Page 122 of The Lies We Conjure
That they’ve been called to fight.
And if the elder Cerises can fight, then…
Movement comes in my periphery, and Marsyas returns into view.
That wide smile of hers is sharp enough to breach the skin. At her side is another soldier.
High Sorcerer Ursula Hegemony herself.
CHAPTER37
AUDEN
Hunched down and moving fast, Evander and I arrive in the tearoom, following the direction of the footsteps one floor above.
We melt into the shadows, feeling our way along new fissures in the old walls, spidering out like veins from the parquet to the stamped gold tiles of the ceiling. The portraits of dead Hegemonys, including our fathers, watch wordlessly as we arrive in a crouch beneath the bay windows that bracket the doors looking out onto the garden.
They’re paned in a diamond pattern, and leaden—the dominant style within the manor. With any luck, the repeating shapes and the natural shadows from the ceiling created by the terrace above will provide us enough cover for a good view.
Gripping the sill, I slowly rise until only the top of my head and my eyes are exposed to the glass. Evander and his giant-ass shoulders are wedged in next to me.
To my far right, the long dinner table and debris therein. To the left of the table is Ursula’s shroud… which doesn’t look right. It’s misshapen, anemic somehow. Like it was dropped and damaged.
Scanning farther left, I see why.
My breath catches in a gasp at the exact same moment Evander hisses, “Fuck.”
There, standing as tall and imposing as she did every day of her life, is Ursula Hegemony.
The woman who was our grandmother is facing away from us, hands open at her sides—loose, supple, ready to draw her magic. From this angle the blood staining her temple, matting her hair, splattered down her neck and onto her dress is unmistakable. Itwasn’t the blow that ended her life, but it was the last chance she had to shed blood as a living being.
Next to her, Hector and Sanguine Cerise huddle, as inseparable as they were in life, basically overlapped. From behind, their kill-shot wounds aren’t obvious, but big, bold arterial blood stains every one of their fingers, a threat, a sign.
Death magic.
I didn’t know it could do this. Amplify their magic through a corpse? Yes. Manipulate a body? Yes. Animate it? Okay, why not? But if these particular people are animated it’s for one reason only…
To use their magic.
Magic dies with the witch, yes. But if a living witch is powerful enough to wake them from the dead, she’s powerful enough to wake their magic with her own. Marsyas isn’t just animating three corpses, she’s going to conduct her magicthroughthem.
They’re marionettes with all the powers each had in life.
As if waiting at attention for orders from their general, all three corpses stare ahead.
Ruby and Wren are still magically imprisoned, and at the apex between them, hands thrown wide like an orchestra conductor and face split with a knife’s-edge smile, is Marsyas Blackgate, in the flesh.
Movement from the left.
A figure steps beyond the staircase banister and into view.
I should’ve guessed. I should’ve known. Maybe deep down I did—because this time I don’t gasp when I see a dead womanwalkingtoward Marsyas.
Luna Starwood.
Free of her shroud and trailing white linen, Luna is gaining ground much faster than I’d ever seen in life. Her usual careful advance isn’t supported by another human, and it’s been sped to a run. She ambles forward like a touched-down tornado, bobbing and weaving with such uncontrolled care that I expect her to fall into a shattered heap, wheels still spinning like a car overturned.
She hurtles toward Marsyas as if called.
