The look in her eyes is worse than the first time I met her, when she actually thought I was a murderer. Now she looks at me with pain and contempt. She backs away, her voice breaking. “I hope you rot in the Underworld.”
Lorne notices her moving away from me then and hastens his pace. Fantastic. He’s just what we need.
“Viola, what happened?” He pulls her even farther away from me, and Raiku hisses. Lorne’s eyes drop to my aspier, and he scoffs.
“We’re late for our lessons,” Viola replies without looking at me. She forces a smile, then beckons Lorne along. “Let’s go.”
Resurrection is a complex ritual that requires a personal sacrifice from the Mortemagi. When his human lover died, Damas, the God of Luck and Treachery, begged the God of Death for a favor. In exchange for half of Damas’s soul, Death brought her back as the first Mortemagi.
ISOBEL CORVI,DEATH MAGIC, OR A LIFE OF SERVITUDE, CHAPTER 2
twenty-nine | viola
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1939
My mood is as dark as the angry clouds outside. They remind me of Sylas’s eyes, even when I should forget he exists.
I fiddle with my now-cold honeyfig bread, my ears reaching for any news of Firstline. It’s been three days since Sylas left for Riverview, and I’ve seen neither Lyria nor Beau. We share one botany class at the House of Death, and they’ve skipped all three sessions.
Are they avoiding me because of Sylas? Then again, why should I care? What happens with them does not concern me anymore. Now that I am not safe anywhere, I might as well use my time at Gorhail to find more clues about the murderer.
“May I sit?” Sierra, the girl with golden-brown hair who bumped into me on my first day at Gorhail, approaches with a plate.
“It’s a big table,” I reply, looking down the length of the table that takes up the majority of the dining hall.
That was not very kind, says the ghost. She chooses the most random times to speak, surprisingly never when I’m by myself. I wonder if she fears that I will take up Priya’s request of expelling her, which would bepointless. Why would I damn a ghost to wander around aimlessly when I don’t have long to live anyway?
I don’t mean to be rude, but I want to be alone. Breakfast is the only breathing time I have before Lorne takes up every second I’m not in class with his extra lessons. We only started three days ago, and I now know the full history of death magic, starting with the first Mortemagi.
“I owe you an apology.” She slides her plate opposite where I sit. “I didn’t know Olivia had a sister.”
This stings. Hearing it over and over doesn’t ease the hurt that Olivia erased me from her life. She didn’t have to tell them our secret, but why did she not mention she had a sister at all? Was she ashamed of me?
“Oh.” The word, feeble and raw, escapes my lips.
“Olivia was my best friend.” She swirls a spoon in her steaming cup of tea, then gives me the smallest smile. I know who she is. I’ve heard all about her. Olivia used to tell me how Sierra would break curfew to help her study when they were at the academy.
“I’m sorry about Fable.” It’s the only thing I think to reply; I don’t have any particular feelings toward her, not when she was the reason my sister walked to her death that fateful night. Still, Olivia told me they were all friends, and it’s never easy losing friends.
Fable’s death is an ominous indicator that danger is now within the walls of Gorhail, no matter how much Rhodes tries to deny it. And no matter how much I try to push back the thought, IknowI could be next at any moment. Yet here we are, carrying on with lessons as usual, throwing nervous glances and smiles when we cross one another in the halls.
“Don’t you think it’s suspicious? Their deaths…” she trails off, looking both ways, as if she’s afraid of someone overhearing.
“I do, but no one else seems concerned.” I push my plate away.
“My mother used to say Gorhail only cares about producing Firstline officers, and DOTS measures their aptitude in how many poachers they kill.” She sighs. “When my mother died, I told them I wanted an investigation. She was young, healthy… it didn’t make sense. They denied me, of course, saying her heart gave out.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.” This feels too personal a conversation to have with someone I just met. But my sister cherished Sierra, so I listen in silence as she tells me how Firstline pauses any investigation that paintsDOTS in a bad light. After a short while, I ask, “Were you with Olivia on her last day?”
“I was.” Sierra’s eyes water, and I hate myself for asking. “Fable overheard when I told Olivia I knew her secret and wanted to help. They fought, and in a fit of rage, Fable spilled everything about how she was seeing Lorne behind Olivia’s back. Olivia stormed out, and Fable followed her.”
I clutch my neck.
“The next day, she was dead.” She bites her lips, blinking a few times. “The irony is Fable had lied. She was enamored with Lorne, but he was only meeting her to buy dust recipes.”
Nothing she can say about Lorne will redeem him to me. I sigh, thinking about how no one believed Victor. He didn’t lie. Fablewasthe reason Olivia ran away to her death. And no one told Fable Olivia’s secret. She overheard, and she still chose to threaten her; Sylas never said anything. Sure, he shared something he shouldn’t have, even if I know in my heart that Sierra would never have used it against Olivia. But Fable did, and because of her, Olivia died that night.
“Thank you for telling me,” I tell her sincerely. “Did you… did you notice anything odd about my sister in the days leading to her death?”