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Or cursed.

Oh Saints, of course. This is Dark magic. Something nefarious is happening. I need to get to my godfather, find Lonan.

I take a step toward Lord Van Asten.

“Stay where you are,” Galvin commands. His voice is louder and clearer than it was a moment before. “No one move. I am your prince!” He takes another shaky breath, and then a sick smile spreads on his face. “As I was saying, tonight is special. Tonight, Gossemort will host a little game. First, I must insist that, lovely as they are, you all remove your masks.”

There are glances around the room, but everyone seems hesitant to remove their disguises.

“I said remove them!” Galvin barks. His audience obeys out of fear.

“That’s better,” he says pleasantly. “Now, the test. The crown needs meiga soldiers. It’s why you’re all here, why you train for seven years to serve your country in our fight against Imaelhain.

“But word has reached the crown of your lack of preparation for what’s really out there. On the front, our armies face Dark forces of extraordinary evil, the sort that has scarcely been imagined before—an evil that can raze villages and wipe out armies in moments. The soldiers call it the Great Nightmare.” Galvin’s eyes scan the crowd solemnly. “You are ill-prepared. And the worst thing you will face in war is not violence—it is temptation. Each and every one of you is elite, honed, deadly . . . But are you loyal?”

What does that mean?

Galvin’s eyes cut through the crowd like a knife. “Gault is the sanctuary of the Light. It is very important to my father, King Marcel, that Gault’s meigas understand what it means to be loyal to the Light, to resist the Dark. So tonight we will test your mettle. If you are loyal to the Light, you have nothing to fear. But should you waver . . .” He laughs quietly and his tongue passes over his teeth again. I feel sick. I reach behind me, put my hands on my scythe just to feel its reassuring texture. “Should you waver, you will be disposed of.”

Disposed of? Does that mean . . .

“This test was once used on all magic-wielding citizens of Gault. Grotesque, they called it. Uncivilized. But I say different. I say that the real test of a meiga is their loyalty to the Light, and that all those who cannot pass deserve their fate. Aptly, they called this test the Ridding.”

Galvin descends the steps as he continues to speak, his hands clasped behind his back. Students back away from him as he nears. “The rules are simple. There will be three trials, orchestrated by the matron Saints of Gossemort themselves, the spirits who guard this school. Your job is merely to survive. Simple enough.”

He stops directly beneath the great chandelier. In a slow circle, he turns, searching us, reading us like he can discern the purity of our souls.

“I will leave the test to you. My role is to commence the Ridding. Once the test begins, I will act as an officiant. My greatest and first task is this—I will awaken the spirits of Gossemort. What happens after is up to you.” He tilts his head and smiles like a predator. “And I apologize for this first bit. Truly, it can’t be helped. Because, you see, there is only one way to awaken the sleeping spirits of this school. And that is with blood.”

What happens next happens so quickly that my mind struggles to keep up. Galvin’s hand whips out and grabs a nearby student by the hair. She’s younger—no older than fourteen. He pulls her to himself, and at first I think he’s kissing her. I wonder momentarily if a girl with a normal heart would be jealous. Then I see the blood.

She screams. It’s a terrible sound, like the sharp squeal of a rabbit in the jaws of a fox. It rattles the whole room until a moment later, when her voice is abruptly cut off with a choke and a gurgle. Galvin drops her to the floor. Her eyes are wide and still. There is a chunk the size of a pomegranate missing from her neck. I stare at the student in shock as blood soaks into her pale blue dress.

Then Galvin turns his head slowly, eyes of pearly white scanning the crowd while blood drips from his lips, down his chin, and along the column of his throat in dark rivers. He licks his lips. And smiles. And then charges.

There is nothing but movement. Students stampede, many drawing their Light anchors, others forgetting all of their training as they scream and run for the exits. Some fall to the floor and are trampled. I search the crowd for my godfather, but I can’t find him.

My scythe is in my hands, and that moment of clarity washes through me. This is the benefit of a broken heart. I do not panic. Instead, I pull on the magic in the air, in the marble stone beneath my feet, in the flickering candlelight. My scythe glows lavender. And then Galvin’s eyes meet mine.

This is not the man I kissed.

His eyes are stark white. His lips are covered in gleaming blood. He smiles. And then he marches toward me.

I grip my scythe in both hands, ready. I will not back down. I will not falter. I have faced the Dark and lived. Whatever this is, I will face it too.

I am so focused that I don’t notice the shadows winding their way around my ankles. I catch Galvin’s gaze through the crowd. I can’t tell if he recognizes me as he bares his teeth, two elongated canines jutting down to scalpel-like points. He rushes me, and I raise my scythe, prepared to strike him down.

And then the Darkness shrouds me.

It’s like being caught in the eye of a storm. Shadows swirl all around, agitated and threatening. And then I feel breath on my ear. “Fontaine,” murmurs Lonan. “I see you’ve met my brother.”

Chapter Ten

Iam covered in Darkness. Lonan tries to drag me away by the arm, but I jerk back.

“What are you doing?” I demand. “We need to help—we have to fight.” We were trained for this. We need to find the others. Our cohort works best as a team.

But Lonan scowls at me. “There’s no time for this.”