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Once and for all.

“Excuse me,” I told Rodhi, glimpsing a trio of pre-elites heading toward the stairs at that exact second, following the path Quinn had taken.

Rodhi followed my gaze and gave my arm a squeeze. “Go get ‘em, darling.”

I wound around all the partygoers until I came to the spiral staircase, where wreaths made of tillandsia and moss hung overhead. The music dimmed the further I climbed, round and round until I came to the next floor up.

Here, a few clumps of students were talking in lower voices between doors leading to fifth-year rooms. None of them were the pre-elites, and I would have continued if their murmured words hadn’t caught my attention.

“My uncle sent word. They’re rioting—”

“—don’t think the Good Council is telling us the truth—”

“—princess of my house is going to refuse her Final Test. She thinks the king will show up and save her if the elites try to exile—”

Someone coughed, noticing the way I lingered, and I hurried on with my mind churning. Clearly, the whispered rumors from Cardina and the other villages had infiltrated the Esholian Institute. I should have been happy, but worry nagged at my bones at what the last person had said. She thinks the king will show up and save her… except it was Coen doing the saving in the villages, not Jagaros. Jagaros himself wasn’t able to save anyone due to the oath inked around his neck.

I blew out a breath, reminding myself that Jagaros had to take the throne before this year’s Final Tests anyway. Coen’s deadline for Mydusia’s orders—for killing Dyonisia Reeve—was right around the corner.

As was a pair of girls slumped against a corridor wall on the next floor up, heads lolling against each other and glasses limp in their hands as they snored.

I paused here. Self-burning torches lined the walls above a row of stone fountains, which tinkled with water that cycled back up in floating droplets. I recognized the second door on the right just beyond a statue of a naked woman: Quinn’s old room from last year. Did she still have the same room? Maybe she’d invited the other pre-elites inside?

Flitting forward, I pressed my ear against her door.

Moans seeped through the wood, and I pulled back immediately. Okay, maybe not. I doubted Quinn had taken three to bed, but even if she had, they obviously weren’t having a confidential meeting in there.

I massaged my temples. I needed Dazmine. She was a good spy, not me. And I had to admit, I missed her flippant attitude in situations like these, the way she would have faced this obstacle with a raised chin and confident march.

By the lockpick and the lyre, I missed Coen too. Where was he? I’d been trying so hard to shove my unease to the back of my mind, but it was only mounting every second his dark, fathomless presence failed to brush against me.

Hello? I sent into the void, lowering my entire blockade.

Voices flooded my brain. Not Coen’s, but the cacophonic thoughts of everyone around me: the dreams of the snoring girls at my feet, the stimulated buzz of several different couples beyond several different doors hooking up, and—

… don’t want to be an elite anymore. Not when they’re getting murdered.

It might just be a rumor to test us. See how loyal we are to the Good Council.

How many more tests can they give us? Lucia already died in the last one! And do you know how much trouble Kastor got in for that giant bug fiasco?

My heart thudded. ‘Giant bug fiasco’ had to refer to the Shape Shifted centipede at the beginning of the year. I should have known it had been a pre-elite who hadn’t been able to control their second brand.

And Lucia. Pretty sure that was the name of the young woman whose body had smashed through the walls of the tunnels and landed at Quinn’s and my feet.

I funneled the opening in my blockade toward the voices until all the other background noise faded away. None of them were Quinn, but they were clearly pre-elites with Mind Manipulating as one of their powers, holding a private conversation with each other mind-to-mind.

And clearly buzzed. They didn’t notice my presence like they would have while sober, and their blockades were so fuzzy I had no problem listening in now.

Both of you need to stop worrying so much. This voice was male and rather aggressive. Lucia was a pompous little bitch who was handed her role because her daddy works on Bascite Mountain. We’ve actually worked hard to get here, and we’re not going to die at the hands of some fraud who calls himself king.

I don’t know. The second voice—female—didn’t sound entirely convinced. I just hope Dyonisia Reeve doesn’t assign me a position as a rule-enforcer in the villages. Nikoli said securing the prison on Bascite Mountain is safer.

Safer from what? This third voice was also male but far more anxious than the first one. Safe from the exiled ones? The monsters they’re turning them into? Or Dyonisia’s deadly power she threads through the whole thing?

Nikoli said her power doesn’t hurt the elites like it does the exiled ones.

Oh, like we’re somehow immune? the first voice asked sarcastically.