“Don’t even finish that sentence, David Stark,” Saylor snapped. Outside, the wind blew harder, rattling the big window, and all three of us jumped. “Didn’t you hear what I said the other night? That ritual drove Alaric mad. It resulted in the deaths of hundreds. It turned him into a monster.”

Saylor laid her hands flat on the table, and I could see they were trembling slightly. “No matter what this girl said, it’s the ritual itself that’s dangerous. Alaric had to be put down like a dog. And you said this Blythe girl was . . . what was the term you used, David?”

He swallowed before answering, “Super psycho bitch batshit.”

Saylor’s upper lip curled. “Ah, yes. Charming. And only seventeen, right?”

When we both nodded, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “The temporal shifts, the vanishing spell . . . those are things Mages just don’t do. They’re too dangerous, too risky, too . . . big. And she’s using them all over the damn place. What must they be thinking, using someone so young to attempt something so insane? And why?”

I shook my head. “She claimed she could do it better than Alaric, and that David and the Ephors could work together afterward. Apparently surviving this ritual is the test David has to face the night of Cotillion.”

“Which I’m still in favor of just skipping altogether,” David said, dumping three packets of sugar into his cup.

Saylor stirred her tea with more force than was probably necessary. “I told you, there is no skipping it. This event is preset. Destined.”

David and I both groaned a little at that word, but I had to admit, it made sense. “Think of it this way,” I told David, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “At least we know when it’ll happen. We have a set date to prepare for.”

If the way David glowered at his tea was any indication, he wasn’t exactly buying that, but he gave a little shrug. “Okay.”

I shot a look over at the old ladies by the window, but they were deeply involved in their crème brûlée and not paying any attention to us. “Miss Saylor, could you get back to that part about putting Alaric down like a dog?” I glanced over at David. He wasn’t looking at me, but was tracing little patterns on the tablecloth with his fork. “You said almost all of his Paladins died protecting him. So who killed Alaric?”

Saylor was quiet for so long that I didn’t think she was going to answer. And then, finally, “The other two Paladins.”

David’s fork stopped moving on the table, snagging on the gingham. “How? If their ‘sacred duty’ is to protect—”