Twisted Soul (Cursed Legacies #3)

19. Silas

19

SILAS

She isn’t letting me in.

I pace impatiently outside the guest cottage, examining the layout of the other buildings. The Sanctuary hasn’t changed since I left months ago.

I can’t fathom my mentor being dangerous to Maven, not with all the questions he will have about her—but the other acolytes could pose a threat. They know that if they can best someone here and get away with it, they will not be punished, even if it is a guest of the wizard.

The Garnet Wizard was an excellent mentor but also taught me how brutal the world is for legacies. There was no safety here outside of what I afforded myself.

I hardly think of this place as home. Apart from anywhere Maven is, I have no home.

“Hey, Crane,” a hostile voice calls.

I sigh when I see the trio of acolytes approaching quickly in the dimness. Speak of the devils. I expected something like this to happen upon my return, but it is still irritating when I’d rather keep my attention on whether Maven is all right.

“Turn around now, gentlemen,” I drawl.

One of the acolytes lifts his hands, calling forth a glowing amber spell that highlights the disgust on his face.

“So it’s true? You’re a fucking necromancer now?”

“You shouldn’t have turned to death magic, and our mentor should never have let your putrescence in here,” another adds, preparing his own spell.

They never learn, do they?

As if my paranoia hadn’t been severe enough, over the years growing up here, I learned that the only way to survive was to show no mercy. Many acolytes, even those I once thought were friends, made it clear that they wanted to be the top student and would happily kill me to have that honor. Sparing them for sentiment led to worse attempts on my life, so I chose to be ruthless instead.

These casters would happily kill me to rid the world of the necromancer I have become. Unfortunately for them, they have failed to strike first. As our mentor would say, all bark and no bite makes for a fresh grave.

I need to feed from Maven again before I can use more blood magic.

Necromancy it is, then.

Calling the chilling, unnatural power to my fingertips, I level two of the acolytes with necromantic bone rot spells that quickly bring them to the ground, twitching and screaming as their insides fall apart. The first acolyte who spoke finally hurls his magic at me, but I deflect it with a flick of my wrist.

For a moment, we’re locked into a hair-raising magic duel, his amber flashes of light eclipsed by the darkness I now wield.

Finally, one of my attacks cuts through his center. He drops, choking and gasping until he goes still just before the murky, semi-translucent, humanoid shape of a ghost rises from his fallen corpse.

The evening returns to silence as I look down and rub my fingers together, studying the blackened skin. It’s as if there was frostbite or a severe burn, though my ability to feel is only slightly numbed. I feel relatively normal.

Until once again, my head begins to spin, my heart racing unnaturally as blood drips from my nose. I sigh and wipe it away. I suppose it would have been too much to hope I could wield both types of magic without some toll being demanded.

Thanks to becoming a necromancer, I can sense the three spirits hovering nearby. The rich, tantalizing feeling of death hangs in the air, but although the ghosts fascinate me, I keep my eyes averted when I sense her arrive.

Syntyche. The reaper goddess.

My hair stands on end, and I can’t breathe because of this proximity to the goddess of death herself. A hollow, chilling whistle cuts through the air—once, twice, three times. I’ve learned that sound accompanies each swing of her scythe as she reaps souls.

Hardly a blink later, I can sense she’s gone. I finally inhale, clearing my throat as I try to stop my hands from shaking.

There is a very short list of things that frighten me in this world. Though I’ve yet to see her face, the goddess of death is quickly becoming the top item on that list.

Crypt emerges from Limbo, leaning against the outside of the cottage as he cracks his neck. His markings lit up nearly an hour ago, and he promptly vanished, yet they still glow faintly as he watches me start to pace. It makes me wonder if he went to tend to Limbo or if he was, in truth, waiting outside whatever dreamcatcher-protected room our keeper is in.

“Update,” he demands, ignoring the fresh corpses nearby.

I rub my face. “Maven stopped giving me any. It’s beyond aggravating.”

He smirks. “Dislike not having access to her pretty mind? Welcome to the club, Crane.”

“Shut up and make yourself useful.” I motion at the bodies. “They’ll be devoured in Limbo, won’t they? Maven shouldn’t have to see them when she returns.”

“We both know she would enjoy such a welcoming party,” Crypt muses, but he grabs hold of two of the corpses and vanishes with them. A moment later, the third disappears, and then the Nightmare Prince returns to stretch languidly and lean back against the cottage.

Baelfire wanders outside. He clearly just showered. “Thought I heard a fight out here.”

“It wasn’t much of a fight, I assure you,” I mutter.

The dragon shifter grunts and squints into the distance. “Which one is the Great Hall? I’m fucking starving. Do they do an actual Starfall dinner here, or is it all like…weird shit?”

“Why wouldn’t they have a normal Starfall dinner?”

“I don’t know, why the hell would women not be allowed in?” he counters. “This place is backward-ass enough that a holiday dinner made entirely of literal shit wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Women aren’t allowed in because the Garnet Wizard thinks romance is too much of a distraction to his acolytes.”

“What, he thinks gay romance just doesn’t fucking exist?”

I snort. “It’s not a rule I agree with, but he’s several centuries old and has cherry-picked which modern values to adopt. He respects women well enough, but the thought of a coeducational environment sends him into fits.”

“Weird fucker,” Baelfire mutters.

I've often thought so myself. Still, I respect my mentor. There is no more powerful caster in the world.

A moment later, Everett also walks out and frowns at us. “What are you three doing out here?”

Crypt lights another of his cigarettes. He’s going through them at a rate that would be alarming—or would be if I cared two fucks about him.

“Drugs,” he says cheerfully, taking a puff and offering it to Everett.

The ice elemental rolls his eyes but joins us outside, watching the slight colors in the dark sky until Baelfire turns to him, folding his oversized arms.

“So, what did the wizard mean about remembering you? You know him?”

I’ve been wondering about that, too. We all look at the Frost, who feigns disinterest as he picks invisible lint off his sleeve.

“Must’ve gotten me confused with my dad or something.”

I scoff. “We all know that’s a lie. He talked about you at eighteen. What did you?—”

“Just drop it,” he snaps. “My business is my business, so unless you three shits want to stand around a fire holding hands and singing kumbaya, leave me the hell alone.”

Always so godsdamned moody.

But then I tip my head, curious. “Show me your hands.”

“What?”

“You’re upset. Show me your hands.”

Everett mutters about me being an asshole but pulls his hands out of his pockets, showing us.

“No frost,” Crypt muses. “Does this mean what I think?”

It means your curse isn’t what you thought , I tell Everett telepathically, shocked enough that I forget to speak out loud.

The ice elemental shoots me another glare before looking away.

“Yeah. I’ve noticed it since Maven and I—since she broke my curse, I mean. I have so much more control, it’s fucking laughable. I’m not unleashing ice with every tiny thought and emotion. I don’t…I don’t really know how I didn’t figure this out a lot sooner. Honestly, I feel like a damn idiot for not realizing the truth.”

We all absorb it until Baelfire finally seems to piece things together.

“Hold up. Is it just because you’ve gotten that much more powerful, or…” His eyes widen. “Holy shit! What if your curse isn’t what you thought it was? What if it was actually being shit at controlling your abilities?”

“Way to catch up, Lizard Brain,” Everett mutters.

“But then why the fuck would Arati’s prophet lie to you?”

Everett glowers into the distance. “I can think of five reasons, and they raised me just right so that I would never think to question a prophecy. I’ve seen my parents bribe others plenty of times. Just never fucking thought they would bribe a high prophet to translate a prophecy the way they wanted him to.”

We’re all silent for a long moment until Baelfire whistles.

“Damn. So…your cockblock curse was a big, fat lie. They were just trying to control you.”

“Yep.”

“To keep you lonely and miserable.”

“They do prefer me that way,” he says dryly. “They’ve always said lonely people are the easiest to make useful.”

Bael shakes his head. “Your parents are fucked up.”

“You have no idea,” Everett mutters, rubbing his face. “At least now I know the truth. That all the sickening panic I felt about putting my keeper at risk every time I was around her was just good old-fashioned psychological torture from my gold star parents.”

He’s bitterly sarcastic, but the truth is that when we were young, I thought he did have perfect parents. A perfect life. Far more perfect than mine ever could be.

Now, I also feel like an idiot for thinking that.

“I'll kill them if you like,” Crypt offers like he's just offering a stick of gum, blowing out more smoke.

I glare at him. “You are the expert at killing families. At least this time, there will be a reason for it.”

Baelfire makes a sound I don't get as he gives Crypt a look. “Yeah, about that…”

“Keep your fucking snout shut, or I'll drag you into Limbo again,” Crypt warns, flicking his still-lit cigarette at Baelfire. “Only this time, I’ll leave you in there.”

Of course, the heat does nothing to the dragon, who looks back at me. “He had a reason.”

Crypt’s eyes flash. “Don’t test me, Decimus.”

I look between them, uncertain, but Baelfire seems to decide to drop it for now as he rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. For several long moments, we’re all quiet again. The tension remains between Crypt and me, though he ignores the glares I’m sending his way.

“So…back at that diner,” Bael breaks the silence, rubbing his neck.

“In Nebraska?” Everett frowns. “What about it?”

“With Maven acting like she was…you know. Pregnant.” The dragon shifter clears his throat. “I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s just that—with all this bonding, do you guys think that could actually…”

When he trails off again, I give him a droll look. “What? Spit it out.”

“Some of our curses are broken,” he mumbles.

It takes a second for me to realize what he’s saying, and then I’m floored. Maven has no curse to lift, so she isn’t affected by the same inability to procreate that we legacies have.

Or that we did have. When we were cursed. But now that Everett and I have been with her, unprotected, uncursed…

Gods above. I wasn’t even thinking about that.

Everett drags a hand through his hair, and he must not be paying attention to filtering his thoughts through the bond because I catch a hint of his inner prayers to both Arati and Koa.

What are you gods-aboving and praying about? Maven asks telepathically, making both myself and the ice elemental jump nearly out of our skin.

Just…nothing, Everett sends back, pulling at the neckline of his shirt like he’s flushed.

“Nothing?” I huff, glaring at him. “We need to bring this up with her. ”

Crypt’s purple gaze darts between us and he scowls impatiently. “Are you two asses talking just to each other now, or is our girl finally done with the man behind the curtain?”

Everett ignores him, glaring at me. “No shit. We’ll talk to her when the time is right.”

You guys are weirdly quiet, she notes. Did something happen? Who do I need to kill?

So eager, I tease. Everything is fine. Are you nearly here?

About that. Let’s meet at the Great Hall, Maven suggests. My visit with the wizard is nearly done.

We'll be there waiting for you, I reply, already striding in the direction we need to go.

“This way,” I tell the others. “I don't want her arriving at dinner alone. You may call me cutthroat, but the other acolytes here quite literally cut each other's throats when they can. It’s only a matter of time before someone here tries something with our keeper.”