“No?” I return.
“No.”
“Doyouhave a better idea?” I ask, crossing my arms, my eyes narrowing at him. I’ve run this scenario through my head at least four times while they were all talking over one another. I’m the only one familiar with Dearly Departed, and I’m certain it’s our quickest option.
“I do.” Sylas unfurls himself from his chair, pockets my cuff, and walks around the desk. I turn as he stops right in front of me, my heart beating in my throat. My eyes dart around for an escape, but the chairs block my way. “Well… then…?” I utter, without looking at him.
Sylas considers me for a moment, then he leans forward, placing both hands on either side of me, caging me against the desk. I brace my palms next to his to hold myself up.
“You’re a Mortemagi who doesn’t know how to use her magic,” he says. Raiku slithers from his wrist to mine, his cold scales rubbing against my skin as he climbs the length of my left arm.
I don’t move.
“In other words.” Sylas slowly drags his hand up and lifts my face with his finger. I hate that a single touch puts me at the mercy of whatever venom his mouth will spew next. “You’re useless.” One side of his lips curls up, and my heart is out of control. He’s playing a game, but I cannot fall into his trap.
“Good luck resurrecting your brother then, Archyr.” I push his hand away, but it doesn’t move. I don’t want to leverage Beau, but I cannot stand Sylas’s arrogance. I’ve worked at Dearly Departed for four years; I know Mara, and I know my plan will work.
“I don’t need to be resurrected.” Beau shrugs, unbothered. “I was actually pretty happy being dead.”
“You were?” Victor grimaces at him. “I remember you compl—”
Beau shoots him daggers, and he looks away.
“Is that a threat, Corvi?” Sylas runs his finger down the side of my neck, over my collarbone, dragging my attention back to him. Raiku slides over my shoulder, grazing the skin of my throat as he coils back around Sylas’s wrist. I gulp, forgetting the world around us. My cheeks feel warm, and my breath wavers. His gaze darkens, dropping to my mouth then back to my eyes. He smirks again; this time it’s triumphant.It’s just a game, I tell myself. One that I refuse to play.
“I don’t make threats, Archyr.” I swat his hand away, our gazes locked on each other. Raiku flinches, his murderous eyes looking at me with curiosity. This feels like an echo of our exchange before he stabbed me behind the Doors of Desire. It’s only been a few days, but it feels like ages have passed.
“I apologize for my brother,” Beau says. “His manners are lacking. He’s trying to tell you that he doesn’t want you as bait. And neither do I.”
Sylas takes a single step away from me, a scowl on his face. As my eyes shift from him to his brother, I realize once again that Sylas is offering me a way out. First, he was willing to give up on the catacombs, and now he’swilling to give up on getting his brother back. And Beau… he’s giving up a second chance at life.
“I’ll be fine.” I don’t know if I’m reassuring him or myself. “Iwantto do this. For them. For answers. For Olivia.”
Beau nods with a sigh, but Sylas won’t even look my way.
“Puppets are controlled by threads of magic. Mortemagi can take over the threads. Is there any chance you…” Beau trails off as he walks over to us.
“No,” I cut him off. I wish I understood my magic better, but since Lyria mentioned anchoring, I’m fairly certain it wasn’t me at all who threaded the voices into the river—the ghost from Death Spire probably took pity on me and helped. Besides, I’m not going to become an experienced mage overnight. “Unless you have a crash course in death magic.”
Beau laughs, and the world stops. His eyes crinkle, and his laugh is so pure; it’s like soft classical music on a quiet morning. How could anyone kill him?
Victor joins Beau, his amber eyes full of hope. “If you do this for me… for us,” he says, his gaze lingering on Beau, “I swear to you on my mother, I will help you find your sister’s killer.”
“Beau.” Sylas’s low voice pulls me back to him, reminding me that he’s still very close to me. His lips press together, and he draws in a sharp breath. His face is unreadable. “Take Victor downstairs and choose a spare Arkani relic from the safe; Lyria has collected many from her years earning her Grand Magus rank at the House of Arcane. We’ll grab it before we leave. You can have Raiku or Railesza until you get your father’s aspier from the crypt.”
In silence, Beau and Victor walk through the desk and head toward the small spiral staircase at the far left corner in front of the window. I hadn’t even realized that staircase was there.
“Why are you such a martyr?” Sylas asks when we’re finally alone. He cocks his head, a smirk grazing his lips. It’s wicked, it’s beautiful, and it’s murderous. “You are so small, so fragile—”
“Is that how you see me?” I square my shoulders, tipping my head back. “A fragile thing?”
“All I’m saying is…” He rubs his chin, then his eyes briefly drop to my lips. “If you insist on going to the funeral home, just let me go in first. You’re not alone anymore.”
And there he is again, the man who tugs at the strings of my foolish heart. The same man will rip all the strings just as fast. “For how long? Until you get what you want, or until you decide you hate me again?” I bite my tongue for being so loose.
“I haven’t decided yet.” He brushes a stray strand of hair from my face, and my thumping heart betrays me once more. He studies every inch of my face, as if he’s trying to unravel secrets he thinks I’m hiding.
“Why?” he asks when I don’t respond, his low voice ensnaring me further into the madness of us. He doesn’t have to speak anymore; I know he wants to know why I’m helping them. If I were him, I would be suspicious, too.