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The words echo off the walls, jarring me. It is the voice again—the threefold echo of the Sisters. “You have survived chaos, the first trial. Now, you will face the trial of obfuscation. The Dark hides. The Light reveals. Take care what secrets you keep and what lies you endeavor to uncover. And remember, nothing is more dangerous than the truth.”

Silence follows the spirits’ declaration. Galvin is still pinned beneath me, and he begins to chuckle. “Secrets,” he says. “Why don’t we start the trial with a secret of yours, Vesper? Have you told your friends how you got that little cut on your lip?”

My stomach sinks. I’d hoped it was nothing. I hadn’t changed like Poppy had. I’d told myself that the venom missed me.

“I’m your sire,” says Galvin. “You’re under my command. You turn when I say you turn, and you hunt when I say you hunt.”

His eyes swirl white, that milkiness obscuring blue. There is a squeezing in my chest, pressure around the remains of my heart, and a strange burning sensation floods my brain.

And all around us, the bell of the clocktower begins to ring, resounding through the air and stone and rubble.

My thoughts turn hazy. My vision goes white. In the last moments before I’m lost, while the clock strikes midnight, I reach for him. I grab Lonan by the hand, and I beg him to run.

“Vesper,” Galvin growls, “hunt.”

Midnight

LONAN

It has never been easy to keep my Darkness in check. Vesper has always had to reach for it, mining it out of her soul like a deeply buried diamond.

I am not like that. My Darkness is an ocean, my Light a seafaring vessel that struggles to keep afloat on waves that constantly threaten to capsize it. The control it demands is taxing. Tonight, the exhaustion might break me.

Temptation to become the Nightmare is everywhere. The Ridding is for me—I know that. The moment Galvin appeared, I knew that the crown suspected I was the Nightmare they fight. They found me. My existence is Gault’s greatest blunder, an embarrassment they seek to rectify.

But no moment has more threatened to shatter my self-control than this—when she kissed me, when I witnessed the full extent of her glorious terrible Dark, and when she placed her hand in mine.

The tumultuous waters of my soul surge with everything Gault despises—passion, feeling, love, chaos, destruction. It overwhelms me, and I become the Darkness. I am a Nightmare, but I am her Nightmare.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I’ve never known hunger like this.

My throat is dry as ash. But my thoughts—for once they’re simple. There is no balance between Light and Dark, no worry about my friends or my godfather. There is an ease in that. My existence is distilled to one need—blood.

I hear Galvin’s laugh echo behind me as I chase after Lonan. He sprints down a staircase, crimson sword aglow in his hand as he runs from me.

Good.

Something about this new state likes the chase. I tear after him, and saliva collects in my mouth as I run my tongue over new, sharper, sleeker teeth. All I can think of is the exposed strip of skin on the back of his neck and how delicious it would be to sink my teeth into him.

I want him. I want him. How could I not see it before? How could I so easily bury the thing that has burned in me for years. All that bickering, all that strife . . . all because he was something I couldn’t have, like I was a child being denied dessert. That smile, that cunning, that careful elegance—I’ll devour him.

He is fast, but I’m faster. I have new speed, new strength. I love it. I’ll never feel weak again, never be helpless again. I could do anything, defeat anyone. I’ll rip through Imaelhain’s forces. I’ll avenge my father. I’ll create an army of my kind. And I’ll start with Lonan.

We’re on the ground floor now. I’m gaining on him. He sprints down a straight hall, arms pumping as he runs for his life, and pleasure bursts through me as I gain on him. Lonan tears through a door I know well—the great arched doors of the chapel, their heavy wood carved with the faces of Saints.

Stupid boy. He has nowhere to go. I’ve got him.

I fly through the doors behind him with such force that they crash against the walls, their hinges creaking angrily. And then—nothing. Silence.

The chapel appears empty, its pews bathed in shadow, its altar illuminated by a few candles left burning in the night. The faces of the Sisters loom down at me from the circular stained glass above the apse. I don’t want to think about them, or about the stitching still marring my skin beneath the bodice of my dress. I swore an oath. This was my fate, the deal I made with Saint Nona. Of all the destinies, it’s not the one I imagined.

“Lonan,” I sing as I pass the rows. “Come on out, darling. Let’s spar.”

Still silence.

“You know I can scent you—your blood. I know you’re here.” It’s true—the aroma of his blood permeates the room, filling my head with a pleasant buzz. It’s a woody, dark scent with a hint of something sharp. It suits him. Saints, I need him. I need him now.