Page 13 of Tall Dark and Evil

It’s a cavernous hall, taking over the entire upper floor of the ancient castle. Arched domes separate the space into sections, some open, others, guarded night and day—several study areas, restricted areas, and copy rooms. I’ve volunteered here for the last three years and I still get lost frequently.

The raven flies to one of the study alcoves, singing three happy notes that only serve to make me grumpier.

The only light in the room comes from a fire burning cool blue. Reiks stands next to it, hands in his pockets. His eyes shine in the dim light, unnaturally intense. Common, my ass. He’s a demi if ever I’ve seen one.

He’s nodding his head, which I find strange until I get close and notice the wireless earplugs in his ears. He’s listening to music? He seems quite lost in it, too. Somehow, that doesn’t fit my image of him. The Reiks in my mind doesn’t get lost in anything.

I decide I don’t care.

He sees me and lifts a cup from the mantelpiece. “Coffee?”

I snarl at the monster who had me upbefore dawn.I’m so angry at him waking me up without so much as a warning. I crashed not even three hours ago. If he’d let me know I was needed this morning, I might have gone to bed earlier.

I want to slap his stupid, delicate porcelain cup away and eat his face. Never one to let rage work against my best interest, I take the damn coffee, glaring up at him. “What am I doing here?”

He removes his earphones and grabs a leatherbound notebook on the mantelpiece, handing it to me. “Taking notes. You’re capable of that, right?”

He doesn’t seem deterred by my sunny morning personality, when even my cousins stay the hell away from me when I haven’t had enough sleep.I open my mouth to ask for details, and close it when he presses his hand on a life-size portrait of a pompous noble with a graying moustache.The portrait clicks, then slides open, revealing a room behind it.

I follow Reiks inside, where a handful of young people already wait in a chamber.

The room is relatively small, but rather charming. There’s another fireplace, close to which two large sofas and several comfortable armchairs have been placed. They’re mismatched, some silver, others green, blues or red. The furniture is set in a half circle around a coffee table loaded with a regal spread.

The lighting is dim, with barely any source other than the fire and two candles. The walls are covered with books, all of which look old and as precious as anything in the restricted sections of the library we just left. I’m curious enough to want a closer look, but before I can drift away, Reiks puts his hand on my lower back. I jerk, in both surprise and awareness. Ignoring it, he shows me to one of the available armchairs—the closest one to the hearth. He takes a blue seat next to mine.

“Apologies for the delay,” Reiks say.

Princes rarely have cause to apologize, but I suppose he would, in this crowd. I’m in illustrious company, seated with a king, three princes, and one rather noteworthy princess.

Great.Reiks has a stupid, secret meeting at the crack of dawn, and apparently, no one else can take notes for him.

Heavy curtains are pulled shut, and the room’s firmly sealed with magik—though who’d bother to spy in on a handful of spoiled little royals this early, I can’t imagine.

Part of me realizes that if this gathering had occurred at a decent time, I might have been very interested indeed, and perhaps even surprised that he’d trust me to attend his meeting with some of the most influential royals in the mortal kingdoms.

I suppose I have sworn myself to his service, and one of his conditions was that everything we do remains private, but he hasn’t made me formally vow to obey him. If he trusts this easily, he’s too foolish to live.

Or he’s testing me.

“Can we start now?” a slender, muscular blond man sneers, his voice every bit as icy as the rest of him.

I don’t remember the name of the king of Ravelyn. He’s a Devar, of course, but his given moniker eludes me. I know his line directly descends from a greater king in the eternal realms. Like the Frejr, the Devars are feared and revered among the demis.

He stands as far away from the fire as he possibly can in this intimate chamber. The air is cold and the darkness, thick around his aura.I hear his entire family was slaughtered in front of him when he was a boy. I’d be cold, too, if I were in his shoes. Besides, ice is his birthright. His entire kingdom—the southern and northern Ravelyn isles—is covered in snow.

“You could have started anytime,” Reiks retorts.

“Like we’d dare say a word without you.” Rovan Briar rolls his eyes.

He lounges on a leather sofa, shirt open, a glass of dark wine between his fingers, the picture of lazy indulgence. His lips are stained black, either with kisses, wine, or both.

Rovan is the second-born prince of Flaur, though the crown prince is his twin, so either of them might have been picked, really. There are two schools when it comes to the matter of succession concerning twins: some say the first one to come out is the firstborn, and therefore, the heir. Others say the second one was the first seed, burrowed deeper into his mother’s womb, and therefore, ought to be favored.

I think both options utterly stupid. Succession should be a matter of merit rather than an accident of birth.

Rovan’s a prince I’ve long admired, not because of his thick, long and dark lashes or his pale green eyes—though those make the admiring rather pleasant. In my three years in this school, I’ve heard of at least seven verified assassination attempts on him. He’s survived them all. There’s more to him than the pretty face and the many excesses. The vials attached to his belt hint at it. I think I recognize at least three poisons.

“You’re sure about the girl, Nath?” Rovan asks with a yawn. “She looks like she’d like nothing more than to stab you.”

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