Page 107 of Cursed

“Please—” she whispered, “we’ve done nothing—” But I silenced her with a single glare. Her fear was obvious, but neither of them reached for their magic.

“Keep quiet,” Valen growled. “We wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen, would we?”

Her lips trembled, and a fragile nod was all he received in response.

Elder Craster cowered under Bastian’s hand. He was nothing more than a frail old man now—he’d done this to himself, and he knew there was no escape.

I dropped my bag onto the floor and bent to retrieve a length of rope.

“Bind him,” I ordered. The Elder let out a whimper as Bastian snatched it out of my hand.

He yanked Craster’s hands together, and bound them with brutal efficiency. The old man’s protests were choked, but he knew better than to cry out.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Bastian chuckled as he pulled the last knot tight. The motion elicited another whimper from Craster that sent a thrill of satisfaction through me.

“Put the lady in the wardrobe,” I snapped.

Valen grinned as he roughly escorted Craster’s wife toward a towering wooden wardrobe and opened the door. “If you please,” he said.

The woman sobbed and struggled weakly as Valen pushed her into the wardrobe, but he didn’t falter. He shoved her inside, closed the door, and turned the key in the lock. He drew out the key and threw it under the enormous bed.

The air was thick as we dragged Elder Craster down the opulent corridors of his estate, and his frail body trembled like a leaf in the wind. His protests bubbled up, but Bastian silenced him with a swift motion, and pushed a ragged scrap of fabric into the old man’s mouth to act as a gag. His muffled pleas continued, but we weren’t listening.

There was nothing he could offer us that could alter our purpose.

We emerged from the lavish confines of the estate into the garden, where moonlight spilled across the meticulously manicured hedges. Elder Craster let out a moan of horror as we stepped over the guards whose lifeless forms lay strewn over the stone pathway. Their blood stained the stones and soaked into the dirt, but I didn’t spare them a second glance.

Bastian laughed darkly as the old man stumbled, grabbed hold of his upper arm to keep him moving.

As we reached the edge of the garden, the waiting SUV loomed like a dark sentinel between the trees. Bastian shoved Craster forward as I opened the back door.

“Get him in there.”

“Gladly,” Bastian grunted. Craster stumbled awkwardly and his frail form collided with the leather upholstery as Bastian forced the old man into the back seat. A pitiful sight. If only the people of Messana could see their hallowed leaders humbled in such a way.

He’d betrayed all of them—and for what?

Bastian reached in to test the knots on the rope that bound the old man’s hands, and then he nodded to me.

“Don’t worry, Elder. We’ll take good care of you.” Bastian chuckled as he stepped back from the vehicle and slammed the door shut.

I opened the driver’s side door and in one fluid motion; I slid behind the wheel and started the engine. The vehicle’s growl echoed through the stillness of the night.

“Let’s go,” Valen barked.

My brothers ran through the forest to retrieve their bikes, and as the engines roared to life, I pressed my foot down on the accelerator and guided the SUV through the trees toward the road.

The Elder wriggled in the back seat, but I ignored him.

This would all be over soon.

The motorcycles roared aheadof me, guiding me through the trees until the dirt road that led to Elder Craster’s estate merged with Messana’s paved roads once more. The elite liked to hide themselves away so no one could see what went on behind their walls—my father was no different. But the Sages Council seemed to want to hide their wealth more than anything. The people of Messana believed they were pious zealots who craved nothing more than knowledge.

But Elder Craster’s luxurious home was evidence to the contrary. He profited off his position, and off the illusion of piety.

No matter what side you were on, isolation served a purpose.

The intercom crackled to life, and a hollow voice sliced through the suffocating silence of the SUV like a knife.

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