Silas knew.
He had to have.
He knew everything. About me. About my crew. The people we were and what we would do. He knew I would go back to his room and find his trail that would lead me here.
Because when I open the journal to the very first page, scribbled across the back side of the cover is a message that begins with:
At the end of it all, I decided if I was going to die, I’d do it free. On my own terms.
I was the Chariot, after all. I was never meant to be chained.
“You bastard,” I whisper. I’m laughing again. And crying. I rub my face vigorously with the heel of my hand, wiping the tears from my eyes. The last thing I want is to smudge the ink on the pages as I flip through them.
It’s like turning the pages of the last year of my life, but through Silas’s eyes.
The journal starts distant and emotionless. It’s a report of my movements within the academy. He even recalls the details of my battle for the Arcanum Chalice—he must’ve sneaked in to watch. Now that I know all the tiny threads tying him and Ravin together, I can clearly see exactly how it all unfolded, unbeknownst to me.
Warden Glavstone ran to Ravin like the rat he was after Kaelis broke me out. Ravin came to the academy, to see for himself. He used a Chariot card. I always thought Silas was taking him in and out…but Ravin could use the Major Arcana all along. He’s one of us. Then Ravin went to Silas after the first time I saw him in the academy. He must’ve told Silas to follow me and get information—to get closer tome.
Silas followed my every movement. That’s why he was there that first night as I made my way through the wards leading to the workshop of the Fool. That’s how he was there to save me.
My eyes snag on a note that is dated just after our first meeting.
She looks so much like Arina.
One line, set off from the rest. Written in a slightly different script, as if added as an afterthought at the end of the day. As if meant just for him, more than anyone else.
The next page stops my heart.
A sketch of Arina as I remember her—not the broken woman I found locked away, but the radiant and rebellious force of nature I always knew as my little sister. My hands drag over the inked curve of her cheek, trailing to my own profile beneath hers.
How cruel the world has been to us. How I would die to bring her back if it would be enough…
That’s not the last mention of Arina. His anecdotes now and then are written as if directly to her. His guilt at the betrayal he committed against her. His genuine belief that she’d died. His joy at feeling like he might be able to do good, for once…even as it killed him inside with worry for his family.
Sketches of the townhome are positioned next to details on how to get there. That’s how Ravin must’ve known how to find us. “You bastard,” I whisper. Yet my venom has dried up. I can see on the page Silas’s journey from cold executor of Ravin’s will to questioning acquaintance to cautious ally and even…friend.
Then I reach the final page of writing.
Well done.
Though, if I didn’t think you’d be able to get here, I wouldn’t have left this for you. I’m not sure when my death will happen, but I know it will. I won’t be able to help you as I intended for long. Probably not nearly long enough.
He knows my name, after all…
Find my family, please. If they’re still alive, save them. And get the bastard. Though, I probably don’t need to tell you that. That much I’m confident you’ll do no matter what.
Thank you. For everything you’ll do. For giving me hope, however fleeting it might have been.
I wish I could’ve done more. But this is the best I can do…Be free, Clara. Charge ahead. Don’t ever let them chain you down again.
I flip the page and find the next page folded into a makeshift envelope. Tucked into it are ten silver cards. On each, the chariot charges forward, as if to leap off the surface. I pull them out with reverence.
Clutching the cards to my chest, I draw a shuddering breath and whisper, “Thank you. I will make sure your family is safe, and Iwillget the bastard.”
I pocket the cards, and I tear out some pages, notes about his family—things they might want to see as a token of their son and brother. But I leave the rest in the journal and place it on the bed. No one needs evidence of Silas’s crimes. His alliance with Ravin.
Let him be remembered not as the man he started as, but as the man he became.
