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With that, his laugh is a roar. “You too? Zeph is always on me, swearing he can hear it. You two are the only ones, I swear!”
That knowledge threatens to warm my heart a little more toward Zeph.
Composing himself, Loris looks at me again, his eyes searching my face for something. “Did Zeph tell you my theory about you?” I wrinkle my nose. “I thought not.” He clears his throat and finishes his wine before swiftly gesturing for another glass.
“I don’t think you’re a vessel of the Gods, Viola. I think you are one.”
I spit my wine directly into his face.
“Oh shit, fuck I’m so sorry,” I stammer, looking around for a napkin to help him clean his face.
His smile is wide despite the red wine dangerously close to dripping on his white shirt. “No worries whatsoever, Viola. I should’ve waited until you swallowed to tell you I think you’re a God.”
That word again. If no one ever mentions Gods to me again, it will be too soon. “Why in the world would you possibly think that Loris?”
His bony shoulders raise in a shrug. “Many things about you do not add up to a vessel. A vessel is a conduit for the Gods to channel their power from this world into themselves to pull themselves back to this world.” His words track with everything I’ve been told from both Mace and Zeph these past few days.
“A conduit, not a source of power themselves.” He continues, his face blank and unemotional as he swirls his finger around the top of his glass. “And you are not just any source of power. You are more powerful than any I have seen before.”
My head shakes from side to side before he finishes his sentence. “Of course, I have power. I am the concentration of all the Winter magic that has had nowhere to go until me.”
“No, Viola, don’t you see. A conduit pulls the magic from the world, acting as a channel for the God to access magic they otherwise couldn’t. You do not have power. You ARE power.”
I rise to my feet, shaking my head. “I cannot with all of the men in this city!” I snarl. “All of you want something different of me. Not once has anyone asked me what I want! Who I am! I am sick and tired of it.” I lean into his face, my lips curl as I push a finger into his chest. “I am Viola Mistflow. I am not your God, your vessel, your Seasonale. I am just me.”
For his part, Loris takes my outburst well, unflinching in the face of my aggression. “Viola, do you want to know what killed Max?”
I drop to my seat silently, the fight deflated from me at the mention of her name as a lump forms in my chest. “She… fell. She was climbing the rocks, lost her hold, and fell,” I say clinically, fighting a losing battle to keep the emotion from my voice. Loris bobs his head, the bird-like motion a humorous foil to the deadly calm of this conversation.
“That’s what it looks like, yeah. But tell me, did you two make a pact? A promise, maybe?”
The words come back to me, clear as if Max was in front of me, drinking mead and grasping my hands in the shack I grew up in.
“You know what, Max? Promise me that we will do this together. We run this year’s Race, we make it to the arena, and we live our lives in Ytopie, leaving all of this behind us.”
My words ring in my ears, pushing hot, guilty tears to my eyes. I gulp back a sob and answer Loris with only my eyes.
“Himureal had blood magic. Part of blood magic is soul binding. It’s a type of curse. You can tie someone to your words. Essentially, they give you their lifeforce until they fulfill the bargain.”
I shake my head, desperately trying to stop the words I know will come next.
“When you made that promise with Max, you inadvertently bound her soul. She was cursed to fulfill that promise. As she started considering breaking from you and Tulip, she became sicker and more irritable. I watched it through the connection, Viola. Her body was revolting at her attempt to break the curse.”
Tears are falling down my cheeks now, silent pathways leading directly to my guilty heart.
“When she finally committed to breaking that promise, she fell to her death.”
A choked sob escapes my lips, and my hands furiously tap on the table, but the familiar gesture does nothing to ease the devastating blow Loris has dealt me.
“I need you to know it is not your fault, Viola,” he whispers, leaning closer to me.
“How could it not be my fault? I cursed her!”
He shakes his head, the thin points of his hair swaying with the motion. “All records of Winter magic say that to bind a soul, an incantation and offering of blood must be used. There is only one instance in the annals that does not require that.” Confusion joins the guilt that consumes my body. He sees it and continues without pause.
“Himureal could bind souls with just a promise, Viola.”
I feel ill. The room is spinning, and I feel myself slumping in my seat.
