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I watch, unmoving, unable to do anything to stop her, as she cuts the thread of my life.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The first time my godfather had me curse someone on his behalf, I made myself watch what happened to my victim. I was thirteen and felt bigger than I was. Now I can see it—the smaller version of me so furious, so devastated by the death of her father that she couldn’t fathom a world where she was not invincible. He didn’t survive. So I would.

There was no one left to protect me.

Of course I had to protect myself.

I vomited the first time I killed someone. I don’t anymore.

Death has become an all-too-familiar thing, but now it feels closer than ever, nipping at my heels. By the end of the night—that’s what she said. I don’t want to believe it, don’t want to think about it. So I cling to my heartlessness once again, rely on that part of me that is able to crush all anxieties, and focus.

I have hours left. And I won’t waste them. I need to find Galvin.

The halls are empty as I search. I’ve barely seen other students since the beginning of the first trial, and I don’t know what to make of it. A hopeful part of me thinks others might’ve found a hiding place, or better yet, a way out of the school and away from the Ridding. But my pessimistic streak says something darker is more likely.

Galvin isn’t difficult to find. My heart is pulled toward him as if on a string, and I wonder if it’s one of the traits of bloodmates. I can sense him, distinct from any other.

He’s sitting on the top step of the grand staircase in the Founders Hall, reclining against the spokes of the railing, a plate in his hand. It’s cake. He cuts into the white sponge with all the refinement of a prince, one leg crossed over the other as he quietly enjoys himself.

And at his feet is a body.

I don’t know her. She looks to be about thirteen, curled chestnut hair tied behind her head with a ribbon. Her soft pink dress is swirled around her legs like the petals of a flower. Her skin is bone white, and her neck is smeared with blood. He didn’t turn her—he drained her.

And now, he’s eating cake.

“If you’re open to suggestions,” he says, “I find the girls taste better.”

Like he’s suggesting what wine to pair with dinner. I want to puke. But of course there’s another feeling too. I can smell the metallic scent of blood even from where I stop at the bottom of the stairs, and the hunger reignites. My throat feels raw. My skin feels clammy and weak. Everything in me demands the hunt.

And he did it so easily. So casually.

I take a deep breath, carefully so that he doesn’t notice, as I ascend the steps and do my best to look unbothered by the presence of the girl.

“Lonan?” Galvin asks, not looking up from his cake.

“I . . . lost control of my appetite.” Better that he thinks his brother dead. Even as a siphon, I doubt Galvin would want Lonan alive.

He scans me. “You look awfully clean for just having eaten.”

I look down at my dress. The white fabric is now thoroughly torn and stained. But apparently not to the degree Galvin expects. “Your uniform is barely touched as well,” I point out. He looks as clean and elegant as he did when he first entered the feast. More so, actually, given that he was covered in rain then.

Galvin shrugs. “Once you’re used to this state, you learn some table manners. I no longer make a mess of myself when I eat. Her, however . . .” He points with his fork to the girl’s mutilated neck. He laughs, like he’s made some terribly clever joke, and slices into the cake again. “But, ordinarily, the first time, a siphon is far too hungry to restrain themselves. I looked grotesque after I bled my first victim.” His nose wrinkles at the thought.

“How long have you been like this?” I ask, careful to sound casually interested. Resigned, defeated, submissive, his—that is the performance I’m giving.

“Not long. A fortnight possibly.” He sets the plate down beside him. “Time becomes funny in this state, Vesper. You’ll see. When you have eternity ahead of you, it makes it difficult to count the hours.”

I sit down on the steps beside the girl’s feet, careful not to touch her. “How did it happen?”

“I was part of a delegation to Baquesia, the eastern kingdom, sent by my father,” he says. “I know you probably don’t hear much of politics. Gossemort is its own world. But the relationship with the eastern kingdom has been strained. They were the last neutral territory on the continent in our war against the Dark. We used to be allied with Aragoa, you know. But then they fell to that wretched curse.” He shakes his head. “The eastern kingdom keeps to itself. We were hoping to sway it toward an alliance, but we never made it to the Baquesian court. We were attacked on the road.”

“Bandits?” I ask, wrapping my tone in sympathy. If I know anything of pompous men, of weak men, it’s that they will not question an expression of sympathy. They’ll lap it up, unable to help themselves.

Galvin nods solemnly. “In the thick of the wood. I was taken captive. I was able to escape the bandits in the night by going off the road. But then I was lost to the forest.”

Don’t go in the forest. That’s what my father taught me. Even as far east as Baquesia, strange things lurk there.