“How was your day?” the Demien asked now, eyes still glued to the pages of his journal.
Irene let out a snort, slamming the door closed with a flick of her wrist. “Riveting.”
She stalked across her room and paused by the arched window overlooking the grounds. The dormitories of Blackwood Academy loomed in the distance, a sprawling maze of pointed towers and stained-glass windows. Late afternoon gave way to the familiar silver glow of night, mist coiling around the ground in thin rivulets, welcoming the haze of dusk. Far across the other side of campus lay Ivory House, the dormitory Irene had once called home. She could barely see it from where she stood now, a dark and foreboding skeleton wrapped in a web of vines, but even so…she missed it.
Though it had been weeks since Irene had been forced to move out of Ivory House and into her new room within the Ascended Quarters, she still hadn’t entirely settled in. Perhaps she could admit that it wasn’t Ivory House she missed, but something else.
Someoneelse.
A memory sliced through her mind, sharp and sudden.
Masika staring back at her in the clearing. The disbelief in her eyes as Irene turned away from her and tore their friendship in two.
Irene flinched as the present came rushing back in. Thinking back on what had happened was useless. She couldn’t change what fate had already carved into stone. Masika, her only friend—if she could even call her that anymore—had gone missing after the third Decennial trial, buried under rubble and devoured by rock and ice. And after nearly two weeks of searching, two weeks of scouring the outskirts of purgatory, her body had yet to be found.
None of them had been found.
Wren. August. Emilio. Olivier. Masika. All of them—gone. As though their souls had been obliterated, sucked out of existence. They should have been marked as sacrifices for the Ether’s insatiable hunger, just like the other six eliminated nominees, but they had disappeared at the end of the final trial.
Grief prickled at Irene’s chest as she thought back on the other unlucky nominees. Nick. Liza. Georgia. Carter. Jocelyn. Tristan. All of them devoured by the Ether. But even with their sacrifice, it wasn’t enough. There should have beenelevensouls sacrificed. Irene could feel the Ether’s discontent with every breath, the gaping hole demanding to be filled, scraping at her insides like a petulant child.
“What happened?”
Irene hadn’t heard Mateo walk over. He was standing beside her, blue eyes blazing with concern. He often moved like a shadow,silent and undetectable. A ribbon of silver light shone across his tanned skin, illuminating the webbed black veins on his neck.
She curled her trembling hands into fists, flexing her fingers back and forth.
“The tapping ceremony,” she whispered. “I think it’s happening tonight. There’s some stupid party to celebrate it…I have a feeling they’ll choose the initiates there.”
“Good.” Mateo nodded, eyes still anchored on Irene. He cocked his head, as if assessing her. “What is it? Are you nervous you won’t be selected?”
Irene shrugged. Even if she was—she’d never admit it out loud.
Her eyes traveled to the journal in his hands. “What were you doing?” she asked, quick to change the subject.
“I’ve been considering the possibility of a third coalition forming on the outskirts. A new faction, separate from both Blackwood and the Demien Order. I’m afraid my suspicions might be right,” Mateo muttered, tapping the journal against his arm. He wandered back over to the bed and sat down. “I thought it might just be rumors at first…fearmongering from Silas to keep us distracted. But a recent string of disappearances within the Order had me questioning the validity of these claims.”
Irene arched a brow in surprise. This was the first she’d heard of this. “What disappearances?”
“They’ve happened for a while now…sporadic. Not frequent enough to pose an actual threat, but consistent enough that we’ve noticed a pattern.”
“And what does this third coalition want?” Irene asked.
“To stop us.”
“From doing what, exactly?” As Irene asked the question, she made note of the tension in Mateo’s shoulders. The slight crackin his stoic expression. “I know we want to take down Blackwood and stop Silas, but you still haven’t told mehow.”
But Mateo didn’t answer her. He simply began flipping through the notebook, gnawing on the inside of his cheek.Of course.More unanswered questions. More secrecy. Irene should have been used to it by now, but she still found herself bristling at his silence.
“Oh, come on.” She let out a groan. “Seriously? I’m tired of being kept in the dark. I deserve to know!”
Mateo sighed and glanced up at Irene as though she were a child throwing a tantrum.
“YouknowI can’t tell you.” His voice was hoarse, clipped with impatience. “Not yet. You should be concentrating on the party tonight, anyway.”
Irene scoffed. “I think I’m capable of deciding what Ishouldandshouldn’tbe concentrating on.”
She hadn’t meant to snap back, but his reluctance had set something off inside her. She had done everything to earn his favor—sacrificed more than she was willing to admit—and yet she was still being kept at arm’s length. Secrets piling up betweenthem.
