Page 10 of A Fate Everlasting

We passed through the fog-drenched courtyard, and I tried to pretend it wasn’t beautiful, that I didn’t feel something stirring in my chest as I looked up at the towering turrets. They spiralled high, vines climbing like veins, stone crumbling like this place had existed forever.

The dining hall hummed with low voices, forks clinking against porcelain. The eerie stillness of my thoughts shattered with Ruby’s sudden, gleeful squeal.

“Marcus!” Ruby called, spotting a burly student with auburn hair and thick, muscular arms. She raced over to him, abandoning me in the line.

I stepped forward, tray in hand, pretending not to notice the gelatinous ladle of beef gravy drowning everything on my plate. A presence loomed behind me, close enough that I felt the heat of him before I heard his voice.

“Watch it.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it had weight, dragging my breath to a halt. I turned, and for a moment, the world seemed to pull taut, the air around me thinned of oxygen. He stood there, broad-shouldered and composed, his storm-gray eyes glinting.

He wasn’t just handsome. He was ruinous, and his face was cut in all the ways that made even looking at him feel dangerous. But that didn’t unsettle me. It was the way he watched me, like he already thought he knew who I was.

“Sorry,” I muttered, gripping my tray tighter. I mentally cursed myself for bothering to utter an apology.

He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. “You’re new.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” The line moved forward, and I was grateful when he turned around, space growing between us.

“I didn’t think we were taking new students this late into the term.” He only half-turned to face me, as though I wasn’t worth the effort.

“The circumstances called for it.” I kept my eyes fixed ahead, helping myself to a bread roll. This place was as obsessed with carbs as it was with religion, it seemed.

“Ah,” he followed closely, our hands nearly touching. The corner of his mouth lifted. “How unfortunate.”

I let out a quick breath, nodding. It was nice that someone else seemed to despise this place, too.

I proceeded down the line, offering various ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers to the arrangement of beige food in front of me. I wasn’t exactly sure what all of it was, only that there was a mound of pallid-looking potato and a couple of thick sausages engrossed in soggy batter.

“That’s Dante Darkblood.” Ruby whispered tersely, waiting for me at the end of the line. “He is not the sort of person you should be spending time with, especially this late into term. He’s dangerous.”

“It was hardly a conversation.”

“Names, ladies?” Ruby guided us to the first of twelve rows of tables, and my grip on the tray wavered as we stalled in front of a bench. A uniformed student with a badge that readprefectstared up at us.

He lounged there like he belonged to the room more than the furniture itself, his attention sliding lazily to me, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. He looked as if he’d been waiting for something, perhaps this exact moment.

His dark hair was tousled in a way that was too perfect to be accidental, framing his striking features. He tilted his head just slightly, like he was sizing me up, before his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile that dimpled his one cheek.

Then, it clicked. Iknewthat face. I’d seen it before, in the file the executor showed me. He was a Cavendish. This was the boy from the file, the son. I couldn’t imagine what it was like growing up in this place.

“Arabella Dav—,” I started, “Davenant.” He looked at me expectantly, chuckling as he checked my name off the form before him. As he looked down I noticed the same crescent moon tattoo the executor had just below his ear. The same tattoo Verrine had.Weird.

“Please, as if youdon’t know, Dorian,” Ruby scowled.

“It’s a formality,” he countered. “Ruby.You’re both late for the Lower Sixth’s allocated meal time, so make sure you finish before seven. It’s forbidden to mix with the Upper Sixth during social hours, only during lessons.”

“Stupid rule,” Ruby rolled her eyes. “Marcus talks to us.”

“I take my job as a prefect seriously. I don’t give anything away while I’m on duty, and neither does Marcus.”What did he mean by that? Give what away?

“Yeah, I can see that.” Ruby gave him another dramatic eye roll, shaking her dark curls loose as we moved past the check-in desk. “Ignore him. The Rift marked him badly last year, he scored lower than he should have. He’s been a nightmare.”

I bit back the question.Rift. Marked badly.Whatever it meant, I had the sinking feeling I wouldn’t like the answer.

We wove through the tables, the low hum of conversation pressing in around us. I glanced over the students, all too poised, too perfect, their beauty just a shadeofflike portraits painted with colors too rich to be real. This was just a migraine, surely. But something didn’t feel right. Everyone was watching me closely.

I tossed the tray down, the mashed potatoes squelching. I sighed, shutting my eyes for a second as I rubbed my temples.

“You asked me earlier if I was gifted,” Ruby said, taking a bite of her lumpy pancake sausage without hesitation.

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