Heart pounding, I snatched the sketchbook out of his hands. “What the hells is this?” I demanded, shoving down the fear in favor of rage. “Seriously, what the hells is this?”

Finally the man’s eyes rolled back in his head and I was met with startling soft hazel eyes, entrancing against the backdrop of his smooth dark skin. Slowly, those eyes focused on me as the psychic trance waned. He blinked up at me, then at his empty hands, like he couldn’t quite figure out what happened.

I shoved the drawing in his face and he stared at it—then at me with a look of growing horror before he mastered it, smoothing his expression into one of remorse. “Shit,” he sighed, his voice pleasantly deep, “I’m so sorry.”

I scoffed. Sorry didn’t begin to cover it. “Explain. Now.”

The man climbed to his feet, shaky at first. “I didn’t mean to draw you—I don’t even know you,” he grumbled, though his tone was too weary to really be defensive. “Though I think you live in my quad,” he added. “I saw you leaving with another of our roommates earlier.”

Ah, so he was powerful enough to be rooming with the prince and Fortunata’s daughter—which meant one thing.

“You’re a futurist,” I said, that chill coming back in full force, though I didn’t let it show. “You draw the future.”

With a nod, the man held out his hand. “I’m Angelo,” he said, and I could hear the melodic accent of the Eastern Isles in his name, where they said the clear waters meant the people were born with divination in their blood. Most of it was old fishwives’ tales, but more futurists were born to the isles than anywhere else in our kingdom, though they were rarely skilled enough to warrant a place at the academy.

“Liliana,” I said, clearing my throat, though I didn’t offer to shake hands, not when that hand was busy sketching out my death two seconds ago. “Now can you please tell me what the hell I’m looking at?”

Angelo grimaced and shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m trying to recall the vision—”

“Try harder,” I snapped. He screwed his eyes shut, concentrating hard. Futurist visions weren’t always precise, it could be more of a metaphor than a literal stabbing, right?

But Angelo frowned. “All I saw was a body falling to the ground with this blade in her chest,” he said. Then he glanced at me hopefully. “Have you had any bad accidents with a bolo knife recently?”

It seemed like he wasn’t sure either what the vision meant exactly, but an image of Cassius twirling that same bolo knife flashed in my mind. As the prince, he’d definitely have the leeway to kill me, I just had no idea about the motive. Not that I was going to share any of this with Angelo.

Again, Angelo apologized. “I truly am sorry. I can’t control what I draw in those trances,” he said, that weariness back in his voice. He peered down at the picture, dredging up a false brightness. “I know it’s in your chest and there’s a lot of blood, but…maybe you make it out alive.” I started to scoff, but then he added, “especially since the look on your face says you know who might have that knife.”

I just nodded, my mind racing. Other than just being a bad-tempered asshole, I couldn’t think of any reason Cassius would want to kill me. I might be mouthy, but if he couldn’t handle that, our kingdom didn’t stand a chance with him at the helm. But there could be another explanation…like perhaps the mole would find me out and use the prince’s new, rather distinctive blade that we had a public squabble over to do the deed. Pinning it on someone everyone was too afraid to challenge would be smart—like something I would do.

But I had to put all that aside for now, and not just because Angelo was peering at me like he was trying to unravel my secrets.

“Would you like to walk back with me?” I asked, aiming a disarming smile at him. “Not sure I’m really up for the whole orientation thing anymore.”

Angelo gave me a patient smile. “There’s no choice in the matter,” he said, pulling out a locket watch on a golden chain. “In fact, it’s about time to hear the chancellor speak, and attendance is mandatory.”

I questioned what mandatory really meant at a school for villainy, but I needed to keep my head down the first few days, so no rule breaking—yet.

Nodding, I followed Angelo back to the auditorium. His stride was steady now, and he moved like he was used to authority. “I really am sorry for sketching your death,” he said, leaning his tall frame down to mutter in my ear as we stepped back into the loud, crowded space. “Possible death,” he added hastily. “I hate when I do that.”

Curious, I asked, “What do you do with the information you have once you draw it?”

Angelo shrugged. “I’m a villain like you. I have to weigh the consequences of revealing what I see or doing anything about it. It all has to be for the darker good, doesn’t it?”

I grinned at the familiar expression. “Or the greater evil.” We laughed together for a second, even though deep down I was definitely still shaken.

But I remembered one of the very first lessons my mother taught me in spying as a sorceress—never show people how you really feel. We naturally drew attention with our power and our—her—fame, so anonymity wasn’t a tool we could use. Secrecy, then, was everything. They might know who I was, but I could never reveal what I was feeling or what I knew.

Too bad I wasn’t really good at that part. My MO was usually to act before I thought, but I knew that was the opposite of how I needed to be as the king’s spy here, especially surrounded by villains who had probably been taught the same since birth.

For a moment I wondered if Cassius was aware of his father’s mission. Was he more likely to help or hinder me if it came to it? But I shook the thoughts away as they didn’t matter. I had my orders and I just had to follow through no matter what Cassius or anyone else threw at me. Otherwise, it would mean my and my mother’s heads.

Back in the auditorium, the booths had been pushed to the four walls, and rows of chairs had been put in their place. I found seats with Angelo, but it wasn’t long before the curtain pulled back and we were all standing once again.

A tall, regal woman was standing on the stage, her silver hair twisted up into a bun that was held in place with a dagger. She clapped once to get everyone’s attention, and once was all it took.

“I am Chancellor Campwell,” she announced into the ringing silence. “And I want to welcome our new students to their first year here at Obsidian.”

Enthusiastic applause rang out and she let us have the moment before raising a hand for silence.

“All of you should be aware if you’re not already—you are the elite of the villain class. Not just any villains have the privilege of training in these illustrious halls, and fewer still make it to graduation. Only the brightest and most promising come here to defend themselves and our kind’s dark kingdom at any cost.”

Cheers erupted at that statement, the very ethos of villainy we’d all been raised to revere. I cheered along hollowly, but I took the moment to scan the crowd for Cassius—I didn’t see him anywhere. Maybe as the prince he got to be exempt from orientation. Afterall, he’d probably visited the academy all the time growing up, unlike me. Mother liked to keep her tools in the box until they were needed, and this was my first mission here.

“Look to your left and your right. See the faces of the villains around you,” Chancellor Campwell continued grandly. “This is your competition. Only one in three of you will go on to carry the Obsidian legacy, to darken your souls to the point of perfection. And so I want to challenge each and every one of you to fulfill your darkest selves.”

I shifted uncomfortably at the sound of that. Not that any of this was news, or even new to me. I’d grown up with this rhetoric, these expectations all my life, just coming from my mother. It was different, though, when it was just the two of us in her study as she drilled me on poisons or barking out orders in the drill yard. Then it was about the two of us, our family legacy and pride.

But here, coming from the head of the school, it seemed…darker somehow. I knew that was the point, knew darkness was the goal, but it was as if I could feel the tendrils of shadow weaving around each of us in a web.

And if I made one wrong move in my search for the mole, or my murderer, then I’d be caught up in that web and never find my way back out.