Immortal Consequences(102)
“You know…you can talk to me about these things.” She placed her hand upon his. “I know what it’s like to lose someone. To live with that gaping hole in your chest…that broken feeling that never really goes away. Some days I wake up so angry…it scares me. How could one person hold so much anger?” His fingers had begun to tremble, but she didn’t let go. She only held on tighter. “I know you want to run from it, to pretend it doesn’t exist…but that won’t make it go away, August. Grief isn’t the villain. It just wants to help you remember that despite losing someone, despite the sadness and heartache and pain…there was also once love.”
The silence rang out between them as August inhaled a long and quivering breath. She hoped it would be enough, that it would be the final push. But then he simply slipped his hand away from hers. As if her words had meant nothing. As if she meant nothing.
When he spoke, his voice was a cold and empty sound.
“What do you want from me, Loughty?”
Each word was like a slap in the face. A bitter, cruel reminder of what she had always been too afraid to accept. This was who Augustine Hughes really was. He was cruel. Cold. The monster of Blackwood. And maybe it was simply time she accepted that there was no changing him.
She cleared her throat and swallowed the tears threatening to escape. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
“I need you to come back to the ball with me.”
He grimaced as he stood up. “I really can’t stomach another second of it.”
“Well, you don’t have much of a choice,” Wren said curtly. “I told Masika about the eliminated nominees. We’re going to regroup with the others and try to figure out who’s responsible for—”
“I don’t believe that will be necessary.”
They hadn’t heard him enter. Nothing. Not a sound. Not until he had spoken, his voice reverberating in the air, deep and menacing.
Headmaster Silas stood at the center of the main hall, directly between the pews. The dark cloak strewn over his shoulders made him appear less human and more like a specter, like a phantom swathed in shadows.
“Headmaster Silas.” Wren’s voice shook with apprehension. “I’m sorry. We were…were just about to go back to the ball. August needed some air, and I—”
“Did you not find it odd that we were willing to change a tradition carved into the very seams of the afterlife?” Silas began to walk forward, his boots pounding the floorboards. “That we would simply forgo that sacred process without a second thought? I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised…everybody thinks they’re special, don’t they? That they truly are unprecedented.”
Next to her, August tensed. He took a step forward, protectively angling his arm in front of her.
“I’m sorry, Headmaster.” Wren shook her head. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”
“What if I told you that we hadn’t changed tradition?” Silas dragged the edge of his walking stick against the floor, a horrible scraping sound piercing the air. “That the truth is…every Decennial has been a competition. Every Decennial has always involved twelve nominees. Twelve students competing. And that only one of them has ever returned to claim their rightful place among the Ascended.”
“That’s…impossible,” Wren choked out. “We would—we would know that. We would—”
“Psyche magic can be quite a powerful thing.” Silas broke out into a sinister smile. “I know students can access a tiny fraction of it, but if accessed in its full power…some say it’s the most dangerous magic of all. It can make you believe things that were never true. Make you see things that were never there. It can make you forget things…forget people.”
The realization sank into Wren’s chest and spilled through her like an unforgiving tide.
“It was you,” she whispered, unable to hide the terror in her voice. “You erased the eliminated nominees from everyone’s memories.”
Silas took another step forward, but this time, August moved with him. He darted forward, planting himself in front of Wren, separating her from Silas. Bright flames burst from his exposed fingertips, traveling up his forearms. Wren could feel the heat radiating from his body. The fury burning in his eyes.
“Don’t…” His voice was practically a growl. “Not another step.”
“Of course, Mr. Hughes.” Silas lifted his hands in feigned innocence. “I have no intention of harming either of you. In fact, I am still quite fond of your dear Wren. She is a remarkable student and a fearsome competitor.”
“Explain yourself,” Wren demanded, pushing August out of the way. She didn’t need him defending her—especially not after he had completely disregarded her only moments earlier.
“Of course. As you wish.” Silas slowly slipped his leather gloves off as he spoke. “It’s quite simple. Every Decennial I make the same announcement. I make the surprising revelation that the sacred Decennial Festival has been made into a competition. And as the trials go on, I wipe the eliminated students from everybody’s memory. You forget they ever existed. Each and every one of them. And all you remember is the winner…the nominee.”
A sharp ringing echoed in Wren’s ears. She fought against the panic, willing her face to remain neutral.