Page 101 of Cursed

A silence blanketed the room, thick and suffocating.

Refusing an order from Lucian wasn’t possible.

We exchanged glances, but said nothing. Bastian let out a long breath. And then, with a nod, my younger brothers rose from their seats to follow the stone-faced servant down the hall toward our father’s study.

As we moved through the silent halls of Withermarsh, I couldn’t escape a sense of foreboding.

The heavy, dark door to Lucian’s study served as an imposing gateway into our father’s private world— It didn’t matter how many times I’d been summoned here. There was no way to know what to expect. Our father’s mood was unpredictable.

When I was younger, Lucian’s study had fascinated me. His study brimmed with relics, forbidden books, and other artifacts of our grim heritage. The stench of old magic was potent here, spiced with the undertone of a lacquer that had begun losing its battle against time long ago. There was something else, too. The faintest tang of dried blood—metallic and strange. Unnerving but powerful.

A reminder of how deadly Lucian could be when he wished.

When the servant opened the door, Lucian sat hunched over his ancient desk, which was littered with an assortment of scrolls and aged texts. The glowing red orb that hovered above his shoulder swirled with blood-tinged mists and cast its macabre glow over the parchment under Lucian’s hands. His quill scratched over the surface of the page and I wondered—but only for a moment—whose death warrant he was signing.

“Come in,” he commanded without looking up.

The murmurs of the room faded as soon as we stepped in. Bastian fidgeted slightly, but Valen’s stance was firm. It reminded me uncomfortably that despite our power, despite everything we had accomplished in Messana’s murky underworld—Lucian still controlled everything. Even us.

Without preamble, Lucian set his quill into the ink well, leaned back in his leather chair, and tapped his fingers on the parchment in front of him.

“You will retrieve someone for me,” Lucian stated flatly.

“Who?” Bastian asked. Curiosity always outpaced his caution.

Lucian’s expression betrayed nothing.

I didn’t like it.

“My sons,” he began, “I trust you are aware of the growing unrest within Messana?”

Unrest? Why would there be any unrest?

“We hadn’t heard anything,” I replied.

“No matter,” Lucian said. “There’s a matter of utmost importance that requires your immediate attention.” He paused for a moment to look at each of us in turn. Valen shifted beside me, his fingers twitching at his sides, while Bastian leaned forward slightly.

“A member of the Sage’s council is to be brought to heel,” Lucian continued. “His influence has grown too potent, and he must be… reminded of his place.”

“Will he be expecting us?” I asked, unable to suppress the edge in my voice.

“Discretion is paramount,” Lucian replied as his gaze narrowed on me. “We cannot afford any missteps in this delicate situation. His estate will be well guarded— You’ll need to tread carefully, act swiftly, and leave no witnesses.”

A wicked smile spread over Bastian’s face. “Not expecting us,” he said.

I exchanged a glance with Valen. Concern furrowed his brow.

Why now?

What had changed?

Had we really been so distracted by Avril that we hadn’t noticed what was happening in our own city?

My father’s command had taken me by surprise. That never happened.

And even though my mind raced with possibilities, my gnawing sense of unease about Avril lurked at the edges of my thoughts.

“Bring him to me,” Lucian commanded.

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