I do not, but there’s no choice. I try to close my eyes when the white surroundings give way to the memory, but it appears behind my eyelids. Bile rises. Alasdair’s screams echo in my mind. Such screams. Luciana sobs in the corner and the Archweaver’s eyes are wide with agonized determination.
Vincentius is there. He watches in grim silence with his arms crossed over his chest before he steps forward to add his own magic to the mix. My arms wrap around my middle tightly. No wonder he betrayed me again. He thought I’d allow Valen the same fate.
My ear prickles when the curse whispers against it. “There’s no love for you left in your father’s heart, not after what you did.” I flinch away and he snickers. “That doesn’t make you happy? Isn’t that what you wanted when you brought me to this world?”
I don’t like this. I want to hide from it, but when I turn away, the room shifts with me. I’m trapped watching my brother’s torment. The screaming, the incanting, and the sobbing echo oddly together.
The room blurs and Viola stands before the Archweaver throne, the Council of Weavers standing witness. I stumble back and collide with the curse. He wraps his spindly arms around my middle in an affectionate embrace and his bony chin digs into my shoulder. “They fought so much.”
Alasdair is there and he doesn’t look much different from when I saw him in the house. The binding collar glows, but it is not welded shut, merely locked. A leash pins him in placebetween Viola and Atticus, and my brother writhes, tugging on it and choking. He’s spluttering something and it takes me a minute to understand him.
“I want Tori! I miss Tori! Let me go. Please. Let me go to her. I need her! Tori! TORI!”
Luciana darts out of the crowd. Maskless in the vision, I can see how poorly she aged in the last seven years. Dark bags hang heavily under her eyes, her forehead permanently creased with stress. She hushes Alasdair, who snarls and snaps at her like a rabid animal. Luciana doesn’t withdraw and pulls out Alasdair’s crusty bear instead, holding it before her like a shield.
I blink. Oscar. That was the bear’s name.
The reaction is immediate. Alasdair goes limp on the ground and whimpers as Luciana presses Oscar against his face. He bites Oscar’s fuzzless paw and chews on the cracked leather like he did when we were young.
Our father’s eyes lift from the grim scene to glare down at Viola with glowing, hot rage. Viola meets his wrath with her head high and back straight. Atticus hisses, “You dare to stand there and deny what is evident?”
“That your son is curse-crazed?” Viola’s voice is a knife in my heart. I writhe, eyes burning, but the curse doesn’t let me go, doesn’t let me shut the vision out. Viola speaks confidently, not a hint of fear or uncertainty to be found. “Yes. I think we all can agree on that.”
Atticus snarls, power cracking around him. “You wretched woman! Stop protecting that idiot girl. She’s doomed us all.”
Viola’s eyes flare green to match her brother’s. “She’s your child.”
“She’s a monster. Look at what she’s done!”
“You have no proof.”
He throws an arm out towards his son, “This is the proof I need! Alasdair and Astoria are linked by dark magic. IfAlasdair escaped once, he will do so again. We were lucky that he failed to reach the border. The Magistrate and Guild must never know of his current state. The risk of being overwhelmed in another war is too high.”
My father sits heavily in his throne. Exhaustion leaks into his voice as he says,“Astoria must be found and put down before it is too late to save the Heir.”
Viola turns sharply away from her brother to face the other weavers assembled with raw determination. “I beseech this wise Council to see reason. The Archweaver is grasping at anything to save his corrupted son while ignoring the very point I’ve been arguing for years. This is an attack on the Archweaver lineage. Once Alasdair falls, Astoria will be next. She is a victim of this attack, not the instigator!”
My father’s ashen face becomes blotchy and his gnarled hands grip the armrests until his knuckles turn white.“I tire of your falsehoods to protect an absconded weaver. The innocent do not flee.”
An exchange of looks ripples through the Councilors before they turn to Vincentius. Viola locks eyes with him, her expression open and pleading. Yet, Vincentius says nothing. He remains standing to the side, his solemn-faced unmoved and his hands in his pockets.
Sickness rises in my throat when Viola whips back around to her brother, face contorted and voice pitching high,“This is madness! She ran from this place because of you. She feared what you’d do after the muzzle!” She throws her voice powerfully. “Leave her be! Let her live her life free of this place. It’s all I ask. Let her go.”
When silence rings, Viola’s voice dips to despairing. “Please. I beg of you. Don’t hurt her.”
I’m breathing too hard, my eyes filling with tears until they pour down. I scream at the image, begging Viola to run. Beggingmy father not to do it. I’m screaming, sobbing, my shut eyes doing nothing to make the images go away. I can’t hear the words, only the escalating argument between my father and aunt, Viola’s love and protection unwavering in the face of her dawning end.
My father unleashes his magic in an explosion of rage that Viola meets with a bellow, the stones cracking to give way to a monstrous tree that bursts forth to protect its mistress as Creation and Transformation blend beautifully. No one comes to help. I try to call my magic, but nothing responds. Vincentius’ eyes flare in surprise, but he hesitates.
It’s too late. It’s all too late.
Viola’s body slams into the stone above the throne. Ironwood crucifies her there and she screams in agony. Shivering, Viola whispers harshly, “She’ll kill you all for this. That I promise.” Viola’s eyes dim, pain and death waxing her skin. Her lips barely move, but the breathed-out words are loud in my ringing ears. “Be free, my little love. Never forget…” blood trickling from her mouth chokes her,“I love you.”Her eyes dim as death claims her.
I scream. I scream and scream, my heart’s pain, my grief, my regret, pouring into the endless sound until I’m sure that this is how I’ll live the rest of this cursed existence. A banshee reborn. Nothing but this horrific, endless wail.
I took too long to come back. I should’ve forced Vi to come with me. I should’ve done more. I should’ve been there. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I didn’t think of what would happen to Vi in my stead. Now it’s too late. My aunt is dead and it’s all my fault.
CHAPTER 29
