I blinked in surprise. “He’s silent and he kills his novices,” I murmured. “Those are good reasons to avoid him.”

She sliced a strawberry in half. “I told you. Superior intellect.”

“Any idea why Ruadan doesn’t talk?”

“Vow of silence, I heard. He won’t speak until he’s killed … someone. He’s just really into killing, I think.”

“No idea who it is?”

She cocked her head. “Have you heard the rumors that two Horsemen of the apocalypse remain alive? In magical realms. Death and Conquest. I think Ruadan wants to kill them, and their offspring. I mean, everyone knows angels don’t belong on earth, and they caused all this. All the wars. The death.”

“Oh.” A silence fell over us. “I don’t think I ever told you my name. I’m Arianna.”

“I’m Melusine. I’m not good with people.”

“You and me both.” I leaned in closer, whispering, “Since you obviously know a lot of stuff about things, what else can you tell me about the Shadow Fae?”

“There are Shadow Fae Institutes all over the world, but this is one of the oldest.” Melusine speared her fork into two strawberry slices. “The Grand Master of the London Institute is incredibly powerful. In fact, he controls mist. He has an entire army he can summon from fog, though I’ve never seen it. He acquired it by slaughtering the last Grand Master. It gets passed on, like an heirloom.”

“A mist army. That sounds a bit ominous.”

“All the Shadow Fae have a kill list.”

“Any idea who’s on the list? Besides the Horsemen and the angels?”

“Nope. I expect our mentors will tell us.” She looked at my plate, frowning. “You have one less strawberry than everyone else.” She speared a strawberry on her plate, then deposited it on mine. Then, she returned to cutting up her strawberries into pieces.

I was beginning to find Melusine oddly endearing. “So, this match you mentioned. How do we—?”

The clacking of heels over the floor cut my sentence short, and I turned to see a fae male stalking into the room. By the mist curling around his body, I knew this was the Grand Master. His white hair was pulled back, and a silver crown gleamed from his head. His clothes were trim and tidy, and he wore a bow and arrow strapped over his back. I wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to use the bow, because one of his arms was missing—replaced with a silver replica.

His body glowed with pale light, and I could feel the power he exuded rippling through the room. He wore a silver brooch shaped like a horse pinned to his cloak, and a spindly silver crown gleamed on his head. But most disconcertingly, in his good hand, he carried what appeared to be a human skull—at least, I thought it was human. It been fashioned into a sort of drinking cup with silver flourishes, and mist twined around it. He took a sip from it as he prowled over the floor.

Suddenly, I’d lost my interest in the food.

He raised his skull cup into the air. “Novices of the Shadow Fae! I am Grand Master Savus. You have volunteered in the hopes of joining our esteemed ranks.” His pale eyes landed on me. “Most of you have volunteered. Now, there are those outside these walls who call us spell-slayers. But we do not view our role as killing. We view it as protecting and as sacrificing. Shadow Fae serve the Old Gods. Gods who draw strength from sacrifices. We have always accommodated the gods with fresh blood. We have likewise protected the fae from demonic enemies, and we continue to enforce law and order today by slaying monsters who no longer belong here.”

At this point, the six Shadow Fae Knights strode into the room, all of them wearing cloaks in different colors. Aengus wore green, Ruadan wore black, and the rest wore vibrant nature colors, like the orange of turning leaves and the pale blue of a lake under the sky. Like most high fae nobility, the six males were beautiful.

In the daylight, I could see Ruadan’s features better. Sunlight washed over the chiseled planes of his face and stunning golden skin. Dark magic—demon magic—seeped into the air around him. He wasn’t just a fae. He was a mongrel, like me. He must have been half demon. Whatever he was, a dark power rippled off him. Even from a distance, I could sense it snaking over my skin in a dangerous caress.

His violet eyes sparkled with cold silver, and when his gaze slid to me, a shiver danced up my neck.

“Here, at the Institute,” Savus continued, “some of you will die during your trials. In fact, only one of you will gain a place among us as a knight. The rest of you will be returned from whence you came.” His gaze landed on me. “Or executed, naturally.”

Someone tapped my shoulder, and I jumped. Maddan—prick that he was—had moved into the chair behind me. “They’re going to kill you,” he whispered. “When you fail them.”

I bit my lip. Apparently, in addition to finding the World Key, I had to actually take the trials seriously, or they’d execute me.

Good thing surviving trials was something I’d grown accustomed to.

“If you do survive to become one of us,” Savus continued, “you will perfect the traditions of the Shadow Fae. You will learn the arts of warfare, magic, and espionage. You will learn to draw power from the earth.”

Oh, please tell me that doesn’t involve scrotal burying.

I glanced at the four males, who sat with their chests puffed. They were eating this up. Desperate to become knights.

“The mentor and novice relationship is a divine one,” the Grand Master continued. “Among the Shadow Fae, it is known as anathra, the sacred bond between a teacher and a student.”

I swallowed hard. Baleros had been a Knight of the Shadow Fae, and he’d been my teacher in the arena. Considering he’d kept me in a cage, I’m not sure he’d viewed our bond as sacred, but the fucker had certainly got in my head.

Savus’s silver arm shone in the morning light. “Novices and their mentors will be doing everything together. You will train together. You will eat together, sleep together. You may travel to other realms together to learn the art of combat.”

My ears pricked up at that. Traveling to other realms. Is that what the World Key unlocked?

That was exactly the sort of power-mad shit I’d expect from Baleros. He’d thrived during the anarchic years after the apocalypse. He had every incentive to unleash chaos again, and the best way to do that was to unlock the magical realms. Shadow demons, fire demons, storm demons, fae—all would flood the world once more, fighting for supremacy. And Baleros knew how to profit off chaos.

Savus lifted the skull. “You will begin your trials tomorrow. Your mentors should train you, and with any luck, you will survive the first trial.” He smiled. “And now, you will be matched with your mentors, and you will form the bond of the anathra. Please understand that we do not choose these matches. The Old Gods choose for us.”

I looked around the room, scanning the possible mentors. The knights stood rod-straight. For just a moment, Aengus shot me a half-smile. If it weren’t for Ruadan and the World Key, I’d be hoping for him right now.

As I stared at the knights, silver magic snaked around the recruits. It brushed over my skin in a cool rush of tingles, raising the hair on the back of my neck. The power felt immense. It smelled of the ancient fae forest—of oaks and moss, lichen and rich, fertile soil—and darker things, like bones and blood. I closed my eyes, breathing in deeply. Home.

Across from me, Melusine yelped, and my eyes snapped open. She was clutching her arm, staring at it, wide-eyed. She beamed, looking up. “Aengus!” she read.

His green eyes gleaming, Aengus crossed to her, and he led her out of the room.

I scanned the other knights, my breath quickening. Ruadan’s magic whirled around him, darkening his form and making him indistinct. Despite the fact that I needed the World Key from him, I really didn’t want to spend any more time with him.

I shot a glance at the other recruits, and Maddan leaned closer to me. “You’d better hope you don’t get the Wraith. He slaughters his novices.”

I simply snarled at him response. They already viewed me as gutter fae trash, so I didn’t see the point in trying to act dignified around them. Let the fuckers underestimate me.

In any case, I needed to get paired with the Wraith, even if he had the unfortunate tendency to kill his novices. He had exactly what I wanted.

Bran—the goth one—straightened, lifting up his sleeve. Then, he read the name. “Eifion.”

A knight in a crimson cloak lowered his cowl. Olive leaves wreathed his dark hair, and he solemnly crossed to Bran.

The two of them crossed out of the hall, footfalls echoing off the high ceiling.

I breathed in deeply, and a hot pain seared my forearm—like the magic that had branded my neck. I smelled burning skin. I pulled up my sleeve, and my pulse raced. I was both scared and delighted by what I found.

There—tattooed in black on my forearm—was the word Ruadan.

I looked up to meet his gaze.

But instead of walking over to me as the others had, he shot me a look of pure disgust.

Then, he turned and stalked out of the room, his shadowy magic trailing behind him.

For Ciara’s sake, I needed to be matched with him, but my chest clenched all the same.

The other novices snickered behind me.

“What a shocking surprise,” said Maddan. “Even your mentor wants nothing to do with you.”