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“What’s going to happen?” I ask.

“Pain.”

The meaning of the word doesn’t register at first.

“The Trials are designed around pain,” he says.

My stomach drops. “What kind?”

“Physical. Emotional. Enough to break you,” he says, his hands calm against the steering wheel. “Or make you stronger.”

I don’t know which outcome feels more likely.

“Just me?”

“You and the other Aspirant, Bridget Connelly.”

Patrick’s wife. Of course. The tension between them makes sense now.

The town falls away behind us as the road weaves higher into the bluff, trees crowding close on either side while shadows flicker across the windshield. We curve sharply back to the single street running along the top of the bluff itself.

A nervous pit opens in my stomach.

“What happens if we win?”

“When we win,” he corrects, glancing at me, “I will become Sovereign. Leader of the Serpentium Order.”

He says it as if he already sees the ending clearly.

“And me?”

“You’ll be relieved of all obligations. It’s all outlined in the terms.”

It seems so simple. I don’t know if that makes me feel any safer.

“Terms?”

“The terms of our arrangement. Your justice, my success.”

Unease coils through me. I expected an exchange, not terms and conditions.

The gate opens as we approach, wrought iron curling into patterns that look like they were grown from the earth.

Beyond it, the house rises. Calling it a house is a bit absurd. It’s torn right from an old gothic novel and stripped of its color, painted in shades of gray and black. Rooflines layered on top of one another until the mansion feels unbalanced and chaotic.

Turrets interrupt the shape, but one tower draws my eye with its pointed roof, sharp enough to resemble a witch’s hat. The wraparound porch might have seemed inviting if not for the sinister edge the entire home has.

There’s a weight to it, a presence that presses on my chest, making my skin crawl.

This is what Edwin belongs to. This is what I have to survive.

Inside is eerily quiet for a place with so many residents.

We move down a long corridor lined with dark green patterned wallpaper and heavy drapes that swallow sound. All daylight is hidden. Lamps cast an amber glow over the space instead. Everything is gorgeous. And expensive enough to suffocate.

Portraits line the walls. Faces watch us from gilded frames, generations frozen in oil paint and solemn elegance.

I slow when I recognize one immediately.