Page 138 of Cursed

“Where the fuck were you?”

“Nowhere,” I replied.

Titus followed me, and the stone door that covered the entrance to the catacombs scraped closed. The sound echoed painfully in the narrow hallway, but I didn’t dare flinch.

Titus pushed past us. “Move—”

The air in the catacombs was thick. Shadows flickered along the walls, cast by torches that sputtered against the uneven stones. The scent of ancient earth and decay filled my nostrils and mixed with the metallic tang of fear—but not mine.

We hurried toward the chamber where the Council met. The soft murmur of their voices reached us like ghostly whispers, and a chill prickled up my spine as the hallway widened and led us into the chamber.

Cloaked in black, the Council members huddled together in small knots of conversation. They wore pinched, anxious expressions, and their furtive whispers sounded loud to me. Their eyes darted toward us as we entered the chamber and their hushed tones dissolved into uneasy silence.

Did they know why we had been called here?

Dread coiled in my stomach like a thorned vine as we took our places at the back of the room.

No. They had no idea why they were in these catacombs, either.

But seeing us had definitely set them on edge.

As if summoned by their whispered fears, Lucian entered the chamber with a flourish, and the heavy wooden door creaked ominously behind him. His suit—expertly tailored, as always, was darker than usual, shot through with silver thread that caught the rough, flickering light of the torches.

Lucian’s pale skin seemed to glow, and he had tied his moonlight-colored hair back from his high forehead. Those ghostly eyes, sharp and calculating, swept across the attendees.

“My friends,” he breathed.

Eyes turned toward him, but the soft murmur of conversation continued.

“Silence!” His voice echoed in the chamber and the edge of it sent chills racing down my spine. I felt the room shrink with his presence, as if the very stones wished to hide from his wrath.

Lucian raised his hands, and the torches set into the walls blazed brighter. “You seem confused by the summons that brought you here— and there are many who did not heed the warning contained in those invitations.”

His gaze pierced through the crowded figures and I saw more than one shrink away from it. “You stand here today not as allies,” he continued, “but assubjects. As penitents.” He paused and the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

What the fuck was he doing?

“Members of the Black Council— As was demanded by those in ages past, when the power of our order was wielded in secret, I demandproofof your loyalty to the Necromi!”

His words hung in the air like a dark mist, and I could see the Council members squirm beneath his gaze. Their faces paled as they looked at one another and exchanged nervous glances.How easily they allowed fear to dictate their allegiance.

“Let us not forget the fate of those who have forsaken our order,” Lucian continued, his tone chillingly calm. “Elder Craster— You know well that he dared to betray our cause… and he met his end in this very chamber.” He gestured sharply toward the stones at the feet of one of the Council members. The man let out a thin cry and leapt back. Dark remnants of Craster’s blood still clung to the crevices in the stones where his body had lain. “His blood will stain these stones for eternity,” he said coldly. “A reminder thattreacheryis punished without mercy. And without hesitation.”

When I was younger, Lucian had told me stories about the sorcerers who had betrayed him during his rise to power. There were those that he had betrayed as well—but those stories weren’t told nearly as often.

How easily Lucian twisted those stories to maintain control, using past transgressions to instill dread in the hearts of his followers.

“Do you wish to join him?” Lucian’s voice sliced through my thoughts, cold and sharp, as he scanned the crowd for dissent. He thrived on their fear and fed off their uncertainty like a parasite. “Let me hear your oaths,” he urged. “Let me see your tokens of loyalty.Proveyou are worthy to stand on this shadowy Council and see the Necromi rise in Messana to where they belong!”

The silence was thick, suffocating with the weight of their fear, and Lucian only seemed to grow stronger and taller at the front of the room as the Council members stepped forward one by one. Their faces, pale and drawn, flickered with expressions of both devotion and dread—sometimes both. They feared him, loved him, and hated him—all at the same time.

I leaned against the cold stone wall, my jaw clenched tight, and watched my father receive their offerings like a dark god. Each sacrifice—some had nothing to give but their blood oath—silvered blades drawn across arms and hands—or a family heirloom offered from trembling hands— Lucian accepted them all with magnanimous grace.

“Has he done this before?” I hissed to Bastian.

My brother kept his eyes on the front of the room. “How would I know?” he whispered back.

“Ah, a worthy token,” Lucian called out. With chilling satisfaction, Lucian accepted an old dagger from a quivering nobleman. In the dim light, the blade glinted wickedly; its edge was stained dark from ancient spells wrought in its presence. “You understand the price of power, don’t you?”

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