“Pity she’s a Mortemagi,” Lyria whispers. “She wears our name well.”
It takes me a second too long to register what she means. I scowl at her, but she’s already across the room, hugging Viola like they’re best friends.
“Get on with it, Corvi,” I say while buckling my harness.
“After you regain your bodies and we catch the killer, you’ll help me leave Bale and seal my magic,” she demands matter-of-factly.
Her ask slaps me in the face.
Mages don’t simply discard their magic, especially not when they have a relic as powerful as the Corvi cuff. Does this woman not realize the power she possesses in that piece of metal? That she’s about to do the impossiblebecauseof the magic she despises so much?
“This life isn’t for me,” she says. Why does she sound so resigned?
I want to tell her that she is right, that she should seal her magic, that she should leave and go back to a mundane life. It solves two of my biggest problems. One: we are rid of one of the most powerful heirloom relics. Two: she will be safe. Somewhere deep inside my chest, it stings. I shove that odd feeling deeper within, where hopefully it’ll never resurface. She can’t stay, both for her safety and for my sanity.
But I can’t bring myself to tell her any of that.
“We’ve all had to come to terms with our lives, its dangers, and its losses. You choose what you want out of this life, not the other way around,” I say instead, heading to the door to the Poisoned Stairwell.
“Vi, you can’t leave,” Lyria drawls, wrapping her arms around Viola, who gives my sister the softest apologetic look.
“I…” Viola takes her hand. “I tried, I really tried for Olivia. Once we find the puppeteer and hand them over to DOTS, I’m done. I’d like to live out the rest of my life as a nonmagi.”
Beau chimes in, “Viola, please don’t.”
I hate how my siblings have grown so attached to her. Do they forget what she is?
“It’s time,” I interrupt them, clicking open the door like a coward afraid to face his feelings.
“It’s good that I’m staying behind in the end. In case someone has to explain your absence,” Lyria offers. Thank Haal, she’s come to her senses. Then she runs and gives me a tight hug. “Please don’t let her die,” she says so only I can hear.
Dread sours my mouth. That’s a promise I cannot make.
Exhausting an aspier’s magic before they’ve had time to regenerate can destroy them.
Addendum:Does not apply to the Imortalis and their bonds, as long as they remain with the same Aspieri.
JOURNAL OF SILEAS RONIN, THE FIRST FOUNDER
twenty-three | viola
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1939
Little Lake Albion is still tonight. The stars bleed diamonds in the sky. Are the Gods wishing us luck or sealing our fate?
The crisp air should feel familiar, but right now, it cuts my breath into pieces. I pull Lyria’s jacket close. Every time the breeze brushes against my skin, I pretend it’s Olivia. We stand not far from where her body lay cold against the dark cobbles that horrific morning.
“Beau and I will be waiting by the side door, so it’s easier once you bring the bodies out.” Victor breaks the silence as he turns to Sylas. We went over the plan at least five times while we were driving here.
Sylas ignores him, sheathing another four daggers into his harness. It’s similar to the one he gave me, but where mine is a strong weave of Arkani-made fabric that should hopefully withstand a blade—or a claw—the material of his is hidden by at least a dozen daggers sheathed against his chest.
I take in every detail. How his black shirt hugs the muscles of his chest underneath, how his jaw could cut through glass, and how his eyes scrutinize every inch of our surroundings. Both his aspiers are awake and ready to engage. Out here, he’s not the Sylas I’ve come to know. Something about him is different, deadlier.
“Once you regain your bodies, run to the car,” Sylas commands Beau and Victor. “Railesza won’t be able to heal all of you should you be injured.”
“Let’s get this done, so we can send the puppeteer to the ninth circle of the Underworld.” Beau catches my eye and grins. For a treacherous moment, I feel like I belong here, with them. That I am part of this family. And I want so badly for it to be true.
The funeral home is pitch-black, the curtains pulled and the lights off. Like I thought, no one’s here. This will be easy enough.