Milo turned to me. He’d been lost in his academic reverie, his gaze had drifted far away, literally and metaphorically. “I couldn’t possibly claim to know more than generations of scholars were able to reason out—”
“Best guess.”
He watched me for a moment, curious, then he spoke. “I think that the oldest ideas, more often than not, are the right ones. At least, where topics such as the creation of the Trials are concerned. It stands to reason that people closest to the events themselves would know the most about them. And, though it’s been over a thousand years since the last candidate made it through all ten Trials, there’s at least one thing about the original belief that has always been mentioned in every story, every article, every tome of ancient knowledge since the dawn of the Trials themselves.”
“What’s that?”
He gave me a strange look, as if I’d asked the oddest question and he couldn’t quite figure out why. When he did answer, it was with the tone of someone who felt he was disclosing information that was already known.
“That no one ever comes back from the tenth Trial, of course.”
My blood ran cold. My lips parted in surprise, my eyes wide.
“Oh, you didn’t…I thought you knew.” Milo's face turned as white as porcelain. “I assumed they’d told you.”
I bolted to my feet.
“Adrian—”
I hardly heard him as I stormed from the library in search of the man responsible. Servants jumped out of my way, clashing serving trays against the wall or dropping them to the floor. Bria encountered me in my pursuit. She frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but I stormed right past her.
I found him in his study, staring placidly down at one of his ancient books without a care in the world.
“Liar,” I growled. It was the only thing my enraged mind could conjure up.
Cosmo looked up at me, languidly, brows rising in bored recognition.
“Excuse me?” he drawled.
I marched up to his desk. “You lied to me.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.” He spread his hands wide and leaned back in his seat.
I wanted to throttle him. I wanted to reach across this desk and use my tremendous strength to crush his feeble old windpipe. Instead, I clenched my fists at my sides, shaking with rage.
“No one comes back,” I spoke through gritted teeth. “No one has ever come back from the tenth Trial. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you have competed so fervently if I had?” he asked simply. I opened my mouth to scream at him, but he continued before I could. “I told you when we first met, Adrian. I was honest with you up front. My grandson’s success is hinged upon your own, and I would do anything to see my family elevated by these Trials.”
“Does he know?” I spat. “Does Dante know we don’t come back?”
“He’s put it together, I assume. Why else do you think I haven’t pushed either of you to end this betrothal and marry already? There would be no sense in drawing out the engagement, in waiting to see you bonded in matrimony. But with every success, breeding becomes less and less likely as neither of you will be around to create an heir in the end.”
“You—”
“You were a child, Adrian. Twenty-one years old, yes, but your entire world was narrowed down to a few family members and friends who knew nothing more than serving those above them and grumbling about it at home. You didn’t know what was at stake. You still don’t. But at least your world is bigger now. At least you understand what the Trials can do for you, what they can give you.”
“And what’s that?”
He frowned, as if he couldn’t comprehend why I would need to ask such a question to begin with.
“You don’t know, any more than anyone else, what happens to those who make it to the tenth Trial,” I reminded him, seething. "But you’re willing to sacrifice your own grandson if it means you get to say you’re better than the other major houses, that you get to barter away your other grandchildren and great grandchildren into matches that will bring your house some supposed glory for generations to come. But it’s a glory you don’t know, a glory you don’t even understand. Because you perceive the Trials to be definitive proof of worth. But the gods are playing you, Cosmo. Perhaps even more so than anyone else in Sanctuary. The Geist are tricking you into forfeiting that which you hold most dear, only to hold up a mirror to your greed, your vanity, your pride. And you’re still so foolish, you can’t even see it.”
He blinked at me, stunned and, for the first time since I’d known the patriarch of House Viper, speechless.
“The Trials mean nothing,” I spat. “The Geist are dead. And you’re a foolish old man still desperately seeking validation from gods who’ve forsaken you.”
“Why you ungrateful little—” He rounded his desk, storming toward me in red hot fury.
