse to lose hope for Lyria. Still, the nagging feeling within me wonders whether Mara’s puppeteer is a conduit who could’ve intentionally led Beau into the Underiver before his burial.
“Corvi, please stay out of family matters.”
The abrupt dismissal pricks at my pride. I’m good enough when I give him information, but disposable when I fulfill my end of the bargain. Why did he even show up at Olivia’s funeral, if he was just going to dismiss me? He even pretended to care, and like a fool, I told him everything about Mara, about Victor, about Olivia.
“I still have to speak to Victor,” I maintain.
“Oliviatoldyou who killed her.” He huffs a frustrated sigh. “They’re all dead because of their relics. Let Firstline investigate—that’s their job.” He stresses on the last three words.
“Yes, but…”
“Then our bargain is fulfilled,” he says through gritted teeth. His words cut through my chest, their sharpness a reminder of my place in this world. Curse the moment I thought something had changed between us. These mages are all the same—they wring you dry, then toss you aside.
The car comes to a halt in front of the eastern entrance of Gorhail.Lyria’s eyebrows pinch in apology, but it’s not her fault she’s related to an ill-mannered baboon with the temperament of a child.
“Very well.” I step out, slam the door, and then stand in the rain, watching the car speed away in the opposite direction. Once again, I am alone, a complete fool for believing they cared. Walking back into Gorhail, I strengthen my resolve. Olivia was strong enough to survive this place for twelve years.
I can, too.
I have to.
Until I know who killed her.
A few dozen pairs of eyes lock on me the moment I walk through Ghost Hall, the great hall of the House of Death. Ghost Hall is vastly different from Circle Three. Round dark mahogany tables are scattered around the perimeter, with an open kitchen spanning half the hall. The other half is bordered by low bookcases, evenly spaced to create little paths leading to private dining nooks, with the occasional hanging firepits offering warmth. From the entrance, the hall looks like a skull with a top hat.
Lorne hesitates when he sees me, then rushes to me while taking his coat off. He throws it around me, and I consider shoving him and the coat away, but I am freezing.
“Viola.” He holds my face up. “You’re so cold. You need to see a healer.”
“I need…” I clasp his hands, dragging them off my face. “I need to go to my room.”
“I’ll walk you then,” he offers. I don’t have any more fight left in me today, so I don’t argue. My limbs are shaking, my teeth are chattering, and my face feels like it’s about to turn to ice. Gorhail’s angry chill has turned my wet clothes into a freezer. I should never have been fooled by the warm morning sun. Bale’s weather is as fickle as my mother. She gave me a single nod of acknowledgment today, which was more than I expected.
“I’m sorry about Olivia,” Lorne mumbles as we climb the narrow stairwell to the student rooms. My eyes glaze over the gold-framed portraits on the wall; a few of Nan’s, several of a beautiful woman with fiery red hair, some of Delaney, and some more of people I don’t recognize.
“Why, Lorne?” I manage between clenched teeth. “Where were you the night she left Gorhail? Since you loved her so much. Where… were… you?”
Lorne pauses at the top of the stairs. I tip my head up, meeting his moss-green eyes. They brim with tears, while mine are filled with rage. We stand, water dripping from my dress, pooling at my feet, and him inches away from me, lips parted but unable to answer.
“I need time to grieve,” I bite. “And I think you do, too.” Then I walk away, his coat still wrapped around me.