Page 22 of Cursed (Wicked Heirs #2)

The motorcycles roared ahead of 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.

“Have you secured your mission?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Without issue?”

Irritation prickled at the back of my neck. “As instructed. We’re on our way back now.”

What the fuck kind of question was that? When had we ever failed before?

“You have new instructions—” the voice said shortly. I couldn’t identify the speaker, but that was probably the point. He knew the Elder was in the car with me.

“New instructions?” Bastian’s voice broke in. “What now?”

I gritted my teeth and willed him to shut his mouth and stay quiet. But Bastian wouldn’t obey even if he could hear my ire through the comm link.

“You will bring Elder Craster before the Black Council,” the voice replied tersely. “ Now. ”

A chill danced down my spine, but I straightened my shoulders.

“Titus?” The command in the voice was unmistakable, and I knew my father was standing close by, listening to the exchange. “Is that understood?”

I gripped the steering wheel tight.

“Understood,” I replied, and then clicked the comm link off. I counted to five and then flicked it on again.

“Did you assholes hear that?” I asked.

Valen and Bastian responded with affirmative grunts.

The road blurred beneath us, a dark ribbon winding through the dense trees lining the highway toward Messana. I shot a glance at the rearview mirror to look at the prisoner in my back seat. Elder Craster, bound and gagged, looked back at me with eyes wide with dread. He shook his head violently, the gag pressing against his lips, begging for mercy that would never come.

“Next exit’s ours,” Valen said. I clicked off the comm and focused on the road. In unison, the motorcycles veered away from the highway, tires screeching against asphalt.

The highway turned toward the harbor, and then another exit led us through the city to the elevated terrace that marked out the cemetery precinct.

The dead get the best views.

A grand wrought-iron gate, augmented with dark serpents and creeping ivy, stood open, and I peered up at the carved stone gargoyles that kept watch over those who entered.

Generations of Sages were buried here and scattered among them were the secret tombs of those loyal to the Necromi.

The foundations of the city, some might say.

The motorcade halted in front of the black structure that served as the funeral home, and engines growled their final breaths before sputtering off.

Valen dismounted from his sleek bike and walked toward the SUV. Bastian followed suit, and his boots echoed in the strange silence of the early morning.

As I stepped out of the SUV, I paused to frown down at the harbor, where the pale light of dawn was only just beginning to intrude on the darkness.

Valen wrenched open the back door and yanked at Craster’s bindings, pulling him out roughly onto the cold concrete.

The Elder let out a muffled groan as he fell, and Bastian grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Your nightgown is… stunning,” he said. “Did I mention it before?”

“Shut up,” I growled.

“I’m serious,” Bastian continued, without looking at me. “Expensive material—and the embroidery…” He shook his head ruefully. “I guess we should be grateful the old bastard didn’t sleep naked.”

He laughed and slapped the Elder on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.

Elder Craster’s bloodshot eyes met mine, and I looked away. I was tired of his moaning.

“Bring him,” I snarled.

Valen and Bastian grabbed the old man’s arms and pulled him along with us as we walked toward the path that would lead us through the cemetery to the crypts.

The Romano crypt specifically.

As we walked, the early morning mist crept between the gravestones and wrapped around our legs. Mud stained Elder Craster’s bare feet, and grass clung to his skinny ankles. I inhaled the scent of damp earth, mingled with the faint metallic tang of decay.

“Almost there,” Valen called out.

“Keep moving, Craster!” Bastian’s sing-song voice was cheerful.

The Elder shuffled forward, dragging his feet, but there was nothing but the futility of his struggle against the looming threat that awaited him.

He hadn’t even tried to use his magic.

Not that it would have helped.

As we broke through the last line of trees and stood before the line of crypts, I could feel the energy shift. The last time we were all here, we’d laid Avril’s mother to rest.

A smirk tugged at my lips.

The crypt’s heavy wrought-iron gate was closed, but unlocked, and lifted my hand and allowed my magic to flow forth to pull it open with its winding tendrils. Without looking back at my brothers.

I walked through the gate and up the stairs to the area my father called ‘the temple.’ An arrogant name that didn’t match the reality of what lay in this place.

Corpses of our ancestors.

But there weren’t many of them.

My father had built this crypt when he’d risen through the Necromi’s ranks. I dragged my fingertips over the intricate engravings on the cold marble before pressing on the hidden panel. It clicked under my touch and with a deep rumble, the heavy stone doors in the floor moved apart.

Bastian grinned as he dragged Elder Craster into the crypt. The old man’s eyes were wide with shock and he flinched as an opening yawned before us like a black maw.

“Hasn’t he been here before?” Bastian shook his head and laughed. “No, no. Look at his face— I don’t think he’s been here before!”

Valen rolled his eyes as Bastian made lewd kissing noises at Julia’s marble tomb.

“Don’t make that face,” Bastian snarked. “Shouldn’t you pay some respect to our dearly departed stepmother?”

Valen didn’t respond, and I pushed Bastian’s shoulder. “Get moving. We don’t have time for you to be a prick.”

Bastian’s lip curled. I could sense the flare of his magic, but he was smart enough not to start anything.

Valen tugged at Craster’s arm and led him down the cold stone stairs that led into the lower level of the crypt where the Black Council met.

Aside from Julia, my mother was the only other Romano buried in this cemetery. But they hadn’t interred her here—not in the family crypt. Lucian hadn’t bothered to marry her—which made me wonder why he’d gone to the trouble of marrying Julia.

The flickering light of the torches embedded in the wet stone walls made our descent into the abyss eerier than it should have been, and Bastian’s strange laughter echoed through the hallway.

“Off to see the wizards,” he sang tunelessly.

“Shut up,” I growled.

After what seemed like an eternity of descending spirals, our small troupe emerged into a vast stone chamber.

We dragged Elder Craster through the thickening shadows, and his body was like a ragged puppet strung along between my brothers. Each step echoed in the stillness, but the whispers that snaked through the darkness were unsettling as they crept over my skin.

The Council was already here, which meant Lucian was, too.

Craster let out a muffled whimper, and I looked back over my shoulder at my brothers. The old man’s eyes were wide and frantic, and there was a wound over his left eyebrow that had wet the side of his face with dark blood. His eyes darted between us as he struggled against his bonds.

A surge of power rippled through me, dark and heady, and I realized it was impossible not to relish every moment of the old Sage’s humiliation. “What?” I demanded.

Bastian and Valen stopped short.

“What?” Valen echoed.

“We have to keep going,” Bastian said. “Lucian will be pissed— it’s almost dawn.”

“The old man wants to say something,” I snarled. “Get that gag out of his mouth.”

Bastian’s lip curled. “Are you serious?”

“He hasn’t used his magic on us,” I snapped. “He knows it’s futile.”

Bastian shrugged and yanked the frayed cloth from the old man’s mouth. The Elder let out a ragged gasp.

“What the fuck do you want?” I growled. “Say it now, but know that it’s not going to change anything.”

“Lucian’s new bride,” he croaked. “The Velez girl— I know— I know something—”

“He’s lying,” Bastian barked. “What could he know?”

Valen’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

“Perhaps we should hear him out,” I murmured, my eyes still locked onto the Elder’s fearful gaze. His watery violet eyes held a desperate glint that I found intriguing. “Speak.”

“I—I know what she is… What Dario has done…” His quaking voice barely echoed in the chamber.

“Dario?” Bastian scoffed. His gaze turned dark as his grip on the Elder’s arm tightened. “Dario Velez failed , old man. Don’t you remember? He’s long dead, and all his plans were ground into dust beneath Lucian’s boots.”

Bastian was right— But I was curious now. “And what, exactly, did Dario Velez do?”

“The grimoire—” the old man choked out. “He—”

Before the Elder could continue, a voice sliced through the chamber’s gloom and echoed around us.

“Titus! Bring the traitor forth to face his judgement!”

Bastian’s lip curled into a grimace as he jerked the Elder forward. Together with Valen, they forced the old Sage onward to the awaiting council.

I watched them pass, but my brain was on fire with what he’d said—it wasn’t enough to do anything but leave more questions. But I couldn’t do anything.

I forced my legs into motion and followed my brothers down the corridor and into the main chamber where my father and the members of the Black Council waited.

They glared down at us from a raised stone dais where they stood in a crescent formation.

Lucian was in the center, dressed as elegantly as if he were speaking at a board meeting for one of the most powerful investment firms in Messana. Above his shoulder, the red orb that usually floated above his desk in his study hovered in mid-air. Its deep ruby glow altered the appearance of the other sorcerers in the room and the chamber itself seemed to flex and change with its every pulse. Delicate tendrils of soft scarlet smoke whirled around it like a slow-moving storm and little sparks of red light punctuated its movement.

“There you are.” My father’s smile was always chilling, but this one sent shivers down my spine and ahead of me Valen flinched slightly.

“I fear you’ve forgotten your oaths, Elder Craster.” Lucian’s voice was smooth, like oil on water, as he regarded the man in front of him with disdain. “And I don’t think I need to remind you of the penalty for such an offense.”

“You should be on your knees,” Bastian snarled. He and Valen pushed the Elder forward.

Craster stumbled and his bare feet scraped painfully against the cold stone as he fell to the floor. “I beg... I beg for mercy,” he gasped, his voice echoed in the silence that had fallen over the council chamber.

But then the low murmur of the Black Council drowned out his words.

They had already passed judgement over him.

It was only a matter of how long they would allow him to believe that he would survive it.

“Mercy?” Lucian laughed; a hollow sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “You plead for mercy at such a late hour? You should have thought about that before your betrayal.”

Craster quivered under Lucian’s piercing gaze. “I-I swear, my lord! I remain loyal to the Necromi!” His voice trembled and cracked under the weight of his panic. “I’ve done everything in service of our cause... I have—”

“Futile.” Lucian raised a hand and silenced the Elder with a dismissive wave. “Your loyalty is as thin as your magic. You have sought to align yourself with those who oppose us— But not for any other purpose than to protect your own investments and enrich yourself… I could have respected you for being loyal to the Sages for some… higher purpose— but you couldn’t even manage that.”

Lucian’s cadence—lazy, dismissive, and dripping with condescension—were clearly meant to be a broader condemnation. From the way some of the other members of the Council shifted and murmured, they sensed it, too. The old man on the floor in front of them wasn’t the only one on trial here.

That was how Lucian kept the power he had over the Necromi.

No one was safe.

“Please!” Craster scrambled forward, eyes wide and pleading like a cornered animal. “My lord, please! It’s not what you think! I only wanted to protect—”

“Enough.” Lucian’s voice lashed out like a whip, cutting through the Elder’s desperate pleas. The chill in the air deepened, and I could sense the Council shifting as their collective hunger grew— Not for justice. There was no justice in these shadows.

But for vengeance.

A scapegoat.

A distraction.

“Do you honestly believe your pathetic excuses will save you?” Lucian sneered. “Even with all of your power and position, you were nothing but a worm squirming in the soil—and now you are drowning in the rain.”

Silence fell over the chambers, and I could feel the violent thoughts and intentions of the Council members as they leaned against the wrought-iron railing expectantly.

Lucian’s eyes were icy—dead and cold—as he glared down at Craster’s pathetic form.

He leaned over the railing. “How has that power served you now?”

“I— I have done everything you asked,” the Elder gasped. “Everything— I gave up my magic—”

That was why he hadn’t fought back when we’d taken him.

A cruel smile tugged at my father’s lips.

“And you thought that would be enough.”

The murmurs of the Council rose and fell like waves and Craster looked to all of them, pleading without words for their intervention—but it would never come. From the slump of his shoulders, I could see that he knew it, too.

Lucian straightened up and turned slightly toward the crowd behind him.

“Death,” he said triumphantly in a voice that was as cold and unyielding as winter ice. “Your betrayal has no remedy, Craster. The shame you’ve brought upon yourself, your house— Upon all of us.” He paused for effect. “Your death alone can atone for this.”

Lucian turned and extended his hand. Pale red smoke wound around his long fingers and trailed across the stone floor to wind around Bastian’s legs.

Bastian’s lips curled into a smile that was both eager and unnerving.

“You will carry out the sentence,” Lucian said.

Bastian inclined his head at the command and stepped forward to perform the task.

This was nothing new. Lucian had commanded us to kill on more occasions than I could remember.

But as Bastian did, I caught a flicker of something in his pale eyes—confusion? Doubt? It vanished too quickly for certainty, swallowed up by the dark thrill that animated him. His hand twitched, and his fingers curled as the black and gray smoke of his magic burst forth—but the moment seemed suspended, stretched thin between intention and uncertainty.

“Why do you hesitate?” Lucian’s voice rang out, and I noticed the way Valen flinched at his tone.

“I’m not,” Bastian replied, but his tone was too casual. Yet I sensed the tremor beneath his bravado, a tiny crack in the facade. With brutal efficiency, he approached the crumpled form of Elder Craster, who lay trembling, desperate eyes darting between us and Lucian.

“Please... I can still serve our cause!” Fear choked Craster’s voice; his impending doom had crushed whatever defiance might have been left in him.

“Your time is up, old man.” Bastian’s voice had turned sharp as he raised his hand.

“Get it over with,” I muttered.

Bastian’s jaw tightened as the tendrils of his magic wrapped around the old man’s slender form and lifted him from the stone floor.

Craster’s scream shattered the silence, a raw wail that echoed against the rough walls, and reverberated through me.

Bastian’s lips drew back, baring his teeth, as he lunged forward again. He concentrated the force of his magic upon the Elder, but there was an uncharacteristic weakness in his movements, and the strands of his magic seemed paler.

“Valen!” I hissed, motioning for my brother. “He’s losing control.”

Valen hesitated and his brow furrowed as he watched Bastian grapple with the Elder’s thrashing body.

“Valen!”

My voice snapped him from his stupor, and he rushed forward, hands glowing faintly blue as he attempted to channel his magic and assist Bastian. I glanced at our father and noted the twitch in Lucian’s brow, but he didn’t move.

As Valen reached out, I saw that the muted blue glow of his magic failed to ignite fully; and the tendrils of smoke flickered as they coiled around the Elder’s limbs.

“Help him!” I barked in frustration as I clenched my fists.

Craster’s screams renewed, and he writhed under the torturous power my brothers wielded. But it wasn’t enough.

“Come on, Bastian. Finish it!” Valen’s voice was strained and there was a horrified gasp from one of the members of the Council as the Elder’s body contorted and his spine twisted.

The screams continued, a haunting melody that coiled around my thoughts and filled the room with anguish.

What had gone wrong? Why did our powers wane when they should have surged?

“Do it!” I shouted. The urge to intervene clawed at me. The urgency of the moment wrapped itself around my throat, choking any lingering hesitation.

“Shut up!” Bastian spat. His face was a mask of concentration and fury, yet his grip on the Elder faltered. “I’m trying!”

“Try harder!” I growled. The vault seemed smaller now, suffocating, as if the shadows themselves conspired against us.

As Craster’s cries spiraled into a crescendo, I realized we were teetering on the precipice of chaos—if this execution failed, Lucian would blame us.

This should have been a show of power and control.

Instead, it was a horror show.

I reached behind my back to my knife. The blade slid from my belt with a sickening ease and gleamed under the dim glow of the torches that flickered against the stone walls of the vault. A dark tide seemed to rise as Bastian hesitated once more, and his hands trembled slightly.

Valen’s teeth were bared, but his stance wavered.

What was happening?

The Elder’s eyes were white, rolled back in his head, and his mouth was slack, showing his yellowed teeth. If he could speak, he would plead for mercy, but it was too late for weakness. There would be no mercy here.

With one swift motion, I plunged the knife into the side of the Elder’s neck. The old man’s spine arched as the blade bit deep, and my hand was slick with crimson as I twisted it for good measure.

Craster’s screams halted, and Bastian and Valen released the old man from their spells.

As their magic dissipated, the Elder’s body fell to the floor with a sickening crunch.

Blood pooled around the corpse and soaked into his muddied nightgown before it spilled into the cracks between the stones.

Bastian flinched as he stepped back, his expression filled with horror and disbelief, while Valen looked away. Their discomfort was obvious, but I felt nothing. This was necessary. This was how we maintained our grip on our world.

“Pathetic,” I muttered under my breath as Craster twitched and the light faded from his eyes. I bent to wipe the blade clean on his bony hip before sheathing it again.

As I straightened, I could feel the eyes of every soul in the chamber trained on me.

The echoes of Craster’s final moments lingered in my ears, but I couldn’t allow myself to dwell, not now—not when the pressure of our father’s expectations loomed over us.

I glanced at Bastian, who looked as if he might retch. Guilt was etched into the sharp angles of Valen’s features, but his jaw was tight.

“Old fools,” Lucian’s voice cut through the suffocating silence, sharp and commanding.

He stepped forward, his pale skin gleamed grotesquely under the dim flicker of torchlight. Craster’s blood stained the stones— failure .

“You see what betrayal breeds,” Lucian continued, and eyes glinted like shards of glass. “This is the fate reserved for traitors—death, disgrace, obliteration.” With each word, my heart drummed an erratic rhythm against my ribcage.

The echo of Lucian’s speech faded into the background as my thoughts spiraled into a dark abyss. The echoes of Craster’s pleading voice haunted me, yet all I could think about was the taste of iron still lingering in my mouth.

What was happening? How had we failed?

But we hadn’t failed. The corpse at my father’s feet proved that.

No matter how it had happened, the old man was dead, and the Council’s justice had been carried out.

No, not the Council’s.

It was Lucian’s justice.

I looked at my father as he continued to lecture the members of the Black Council. His cruel smile was devoid of warmth as he addressed them. “I should not need to remind you that the ranks of the Necromi do not tolerate weakness.”

A murmur of agreement accompanied his words, and my focus narrowed as I scanned the ranks for anyone who looked uncomfortable.

Cowards would always struggle to conceal their guilt.

But they all looked nervous—and frightened.

That was what Lucian wanted.

Ruling with fear was his way.

“Remember this day, my friends,” Lucian concluded, and his voice echoed ominously against the stone walls, “for it marks the end of mercy— The end of complacency. We have lingered in the shadows for far too long. It is time that we press our advantage and take control of Messana.”

The resonating echo of his proclamation hung in the air of the ancient crypt as shadows danced ominously around us. I tore my gaze from my father to look at my brothers. Valen merely met my gaze, but his expression was blank. And Bastian, spending no energy on concealing his discomfort, opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish.

Whispers and murmurs suddenly filled the room. I heard my father’s name, uttered in hushed tones of respect and fear. The members of the Council exchanged nervous but approving nods. It was clear they saw Lucian’s words not only as a commandment, but also as a prophecy.

“Traitors shall remember this day.” Lucian’s voice sliced through the whispers like a sword. “And those loyal will never forget.”

Applause began, gently at first, but it swelled and filled the room.

Lucian turned back to us then, and his eyes glinted maliciously beneath the vault’s flickering torchlight. “Clean this up,” he ordered tersely before he walked past the corpse without looking at it and joined the Council on the dais once more.

“We have much to discuss,” Lucian called out. As the members of the Council followed Lucian into another secret chamber, Bastian, Valen, and I were left alone in the chamber with Elder Craster’s pale corpse.

“Fuck,” Bastian whispered.

“Fuck,” I agreed.