Page 139 of Cursed

A murmur of agreement rippled through the gathered crowd, a blend of eager whispers and nervous laughter. They were exhilarated by this ritual—strengthened by it. No one would dare to defy him, not here, not now.

“Next!” he barked and waved the man away dismissively, his ghostly eyes scanning the assembly. I could feel the tension swell, like a storm gathering just beyond the horizon. My brothers shifted beside me. Titus rubbed a hand through his dark hair, and Bastian stared at the floor, unwilling to meet my gaze.

Was that all of them?

Dark blood stained the stones at my father’s feet and magic thrummed in the air.

“My sons—”

I straightened as Lucian’s voice echoed in the chamber and every member of the Council turned to look at us.

“My sons,” Lucian repeated. I didn’t like the smile on his face—or the shimmer in his pale eyes. “Come forth.” Lucian beckoned to us.

Dangerous.

Careful.

Titus hesitated and confusion knitted his brow, while Bastian shot me a questioning look.

“Let’s not keep him waiting,” I muttered, feigning nonchalance even as dread coiled around my spine. One by one, we stepped forward, and the echo of our boots reverberated off the stone walls.

We stood before him in a line, as we always did. I expected him to call upon Titus and Bastian first—his legitimate sons.

But his ghostly eyes fell on me.

“Valen,” Lucian said, his voice smooth yet sharp as a knife. “What do you offer?”

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to recoil. I glanced sideways at Titus, who seemed caught between protest and submission, but I couldn’t falter now. I lifted my arm and the cuff of my jacket fell back to reveal a thin silver chain wrapped around my wrist. A small, worn pendant dangled from it—the bright blue stone gleamed in the torchlight, and Lucian’s eyes narrowed. He recognized it. My mother’s last gift before she was taken. I gripped it tight, and without hesitation, I tore it from the chain. It felt heavy in my palm. I held it out, my fingers trembling slightly, meeting my father’s gaze head-on.

Lucian extended his hand with purposefully menacing slowness.

“My loyalty to you, Father,” I replied. “Loyalty to the Necromi.” I forced the words past my lips with as much strength as I could muster as I dropped the pendant into his upturned hand. He studied me for an agonizing moment before his lips twisted into a mockery of a smile and his fingers closed over it.

“Good boy,” he said.

He tossed the token onto the altar with the other offerings as if it were nothing, and something inside me cracked. His eyes slid away from me. “Now, Titus.”

My elder brother’s broad shoulders straightened. He pulled the knife from the sheath at the small of his back and held it out. The knife that had ended Elder Craster’s miserable excuse for a life. A weapon that had ended many lives in Lucian’s service. “I pledge my loyalty, Father,” he intoned. “To you. To the Necromi. To our cause.”

Lucian took the knife and examined it carefully before he closed his eyes, and the pale red smoke of his magic wound around the silvered blade. “By your deeds, you have served the Necromi well,” he said.

The smoke dissipated, and the knife set down with the others as he straightened once more.

Lucian’s focus turned to Bastian. “And you— my youngest son. What have you to offer, Bastian?”

Without hesitation, Bastian pulled a thick silver ring from his finger and held it out to our father. “For the Necromi…”

I wondered what corpse he’d taken that trinket off.

“Excellent.” Lucian nodded as he took the ring, and I couldn’t mistake the satisfaction that gleamed in his eyes as he dismissed us.

I could feel his eyes on us as we walked to the back of the room and resumed our places.

“I could not have asked for more devoted sons. Or a more devoted following,” Lucian said as he deposited Bastian’s offering among the others. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bastian’s jaw clench, but he said nothing.

Our gifts had been discarded, just like the others.

Lucian only cared about our submission.

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