Page 144 of Brutal Crown

I glance toward the altar, where the marble stone glows faintly under the torchlight. The Sanctum looks at the middle, and a ceremonial basin sits at the center of the Sanctum, mounted on a raised slab surrounded by six standing pillars. Its pale silver, together with that of the dagger beside it, gleams beneath the moonlight and fire.

At the far end of the room, above all of us, the Elders take their seats on raised stone daises, watching from their thrones. Their robes are black, lined with gold. Their faces are half-lit, watching everything.

I let my eyes trail over all six of their faces.

This is the only rite in which all six lay themselves bare before their subjects.

Ermanno. Giulio. Alfonso. The three I know from our last meeting. Their faces are like the stone walls behind them, evil carved into every line. The others were unknown until tonight.

The fourth Elder is the youngest amongst them all. He looks to be in his late forties or early fifties, around my father’s age. His brown hair is braided tightly against his skull, and his fingers keep tapping repeatedly against the armrest of his throne.

The fifth Elder appears to have a hunchback, probably because he’s wrapped in several layers of black wool. On his neck is a rope hung with relics and bones of past leaders.

The sixth is a man with pale skin and mismatched eyes. One blue, one clouded white. He never blinks.

A De Luca Elder. A seer.

They watch us all from their elevated positions, like predators watching their prey.

We wear our black cloaks over our suits, but our hoods are down. All identities are bare tonight. Every man must face the blood unmasked.

The Reckoning begins.

One by one, each heir steps forward.

I inhale slowly and walk forward.

The young heir to the Altieri family stands at the front of the line. His eyes are sharp with fear and something else. He slices his palm with the ceremonial dagger and lets the blood fall into the basin. Another follows. Then another. A trail of red, each oath sealed with a drop of lineage and legacy.

When it’s my turn, I step up to the stone, my heart pounding within my chest.

I remove my glove and take the dagger without flinching. I feel the burn before the blade even kisses my skin. The bladebites into my palm, and I slice clean through my flesh. Warmth slides down my wrist. I tilt my hand forward and watch the blood drip into the basin. My lineage. My name. My rebellion. I keep my hand steady and let the blood drip.

One. Two. Three.

Three drops are all that’s required.

I should move, but I remain standing.

I clench my bleeding fist around the handle of the blade. Then, with slow, deliberate precision, I slice through my second hand and let the rest of my blood spill onto the ancient floor.

A clear indication of disobedience.

Shocked gasps rise in the air. All eyes snap to me as confused murmurs rise in the air. I keep my head held high, my steady gaze crossing the room. When I glance at the Romano stand, I see my father offer me a tight nod before he takes a single step forward. Marco comes up behind him. Elio looks like he’s stopped breathing, but he does the same.

On the dais, the Elders shift.

“What is this?” the De Luca Elder says, his voice like metal striking stone.

My voice is clear. “By right of blood and trial, I call for anAntico Giudizio.”

The murmurs rise in the air, slicing through the entire cathedral.

“You dare invoke—” Alfonso starts, rising to his feet.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Giulio hisses.

“You’re reckless,” Ermanno speaks. “You have no authority?—”