“I think Beau and I solved her theory,” she exclaims, eyes wide. She looks so much like our mother. She has the same long black hair, the same big brown eyes that sparkle every time she gets excited, the same tawny-brown skin, the same button nose, but her smile is Dad’s. Mine is Mom’s.
Memories of us all together flood my mind. My chest tightens, and I inhale, tucking away my grief as I’ve done the past four months. It’s not coming out today, not in front of Lyria. I slip my mask on, looking straight at her. How could she even consider this? “Mom was killed in the middle of her research, the same research you and Beau want to pursue.”
“Sylas…” Lyria hesitates for a moment. “I’m going to finish what she started.” She raises her chin. Gods, she looks so much like Mom, my chest aches. “I owe it to her.”
My sister is the model student Overseer Paltro dreams about every time he sees me. Gorhail’s golden child, only twenty-two and already a Grand Magus. I’m sure everyone curses the rule of heirloom relics passing onto the firstborn child. I don’t deserve the Imortalis or Railesza.
“House of Death.” I fake a shudder. “They drag their feet around like the wraiths they bargain with.” The House of Death is notorious for rejecting Aspieri applications, and the House of Poison returns the favor. This is why there are so few Aspieri or Mortemagi Magus Principalis; the animosity between Houses prevents mages from earning their last rank. One can only hope they will reject both my siblings out of spite.
Lyria glares at me. “Whisperers are the only ones who bargain with ghosts. The rest are just like you and me.”
“Until they kill you,” I reply, and she rolls her eyes. But I am not letting this go. “If you don’t want me to lobby Paltro to deny your application, help me take Raiek off.”
A sore subject with my sister. Now she’ll understand how I feel about her walking into a death trap.
“The Imortalis cannot be taken, only given in a time of need,” she recites from one of our textbooks. “Absolutely not.”
“Lyr—” I start, but her glare pins my lips shut.
“You know, I’m the only one who could bypass the magic because we share the same blood.” She places her notebook in her backpack, pushesher plate aside, and folds her arms on the table. “But I’m not an idiot, Sy. The second Raiek is off, you’re going to do something stupid and get yourself killed. Gryff told me about your recklessness on duty since Dad’s death. You can’t let your unfounded guilt dictate your will to live.”
Is friendship no longer sacred? Besides, what was I thinking bringing this up again, when she’s already refused twice?
Lyria meets my eyes with tears, and the hairline crack in my heart grows bigger. “You’re all Beau and I have left,” she mumbles.
I reach over the table and gather her small hands in mine. “I’m sorry, Lyr. I shouldn’t… Idon’twant you and Beau to study at the House of Death.”
But it’s too late. My apologies mean nothing now. I shouldn’t have gone there. “Dad saved you because he wanted you to live, Sy.” A tear rolls down her cheek. I stare at it, contemplating my selfishness. “Don’t leave us, too.”
I squeeze her hands and promise her I won’t go anywhere. But inside me, a fight is brewing. How do I live with the guilt that my father died because of me? How do I tell Lyria that if it weren’t for my brazen foolishness, Dad would still be alive? For that alone, I deserve the worst fate. Perhaps one day, she will understand.
“Sylas, why are you always making our sister cry?” Beau sighs as he walks toward us and sets a stack of books on the plush chair between Lyria and me. A few months after Mom died, Dad adopted Beau after his own parents were killed on assignment. We grew up together, and in more ways than one, he was everything Lyria and I needed after losing our mother.
“The House of Death hates us.” I cut to the chase. I refuse to let either of them suffer the same fate as Mom.
“They are misunderstood.” Beau shakes his head. Of course he’d agree with Lyria. They are like twins—they’re the same age, and they do everything together. “It’s been a while since they’ve done anything out of line.”
A while? Has the House of Death poisoned their minds? I frown. “Do you forget that Mortemagi are the reason poachers even exist?”
Four hundred years ago, Rafael Grimm started a cult of mages without limits. He openly defied the founders’ principles of using magic only for communal progress. He taught his followers forbidden lifeblood magic, and when he died, his legacy lived on through the criminals he trained. And because they’d never be able to go to a relicsmith for new relics, theybecame poachers—harvesting dead relics so they can be reforged into ones they can use.
“And you”—I turn to Lyria—“Gryff’s right to practice magic is constantly threatenedbecauseof them.”
Lyria looks at Beau, chewing her lips. She always does this when I remind her of the harm Mortemagi have caused everyone.
“Even Gryff doesn’t hate them, though.” Beau speaks in her place. “Does your prejudice toward Mortemagi make you forget that thereareArkani poachers and maybe even Aspieri ones?”
Before I can answer, Fang’s Nest’s massive front doors slam open, shaking the ground. Every mage present looks up, their aspiers’ heads turned toward the entrance as Overseer Paltro storms in. The last time we had this much commotion was only ten days ago when two Year Eights died near Albion Creek. Gryff and I were a part of the Secondline unit who investigated their deaths, and we ruled it as yet another poacher attack.
Paltro strides straight toward us and pauses in front of my brother. His eyes are as sharp as his killer aspier’s. Both are locked on Beau. “Is there any reason your aspier’s venom would be in Victor Carver’s blood?”
I slowly get up, and my sister does, too. We exchange a brief glance, both confused. Paltro’s making a mistake. Why would Silver’s venom be in Victor Carver’s blood? From the claw marks, it was clear a rogue Mortemagi killed him. Beau stares at Paltro, face as pale as a ghost. For a moment, I fear that my brother has died from our guardian’s question.
Lyria slips her cold hands through mine. “Who died?”
Paltro’s frown shifts to her. “Victor Carver from the House of Arcane was killed. We found Silver’s venom in his blood.”
“How?” Lyria gasps, but no one answers her.