“What side?”
“The cautious side.”
I let out a dry laugh. What I don’t tell him is that I’m not risking any of their lives or their ranks again; I refuse to have more blood on my hands, and especially not that of my siblings… and Viola.
“Go before I change my mind.” Then I nod at Railesza. “Stop looking so miserable. You’ll be back soon.” She turns her head away from me, glancing at the third floor, as if she’s telling me to leave already.
“Seriously?” I blink at her, but she coils back to sleep around Beau’s arm as he heads to the sixth floor.
I climb the stairs by twos, breaking off at the third floor.
The study area is empty. Lyria always complains about how packed the library gets, that she has to ask for special authorization to study on the sixth floor. As hard as Rhodes is working to retain a semblance of normalcy within the institute, mages are afraid and mostly seem to be keeping to themselves. I follow the signs, crossing seven rows of shelves until I see the back wall, lined with shelves that are too tall for me to reach. It smells like old books and the sandalwood of Paltro’s office.
A page flips, and my steps slow. A muffled voice asks a question, but no one answers. Around my wrist, Raiku’s head perks. He throws me a cautious glance, and I lower my arm, letting him slither to the floor.
One second, there’s no sound.
Two seconds, the book shuts.
Three seconds, he doesn’t come back.
I turn right into one of the nooks, expecting to see a poacher. Or worse, the puppeteer. But Viola kneels on the ground, brushing her knuckles on Raiku’s scaly head, and my aspier rubs against her hand like a house cat.
“Sylas…” she breathes as our eyes meet; my lungs empty, and my heart caves.
In her voice, I find peace.
Priya, I am not responsible for what students choose to do in their free time. Those who have been breaking curfew have been dying, so unless you wish for me to punish ghosts, there is little I can do. There is, however, the matter of a relic collector murdering students. Parents are alarmed and requesting early leave. I’m awaiting directions from DOTS.
LETTER FROM DEAN MATILDA RHODES TO PGM PRIYA PARRISH, NOVEMBER 1939
thirty-three | viola
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 2, 1939
I think I’m hallucinating.
Sylas is standing in front of me, a tempest raging in his eyes as he looks down at Raiku and me. I want to get up, go to him, and hold him, but I stop myself. It isn’t my place. He and I, we are nothing.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
There’s a slight flare in his eyes and a sudden tightness to his jaw. He leans against the wall of shelves, his arms crossed. “Same reason you’re here, I suppose.” His answer matches the coldness of my tone, but it’s very real. He is a few steps away from me, alive, and my stupid heart picks up.
I scramble to my feet, and Raiku slithers back to him. My hands reach for a random book. I need to be holding something, need to be doing something. Anything. How do I face him after telling him to rot in the Underworld?
“Oh? And what is that?” My shaky voice is a traitor.
He chuckles. It’s intoxicating.
“Viola.” There’s something about the way he says my name, the inflection in his tone, the silent command that compels me to pay attention. It lures a part of me that comes alive only when he’s around. “Can we talk?”
My fingers drum on the spine of a book, and I turn around, my back against the shelves. He steps in front of me, and my breath hitches. It’s hard to pretend he doesn’t affect me, even harder to pretend there is nothing between us. His eyes drop to mine with a slight frown, and he tilts his head, his warm breath caressing my skin. I spent most of the morning shoving him out of my head, and I did not consider the possibility of seeing him again so soon. He sighs, and my cheeks flush and my throat tightens. He’s too close.
“What”—I clear my throat—“what do you want?”
I shift my gaze to the three patches on the left of his Firstline uniform. One for his rank. One for his House. And two smaller ones for his healer and killer aspiers. None for the Imortalis; I suppose Raiek is glaring enough.
“To apologize,” he says, his voice strained.