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“A . . . poem?” I ask.

“A few lines—but a trifle. A verse to bless an old woman.” She smiles greedily. “When you descend the steps of my tower, the door will be unlocked. Proceed to the Ridding. You should be just in time.”

As though obeying her voice, a sound breaks through the clocktower, so loud that I feel it in my skull, in my rib cage, in the soles of my feet. I fall to the floor, covering my ears with my hands. The great bell overhead, the one that hasn’t rung in decades, sounds loudly enough to shake dust from the rafters. Bats burst from the tower overhead, flapping through the barred windows as the bell swings back and forth, metal clanging against metal. Nine times.

Three Hours Till Midnight

LONAN

Once again, I’m the shield between her and danger. It would make my life a lot easier if she weren’t so damned obstinate.

But I’ve locked her in the clocktower. I’ll return her to the dormitory tower as soon as I handle my brother.

Saints, the way she looked at him makes me want to vomit. And possibly remove several of his appendages, followed by his eyeballs for looking back at her with all that hunger. I could kill him, crown prince or not. But those aren’t my orders.

For now, at least, Vesper can’t get herself into any more trouble, and that keeps my sanity hanging on by a thread.

Chapter Twelve

Ifly to the Founders Hall to find rampant chaos. Galvin has vanished. There are too many injuries to count. Many have fled—back to their dormitories or who knows where. But the older students and some of the teachers are helping the wounded.

My godfather is absent—I would guess he’s in the infirmary or with the school governors. How long was I gone? Time seemed to twist inside the clocktower.

“Vesper!” Hugo jogs up to me. His eyes are wild, and his tanned skin has a tinge of green to it. “Saints, where were you? I thought . . .” He shakes his head. “I’m glad you’re all right. Help me, won’t you?”

I follow him over to where a girl sits on the steps of the grand staircase. She’s one of the youngest. She’s lying back on the steps, her arms over her close-shorn black hair. Blood stains the front of a many-colored dress. A gaping hole in the fabric of her torso reveals a mangle of skin and blood and bone. I fall to her side and try to talk her through slowing her breathing. Her chest lifts up and down rapidly. She’ll pass out if she doesn’t get control of her panic.

“Where’s Nurse Verne?” I ask Hugo. “Where are the others?”

He removes his jacket to press it against the open wound. “Verne’s probably in the infirmary. They took a few up there. The rest—dunno. Saw Lonan for a moment. The real one. Then he was gone. That prince fellow . . .” Hugo shakes his head and blinks. “He tore through half a dozen people. Then Lonan chased him out of the room. Haven’t seen either of them since.”

“Poppy? The rest?”

He shakes his head. “Helping. Lost track of them.”

This is chaos. It is not how meigas of Gossemort are meant to react to an emergency. This is what we train for, but we’re still novices, and none of us expected an enemy to infiltrate the school. It’s a fortress against the Dark.

There’s little we can do for the girl. A couple of sophomore students volunteer to take her to the infirmary. Just as she’s carried through the door, Poppy appears in the doorway and runs to me, throwing her arms around my neck.

“I didn’t know where you were! You just vanished!” I embrace her and meet the eyes of Orla and Ollinde, who follow her into the room. “We went to help in the infirmary. The beds are all full. Nurse Verne is in a frenzy. He sent us back to get more of the injured.”

I don’t understand what’s happening. Galvin, who was so wonderful one moment, who made me feel things I’d never felt before, turned mad, killed and maimed several students, and announced this . . . this test, claiming the school needed blood. It certainly awakened the spirits of the school. Saint Nona’s bargain still stings on the hidden flesh of my chest.

“What now?” Hugo asks, voicing my thoughts.

“Has anyone seen Lonan?” Orla asks.

We collectively shake our heads. He had the nerve to lecture me about safety, and then he went after the prince himself.

A voice interrupts our conversation, echoing through the room. “Hello, students of Gossemort. A joyous and enchanting Solstice to you all. We are the matron Saints, the spirits of Gossemort.” The voice is strange and slithery, like several feminine voices strung together, emanating from the very stones of the school’s walls. I recognize the withering voice of Saint Nona among them. “Welcome to the Ridding. It promises to be a most ruinous night. But first, we have a story to tell.”

My cohort turns as one, our backs to each other, forming a tight circle. My scythe is in my hands, its lavender glow a reassuring presence.

“Once upon a time,” the voice continues, “there was a Kingdom of Light. A paragon of virtue against the growing Darkness. And to ensure its purity, the meigas in training were tested. Any meiga left wanting was eliminated. This test culled the unfaithful and judged the weak. It was called the Ridding. Though it fell out of practice over the course of time, tonight, we resurrect it. Tonight, the Darkness will be purged and the Light will prevail.”

Gooseflesh covers my arms. I am filled with a sudden urgency and convinced of one thing. “We need to get out.”

“What?” Hugo asks.