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“He believed we were, yes, as did King Marcel. But there are secrets in the woods, Nightingale. And when an old woman sends you to the mouth of the beast, seeking immortality, a wise meiga does not trust her.”

My heart fails as the pieces fall into place, like a nefarious scytale finally bearing its message. “You turned him,” I whisper. “You were the siphon he met.”

My godfather is how the pestilence spread to Gault. He entrapped the heir to the throne, turned him into a monster.

Impossible darkness swirls in my godfather’s eyes, no white fog. It’s control. That is the difference between him and Poppy, him and Galvin. He is like me. He rules over his Darkness. He harnesses the monster within. But he smiles, and the fanged teeth, his horrible truth, are finally revealed. “To control the throne of Gault, to heal magic, to end the war that cost my best friend his life, I would do anything.”

“You planned all this—with Galvin.”

“I control all the Dark, Nightingale. Had you allowed the bloodbond to take hold, you and your bloodmate would have become immortal. You would have ruled for an eternity. I would have guided you. The continent would have found peace, glory, unity.”

I’m disgusted by the absolute narcissism of his words.

My throat thickens with hate, with the scorch of betrayal. “Under your thumb.” Van Asten was handing Galvin immortality, a throne, and a queen, all for the price of his ownership, his ultimate loyalty to Van Asten and the Dark. “You had no right to make that choice for me.”

“Your heart is broken!” my godfather shouts suddenly. “You have no parents to care for you! I care for you! You had no future other than to live and die for Gault. Your body would have fallen in some faraway battlefield, your blood feeding the ground of the forest, your bones left to be picked clean by the birds! I provided you with an alternative, a different ending to your story!” His face twists in fury. “You would have been a queen. And you’ve squandered it—your destiny.”

“I don’t want that destiny.”

He shakes his head. “What you’ve done is unforgivable. Treason. There is one way for you to redeem yourself. You must give me access to the book. You must tell me how to get it.”

He takes a step forward, eyes creasing at the edges. He uses that voice with me, the softer, gentler tone, the one he uses to lull me into obedience. Saints, I was so easily fooled by him, in such desperate need of a father that I fell over my own feet to please him, to have him give me that nod of approval, to have him call me Nightingale.

To think that I thought I needed the respect, the love, of a delusional old man.

“The rift between Dark and Light cannot be healed without access to that book. Think of your responsibility.”

“I think I’ve heard enough from you about my responsibility. There’s no way to get to the book. I destroyed that path.”

He gapes. For once I’ve done something he hadn’t predicted. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to make my choices for me.” Fury is slowly blooming in his eyes—a warning. One that I don’t heed. “You killed your own friend, my father, because you thought you knew best. You’re obsessed with control. You think it’s your right to steer everyone around you. I am done listening to you.”

A rage like I’ve never seen from him flares on my godfather’s face. And then, just as quickly as it is inflamed, the anger evaporates. I watch as his eyes go cold, unfeeling. I watch as he hardens his heart against me.

“Then this is what you have chosen. This is your fate.”

At his words, the entire clocktower starts to shake. Floorboards rattle. Dust falls from the rafters. It’s like the earth itself is rattling on its hinges.

“Don’t be afraid,” my godfather says. “I won’t make it hurt. Your father died well. If you are brave now, the way I taught you, you will die like he did. Head held high.”

Rage burns in me. I seized my destiny tonight. I won’t let it go. “Don’t tell me how to die.” My scythe flares bright, lavender light warming around me.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Nightingale. I truly am.”

Darkness falls on the clocktower like a veil.

Chapter Sixty-One

This is the darkest hour. Just before the light.

It’s different from Lonan’s shadows, those snakes of Darkness that strike to kill. The night is all around me, a pervasive push against my skin, against my mind. I can’t see Lonan. I can’t see my godfather. I can’t see my hand before my face. Even the Light of my scythe struggles, like the Dark is pressing in against it.

You know what I want, the night whispers.

The pain pulses through me, starting in my chest and bursting out through my limbs, bringing me to my knees. The rage that had me lifting my scythe to Van Asten is the only thing keeping me conscious.

“Lonan!” I shout into the Dark.