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His eyes meet mine. A muscle in his jaw flexes. “The Ridding wants secrets. Fine. Here are my secrets. Lord Van Asten, your godfather, this school’s headmaster, is the King of Imaelhain.”

My stomach drops.

The momentary silence is deafening.

And then I laugh. “That’s impossible.” He’s a lord of Gault. He has a seat in the Eldership. His family has stewarded a province of Gault for centuries. And no one fights harder for the Light.

It’s a lie. It’s a lie, and the Ridding will detect it. But the teeth begin to retreat, the paint curling back.

“It’s true,” Lonan says, holding my gaze. It’s impossible. Impossible. And yet . . . no one knows who rules Imaelhain. It’s a kingdom of mystery—a once wild territory that abruptly rose to devastating power with Dark magic and waged war on the Illuminated Kingdom. And my godfather, though good, though headmaster of Gossemort and an Elder of Gault, has never truly hated the Dark . . .

“Traitor,” Galvin seethes with even more vehemence than before. “So this is your plan—you’ve been corrupting this school, poisoning Gault’s forces before they’re mature enough to see through your lies, enticing them to the Dark—”

“I have no qualms with the Light,” Lonan says calmly. “But I am no enemy of the Dark. The division of magic, separating them—that’s true treachery. The King of Gault is the one poisoning it, and as for me, I will stand in the in-between. I will bear the Dark and the Light, as it was always meant to be.”

The teeth thrashing around him are instantly swallowed in the pool of paint. The liquid seeps into the floor as Lonan looks down on Galvin with utter disdain.

There are two paintings remaining, but Galvin is so focused on Lonan, on hating him with every breath, that he doesn’t see the portrait leering over him. A man with deep brown skin and the twin streaks of white working up into his hair stares menacingly down at Galvin, smiles, and begins to melt. The paint washes toward him, vicious little teeth leaping like fish through the fluid, hungrily snapping toward him.

“I’m not meant to be a part of this,” Galvin argues. “This is a test for the students of Gossemort.”

“It doesn’t seem like the school agrees,” Lonan says. “Better bare your truth quickly, brother.”

Galvin is shaking, in rage, in fear. He’s lost control, and he hates it. My chest burns with satisfaction as his face pales and the teeth gnash closer to him. “This is my duty! I’m here for Gault! I’m here for my bloodmate!”

He looks imploringly at me, as though I’ll help him. Instead I smile with all the sweetness and malice in my vicious, broken heart.

“Fine!” he shouts. “Fine, I am here to purge the school. I also . . . I hate my brother. He threatens my right to the throne.”

The paint does not slow down. “There’s that inadequacy I always knew was lurking,” Lonan says. “Out with it. We’d hate for the spirits of the school to eat you alive.”

Galvin bares his teeth, eyes wide in fear as the paint rolls closer. “My brother wields so much magic—Dark and Light. And he misuses it. Why was I not given magic? Why was I not trusted . . .”

“Is that why you became a siphon?” Lonan sneers. “You needed to feel powerful?”

“You don’t know what it’s like!” Galvin shouts with so much vehemence a chill passes down my spine. “You don’t know what it’s like to bear the expectations of the throne, and be helpless against the Dark, against you.”

The paint slows its crawl, but it does not stop. The room rings with silence, all of us too afraid to say anything. Until . . .

“How do you kill a siphon?” I whisper.

It was the question Lonan sent me back into Galvin’s arms to hunt down. Galvin stands upright, his poise and sanity returning for a moment as he observes me. He no longer looks furious or monstrous. He’s now a prince again. He looks at me sadly, with the eyes of a scorned lover, a rejected bloodmate. “So that is your purpose?” he whispers. “That’s what you’re after. You hate me that much, Vesper?”

I swallow, and despite the tether between us, despite yearning for belonging, for this path that would lead to forever in the arms of the person I’m destined for, I say, “I hate tyrants.”

Galvin’s face hardens. The paint seeps toward his legs, and the teeth begin to gnash at his pants, his legs. He grits his teeth as they tear into his skin, clenching his fists against the pain. He refuses to tell the truth, even as flesh is torn from his bones, as blood flows into the pool of paint, until finally, red-faced and dizzy from pain, he relents.

“If you seek to kill me,” he says weakly, “you will need a stake of pure silver.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Galvin is released, and in moments, he is on Lonan. He bares his fangs with his hand wrapped around Lonan’s throat. Lonan’s sword flares red as he uses it to shove back against Galvin. I rush forward, my scythe in hand. It can’t kill Galvin, but I use it to push in between them, pinning Galvin to the wall. He tears at me, eyes consumed with white, the monster inside taking over.

“You will die for the blood you’ve spilled tonight,” Lonan promises, standing behind me.

Saints, I wish he would back away. This close, with adrenaline flooding my system, the scent of him is almost too much to ignore. The room is full of blood, and now that I’m no longer facing the trial, the demand of my thirst rises to the surface, demanding my attention.

Galvin grins and hisses like a cat, pearlescent eyes burning. We could trap him, hold him captive until we find a silver stake to end this madness. I turn to the others, only to see that Poppy is still struggling against the floorboards.