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We move past the two Stellis who flank the main entry of his apartments, and they close the doors behind us.

Beside me, Kaelis is a living shadow, the night clinging to the inky folds of his clothing and his every movement fluid and graceful. He holds me close, his hand on my hip, as he guides me into the heart of his dominion.

We glide across the narrow bridge and under an archway, plunging into unlit passages.

The halls yawn, wide and endless. Unlit lanterns wait for the festival of light to rekindle them.

A palpable energy hangs in the air, an anticipation that slithers under my leather coat sleeves.

It’s hard to tell if it’s my nerves or the ancient magic of this place.

To collect myself, I recount every bit of knowledge I’ve ever been given about this strange fortress.

Arcana Academy predates the Oricalis Castle in Fate Hearth far to the north of Eclipse City and is rumored to be a remnant of the ancient Revisan Kingdom.

Its ties to the long-ago kingdom made it forbidden ground, the crown punishing any who were found entering.

But in a surprising reversal of historical precedent, King Naethor Oricalis put Kaelis in control of the fortress and allowed him to found the academy within around his eighteenth birthday—a scandalously young age.

Two years younger than the first crop of students he would be inducting.

But, Prince Kaelis has always been a legendary wielder of tarot.

And in the year after he annihilated a clan, very few would dare utter anything but support for the prince.

In the four years since its founding, he’s used the academy as an institution to harness the power of every Arcanist for the crown, as a fortress to defend the kingdom, as a bottleneck to control all trade through the Farlum River, and as a means of intimidation against any who would even think of acting against the crown.

If I’m being objective, what Kaelis has accomplished as someone just shy of twenty-three years is impressive.

But I can’t be objective when it comes to him.

Not when his accomplishments are steeped in the suffering of others.

While he was founding the academy with all its power and opulence, I was living in squalor just across the bridge.

Kaelis’s aura only lends more credence to the impossible stories about him: An esteemed scholar and a ruthless general. An exacting teacher and a tortured genius whose cruelty is only outmatched by his brilliance.

As we walk, I get little more than night-coated glimpses of the splendor of this place.

Each room we pass is filled with mystery.

We walk around a cloistered courtyard. Glass fills every archway, creating a greenhouse, its humidity beading the windows and obscuring the viridian domain.

As we pass it, the air is heavy with the perfume of flowers and peat.

Our path then brings us to a vast library.

Heavy tomes wait to aid quiet study, lining the shelves that span three floors.

I nearly stop in my tracks and beg for a moment to savor the ink-laden pages.

Books on arcane magics are forbidden to anyone outside of the academy and the clans.

Mere possession of these texts is punished by amputation of a hand or eye.

A deserted lecture hall is silent in anticipation of the students’ return, the podium at the front of the room standing tall and expectant. Every velvet-tufted seat holds the echo of knowledge once imparted to students, and possibly long forgotten.

Stairways spiral toward the heavens. Doors are inexplicably locked and barred.

Others are temptingly ajar. The path we take plunges deeper, passing windowsills turned silver with dust and statues clothed in cobwebs.

Kaelis, of course, offers no explanation for anything we pass, and I’m much too proud to ask.

Our walk concludes in a long hall with a beacon of orange light at the end.

The light flickers defiantly against the near abyss of darkness the entire academy is shrouded in.

At first, I think my eyes are tricking me after straining to see with nothing more than moonlight for so long.

But, sure enough, just like the lamplight that brightened my cell, the light that streams through a crack in a door is no illusion.

Kaelis’s hand is still on my hip. It anchors me in place as we slow to a stop.

The entire time, I’ve been fighting unease at his touch—at his proximity to me.

The orange glow outlines his face. Our gazes lock.

I jut out my chin in a silent challenge.

He dips his. A shiver runs down my spine at just how hot his proximity feels in the cool darkness.

“What?” The atmosphere compels me to whisper.

He’s surprisingly forthright after being silent for so long.

“The procession marches through that passage. If you join now, you’ll be somewhere in the middle.

It’ll be impossible for any guards to notice or pluck you out if you keep your head down.

You will split and go off with the other applicants and will ultimately be called to the chamber of the Arcanum Chalice. There you will—”

“Expand my powers as an Arcanist and fight for my place as an initiate in the academy.” I fight a sly smirk. “So that way the four houses of Arcana Academy can see my mettle and pass their judgment on if I am ‘worthy’ of being counted among their ranks.”

The dark pools of his eyes search mine, threatening to drown me in that endless stare. But he’s probably just annoyed I interrupted him.

My amusement breaks free, curling the corners of my lips. I jape, “Worried about your bride?”

He laughs, low and ominous. “Worried? About you ?” Kaelis pulls me closer.

For a moment, I think he will kiss me, and the idea sours my stomach.

But his head turns, his cheek nearly grazing mine.

I’m consumed by the scent of him—the richness of oiled leather, the earthiness of dry ink, a cologne of cedar and frankincense.

Four suits, he even smells fabulously wealthy. The prince shifts to whisper in my ear.

“Not about you. Never you. Luck is on your side, after all.”

Kaelis releases me and leaves without another word. Even though I feel lighter without his contact, I’m left staring at his back as the night consumes him whole, the sound of his footsteps fading with the outline of his visage.

Luck is on my side… The closest thing I’ve yet felt to pure, unyielding terror dizzies my thoughts.

He knows me.

How many times did I say that phrase at the Starcrossed Club before I did something particularly risky or stupid?

He had—maybe even still has—someone on the inside.

As horrifying as it is, that’s the only logical explanation.

And it’s not the first time I thought our den of safety had been compromised, either.

I think of the last job I did before I was captured.

That man, Griv, who came to me in search of a way out of Eclipse City as an Unmarked Arcanist but offered more information than he should’ve known.

He’d offered not only inking supplies…but details about my mother’s death.

It’s because of him I was captured—he led me into Prince Kaelis’s trap.

If Griv knew enough about me to get me to trust him, then Kaelis must have known as much or more.

My hands ball into fists. I turn, push open the door with purpose, and find myself immediately caught in a flow of people, just as Kaelis predicted. I fall into step, ignoring the whispers of those around me about the person who entered the procession late.

Am I honestly going through with this? Every step is harder than the last. I scan left and right for another door or side hall. Trying to make a run for it now would be difficult, if not impossible. But the crowd consumes me.

Glancing over my shoulder as inconspicuously as possible, I spy about a hundred people marching behind me, but there are only a few dozen ahead.

I’m somewhere toward the start of the pack.

People step closer, pushing me toward the center.

I can’t tell if it’s intentional, but I wouldn’t put it past Kaelis to have others in the academy ensuring I end up right where he wants me.

That’s when I see them: Halazar guards. I’d know their drab uniforms anywhere. They’re coming up from the back.

I swivel my head forward again, take a deep breath, and still my racing thoughts. I will be of use to no one—myself included—if I panic. Arina went through this, and she survived. My best chance of ensuring she’s all right and reuniting with those I love is if I go through the Fire Festival.

My gaze sweeps across the crowd anew, this time searching for my sister, but with the torchbearers in the front, it’s hard to discern faces in the darkness.

The people around me are dressed in all manner of garb.

But it’s easy enough to tell who are the applicants that will go through the trial by arcane fire and who are already full-fledged students.

The Arcanum Chalice demands a fight only in a student’s first year; later sacrifices to the Chalice are easier, so I assume the ones dressed in yards of silk and velvet are already students.

Their suits and gowns look like they were designed for no more than standing, sitting, and maybe drinking and eating.

And their corsets are laced up so tightly and their trousers are so constricting I’m not even sure of that last part.

Those whom I pin as applicants are in much more practical, battle-ready clothing that, like mine, can be moved in—though theirs is admittedly less fine.

Some of the applicants whisper eagerly to one another.

They’re excited for the ceremony—they’re ready to uncover the mysteries of Arcana Academy.

Poor souls. The Arcanum Chalice is a cursed ritual, Mother told me once when I’d asked her about the pilgrimage many would make to the fortress in search of power, before it was the academy.

Since Kaelis took over, access to the fortress is limited to only applicants, initiates, students, faculty, and staff.

The rituals and teachings of the academy are supposed to be closely guarded secrets.

But, like any secret, they’re well known among those in power.

The nobility of Oricalis trade in secrets as readily as they do tarot or shining regill coins and notes.

The only reason I know as much as I do is because of my work in the Starcrossed Club.

I try to focus on those whom I assume are students.

Arina would be a second year now. Hard to imagine that she’ll be my senior at the school after spending my whole life trying to look after my wild little sister.

She’s only a year younger—having lied about her age to enter at nineteen—but she always seemed even younger than that to me.

I’ve no idea what clothing she might be wearing to fit in with her peers of the academy. And fashion choices like high collars, hoods, and intricate hair designs make it even more difficult in the low light to tell one student from another.

So instead I focus on the wrists of the women.

Before Arina left for the academy, I gave her a silver bracelet—simple, but something I’d recognize anywhere.

On the inside of a circular disk are engraved the letters sXc, for the Starcrossed Club, so she’d never forget where she came from.

I don’t see anyone wearing a bracelet anything like hers.

But the space is very cramped and there are a lot of long sleeves…

I reassure myself. I’ll find her once I’m through .

Or she’ll see me in the Chalice challenge and seek me out.

Even though I know I look different from the tortures of Halazar, I’ve no doubt my sister would recognize me no matter what. Just as I would her.

Ahead is a sign on the wall directing applicants to the right and fully enrolled students to the left. I head right, descending with the others toward the ritual of power and sacrifice that awaits us.