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“Soulless bastard.”
He smiles, and it’s empty of joy. “You know better than anyone, Vesper—being soulless and heartless is how we survive the Dark.”
Six Hours Till Midnight
LONAN
It has always been about the girl.
Enemies circle her like birds of prey. But I have one advantage over them. They think she’s defenseless. Yet I know teeth when I see them.
CHAPTER FOUR
In the Founders Hall, where the Solstice feast and dance will be held, there is a wheel of Camembert cheese. The feast is yet to start, but I can picture the cheese in my mind—it will be creamy and melty and accompanied by fresh bread and jellied figs. Tonight, I will drown myself in cheese. But first, a much more irritating task. I have to follow Lonan.
I make up some terrible excuse to leave the infirmary shortly after he does and catch up to him in the winding halls. His pace is much faster, and his head is bowed in that familiar way that tells me he’s focused, thoughtful. His mask has fallen. This is the version of him only I see. He doesn’t even glance my way when I come up beside him, matching his stride.
“Cutting it a bit short,” he comments.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
He sighs. Saints, I don’t know how it is that one little noise from him can get under my skin more than any cutting insult my stepsiblings throw at me, but it does. I bite my tongue and let my annoyance fuel my focus.
The sky is deep amethyst. It’s nearly nightfall. There will be consequences if we don’t act soon.
We make it to the cobbled drive that circles in front of the school, and Lonan stops me with a hand on my arm. “You remember the plan?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, nearly bursting a blood vessel with the effort it takes. “Yes, Lonan. I remember the plan.”
“And you’re ready?”
“We’re wasting time.” I glance through one of the arched stonework windows of the cloisters that surround the front of the school. At the foot of the steps are the last carriages to leave for the night, and several of the school governors are huddled there together. I have my eye on one—the man in the top hat. Tonight’s prey. We were instructed to find him before the feast begins.
Lonan clenches his jaw as he studies me, his eyes looking a sliver more exhausted than usual. “This has to go perfectly.”
“I’m aware.” Saints, his condescension is in top form today.
I gesture through the stonework opening. “Do your spooky little shadow thing and don’t worry about my job.”
“‘Spooky little shadow thing’?”
I glare at him, and he relents with a heavy sigh and crosses the open threshold onto the front steps of the school. I watch from the shelter of the cloisters as he saunters down the steps, hands hidden uncharacteristically in his pockets. It’s those hands I watch. Dark tendrils like serpents are already snaking their way up his sleeves.
This is the secret I keep for Lonan—and the secret he keeps for me. We live and learn in Gossemort, the last stronghold of the Light, but he and I are cut from the same cloth of Dark magic. We practice both Light magic and Dark magic, under the same mentor, a cohort of our own, or so our mentor keeps reminding us.
We are traitors. Wolves in Light’s clothing. If anyone knew, we’d be imprisoned, exiled, or possibly even executed. But our mentor tells us that the Kingdom of Gault needs us, that the Dark can do things for Gault that the Light cannot. We’re the kingdom’s most despicable soldiers. We muddy our souls for it.
“Lord Bernard,” Lonan calls. A man in a suit sporting a top hat and an impressive mustache turns his head and looks at Lonan with confusion. He looks rather like a basset hound, drooping eyes and nose, jowls on jowls. He’s one of the school governors. We don’t know why he is our victim tonight—only that with his position, we must be discreet, and we must be quick.
Lonan’s shadows obscure, they lure, and worst of all, they kill. But he rarely uses that final gift. Instead he relies on me—my lethality is far more subtle.
Lonan smiles his most charming smile, the one that could seduce a rabbit into a viper’s nest, and says, “I wondered if I might have a word.”
“Ah yes, I remember you. The clever young man with a keen interest in astronomy, as I recall. And a knack for chess.” Lonan has already laid the groundwork.
Lonan’s smile broadens—the charm flickering into something vicious. “It’s a pleasure, sir.”
As soon as the lord takes Lonan’s hand, his shadows strike. This is Lonan’s Dark magic—serpents of shadow slithering around him, surrounding the governor, till they cover him in a veil of darkness. As wicked as those shadows are, however, what has always been most unsettling to me is that in all the years I have watched Lonan wield Dark magic, I’ve never seen his anchor. It has to be small—he must keep it incredibly well hidden. But a person’s Dark anchor has to be an object of personal significance. For all my wondering, I can’t imagine what he could treasure so much and hide so easily.
