Page 20 of The Lies We Conjure
“Would you like to get a better look?” I ask, mildly perturbed but not surprised.
The Cerise patriarch straightens and smooths a hand over the front of his perfectly shellacked hair. It doesn’t move. “No, no. It seems legitimate.”
As if I could fake what is about to come next.
I set the will back flat on the desk, right in the center, where no one’s view will be blocked by Ursula’s plants. The oil task lamp steadily illuminates the page’s contents as I place my right palmon it, my thumb aligned to match with the print I left in Ursula’s blood when she told me of my role and presented me with the key.
A warmth seeps into my hand and the letters of Ursula’s name shimmer. Then, with a glint of jade light and yawning motion, the letters begin slithering like a single snake untangling to reveal it was a nest of asps all along. The mass writhes and wriggles until what was once Ursula’s signature unravels into lines of text upon the page.
Hundreds of words, maybe, all in the same handwriting as before but in a much smaller scrawl. Her signature has reappeared at the bottom, my much less ornate one below it, as executor.
I remove my hand, and, for the second time tonight, Ursula’s voice floods into our ears—from the grave, from the recent past.
“I, Ursula Elvire Muscatel Hegemony, High Sorcerer of the Four Lines, have produced this last will and testament while of sound mind, body, and magic.”
The announcement booms around us, as if the sound waves feed off the fire-warmed air, our awed bodies, the vaulted ceiling of her favorite room in the mansion that had been her lifelong home.
The roaring in my ears subsides to an eerie calm encasing nothing but her words. A chill spreads up my neck. I notice now that this room smells of her, like the mountain wind and new rain. Soil, and verdant life, and the leather and paper of her beloved books.
I close my eyes and focus on the sound.
The words. Her instructions. The last time I will hear her voice.
“In accordance with tradition and magical law, more than one iteration of this last will and testament was written in my hand. Per the particulars of this document’s spell, the executor of my estate, Auden Emerson Hughes Hegemony, will verbally confirm my cause of death as one of the following: natural, accidental, or foul play resulting in murder.”
That word again.
Murder.
As painful as the first time. Perhaps worse. The horror of it grows at the drop-dead period in her pause, building to a chasm over ourheads. The crushing weight of it seems to lead the assembled crowd forward, bending them toward the desk like a thread of gravitational pull has split from the earth and is contained in this single sheet of paper.
I swallow. “I confirm the cause of death as foul play resulting in murder.”
The page shimmers yet again and the words grow sharper with this confirmation, each sweep and slash crisping up into focus.
“In the case of my murder, this last will and testament must be read before High Family representatives of each line. If all representatives are present, Auden Emerson Hughes Hegemony will verbally confirm their attendance.”
As I draw in a breath to answer, Evander’s fingers brush my elbow. I know his concern—Marsyas’s absence. But it’s not incorrect to state that the Blackgates have a representative. They have two, even if they’re both underage.
“I confirm that High Family representatives from all four lines are in attendance. Evander Hegemony of the Elemental Line; Hector Cerise of the Blood Line; Luna Starwood of the Celestial Line; Lavinia Blackgate of the Death Line.”
In my periphery, I note the Blackgates exchanging horrified glances. Lavinia is the oldest and therefore the de facto leader of the Death Line, even if she’s not yet oathed as an heir. She should know this.
“With this confirmation, I require each High Family representative to stamp this page with a thumbprint in their blood to seal the magic to each of the Four Lines.”
I return to the drawer that held the will and retrieve four quills, each sharpened to a razor’s edge at the tip. “Representatives, please come forward and add your print to the bottom of the page.”
Hector approaches first, eager as always to adhere to Ursula’s instructions, even in death. He’s pricked his thumb and added his print before Luna has even stood up from her chair. He skids out of the way, leaving room for the Starwood matriarch to add her thumbprint with Infinity’s support.
“Can’t believe I’m the one doing this for you, Ursa,” Luna mutters with a sigh that wracks her entire body as she jabs her thumb as hard as she can next to Hector’s print. “Should’ve been the other way around, you insufferable battle-ax.”
A tear falls in a rolling track down Luna’s weathered ebony cheek. With a sniff, she ignores it and turns away.
Lavinia hesitates as Infinity guides Luna back to her chair.
“Go ahead,” Evander instructs. “It’s tradition for a family member to be last.”
More timid than I’d expect, Lavinia swallows hard before finally stepping forward to the desk and the will, spun around to face her instead of me. She stares down at the paper, clean save for the lines of magic inked and four thumbprints.
