Page 124 of The Order of the Bitter Hunt

To my surprise, Tobey listens. They don’t say a word as I step away. They still trust me, and I trust them. Even if this is the end, we have each other.

“I love you,” I say, for the room to hear.

If those are my last words to them, I’ll be happy. I hold my head high as I approach my father.

“It’s a new moon cycle,” my father says. “Strode has required sacrifices for each moon cycle from the time the university came to be. The Order has always been responsible for fulfilling that duty. For centuries, we have done so, and we will continue to.”

I’m frozen as I listen, looking out at the crowd.

“Father?” I whisper.

He pauses his speech, watching me expectantly.

“Why have there been so many deaths this semester?” I ask. “You said it’s once each moon cycle.”

“Times have changed,” he says lowly, just for me to hear. His expression darkens. “He requires more now.”

I’m stunned into silence. If he requires multiple sacrifices each month…

How can we ever keep up? When will we run out of students?

“Castine sits a Hellmouth,” my father says, speaking to the room again. “And in exchange for the souls we bring, the demon gifts us safety from the other beings of Hell. Members of the Order, like you and I, are given immortality for our hard work. It is our job to uphold the standard of the demon Strode. Today, it is my great pleasure to begin the ceremony for my youngest child, Margaux.”

The room claps—some unsure, some passionate.

“Many of you know about the ceremonies,” my father says. “For those of you who do not, your final trial is to sacrifice the person you love most.”

My eyes dart to Tobey’s, and red tears blur my vision.

“It must be a willing sacrifice,” my father says. “It is a sign not only of your loyalty to Strode but of how loyal others are toyou.”

Does this mean Amelia loved Poppy the most? I can’t imagine it. How much is there about my friend that I didn’t know?

Poppy gave her life for Amelia, and we took that life.

I shake my head, chasing away the thoughts. The dagger hidden up my sleeve is sharp and heavy.

Where is Strode? When will Caldwell call him in?

“Margaux,” my father says. “Step forward.”

I do as he asks, with my head held high.

He wipes oil on my forehead. “Palms, please.”

I outstretch my hands, and they shake as he spreads the same oil onto them. “What is this?”

“Oil blessed by the demon himself.”

Blessed, or cursed? I repress a shudder, his words tingling up my spine. For once, my father loses the fanfare.

He looks at me, and I realize how exhausted he is. He’s supposed to be ageless, but he seems a thousand years old and bone weary. His lids are heavy. The gray in his hair no longer looks purposeful.

My father is a puppet for Strode, and it’s sucking the life from him, even as it elongates his existence.

“To the immortal Strode,” my father says, his voice ringing. “We bring to you an offering—a soul given by choice. Continue to protect our school and elevate?—”

“No,” I whisper, pleading with my father. “Stop. I can’t. We can’t do this.”