Page 20 of Marked (Wicked Heirs #1)

Whispers floated about me like a swarm of gnats; the laughter and conversation was far too loud and inappropriate for a funeral.

I gritted my teeth and curled my hands into fists in my lap, drowning in a sea of faces I didn’t recognize—

They all had grins etched onto their faces, with glimmers of happiness instead of sorrow.

How could they find reasons to smile and laugh?

Was it too much to ask for them to honor my mother’s memory?

Or—a worse thought—Had they even known her?

My gaze was drawn back towards Valen. The hushed conversation he carried on with his brothers seemed to have taken on an even deeper undertone. But then Valen laughed, and the sound sent a shudder through me. Titus’ icy gaze flicked in my direction before quickly returning to his brother.

A twinge of fear curled within me.

Their closeness made my stomach churn with dread. In the gloomy light of the parlor, they seemed more sinister than they did at the mansion.

The room fell silent for a moment and the atmosphere shifted dramatically as an older man approached the podium set before the casket. The speaker was tall and severe, his skin pale against the dark garb that clung to him. His gaze was solemn as he looked over the gathering, but then his icy eyes settled briefly on me and I bit down on my tongue as panic coursed through me—would I be called up to speak? What would I say? Fuck. I wasn’t prepared—

But the man’s somber gaze moved on and I breathed a small sigh of relief.

I was a mess—nothing made sense, and I was torn in too many directions.

I didn’t know what to feel, what to say, or how to behave…

Valen had abandoned me, and there was a sickly weight in my stomach every time I thought about what would happen if he told his brothers about what had happened in the limousine.

Traitor’s whore.

They’d spent enough time calling my mother a whore—and I’d given in so easily—

Why had I trusted him?

Stupid—

“In the name of our ancient traditions,” the specter at the podium began with a bone-chilling solemnity that silenced the room instantly. A collective shudder ran through the crowd. His voice echoed through the marbled hall and resonated with a subtle undercurrent of power that made my skin crawl. “We are here to mark the passing of a great sorceress—a devoted sister of our Order.”

A devoted sister? Of what Order?

The bitter taste of confusion curled in my mouth, but I kept silent and met the speaker’s gaze for a moment before lowering mine back to my clenched fists.

“We offer up our thanks for her sacrifice,” the speaker continued, his voice rising over the echoing whispers that filled the room. “And we send her off in honor and respect.”

His words tied knots in my stomach, each one pulling tighter as he spoke.

Sacrifice?

She had been murdered—I was certain of that much.

But no one had spoken to me—no investigation had been carried out.

Not even the council of Sages had visited.

As the speaker’s sermon on my mother’s ‘sacrifice’ droned on, a high-pitched ringing echoed in my mind, as if the wrongness of his words was literally causing my head to ache.

I glanced back at Titus and Valen, only to find their gazes already fixed on me.

Valen whispered something into Titus’s ear and Titus responded with a slow nod, his icy gaze locked onto mine. A shiver ran down my spine; it was as if we were engaged in an unspoken confrontation. His knowing smirk was unnerving. It was as if he reveled in my confusion and distress.

The speaker ended with a verse from an old prayer in a language that I didn’t recognize—but the others in the room spoke with him, and their voices created a strange hum that made my throat tighten with panic.

Necromi.

They were all Necromi.

I had suspected it, but I’d been unwilling to admit that I’d seen the signs of dark magic in every corner of Withermarsh.

The Sages at Messana Academy had warned us about the darkness that had consumed members of Messana’s society and their thirst for power —

But— my mother— it wasn’t possible.

I sat rigid in the hard wooden chair and my fingers gripped the edge so tightly I was afraid that my bones would shatter.

“No,” I breathed in disbelief. “She wouldn’t—”

But the sinister murmurs of the prayer persisted and wrapped around me like winding tendrils of a poisonous vine.

The crowd chanted louder, their voices echoing and twisting into the dark, vaulted ceiling. It was a sound unlike any I had ever heard; it was thunderous yet hushed all at once, filled with a raspy reverence that sent chills down my spine.

Suffocating tentacles of dread wound tighter around my heart and my breath hitched as the speaker ended his eulogy. A heavy silence fell upon the room, broken only by the soft murmurs of their dark prayers.

I found my gaze drawn towards the coffin again. It lay cold and mysterious in the dim candlelight. It seemed so surreal, lying there with its lid closed over my mother’s body.

A commotion from the entrance of the parlor drew our attention, and a slow wave of whispers rippled through the crowd as Lucian Romano made his entrance.

Unlike his sons, there was no youthful charm in his eyes, and his dark presence was powerful and commanding. His suit was ebony—thoroughly pressed and impeccably tailored to accentuate his broad shoulders and dark aura.

As he made his way to the podium, his gaze swept over the room before landing on me—an icy chill slithered down my spine under his scrutiny. His pale eyes gleamed with predatory intent, and the brief smile that curved over his lips was just as cold as his pale eyes.

“Brothers and sisters,” he intoned, “it brings joy to my heart to see you all here— Only a few short weeks ago, you were present to celebrate my wedding to my beloved Julia. She was welcomed into our family with open arms. A cherished mother to my sons—”

I choked on my breath.

Cherished?

Beloved?

The hypocrisy of his words stung.

His voice echoed throughout the room, and his smile never faded as he continued to speak. He painted a picture of marital bliss that surely existed only in his mind.

They had only been married for a few weeks—and I knew nothing about their relationship. Every word he spoke sounded like a lie.

“...she was lost to us far too soon,” he droned on. “Her passing has left a hole in our hearts that can never be replaced. But, like you, we are not here to mourn her death—but to celebrate her life and give thanks for the time we had with her.”

The crowd responded in kind with a chorus of agreement, their murmurs waving through the air as they glanced back at me. Their smiles set my teeth on edge. I wanted to scream and call him a liar. I wanted to demand the truth—

But I swallowed my words, choking them down along with my tears.

The magical energies in the room buzzed against my skin, itching and burning as if trying to stir something within me. But I squashed it down ruthlessly.

The last thing I wanted was to cause a scene at my mother’s funeral—especially amongst this crowd.

Finally, Lucian’s speech ended, and he gestured elegantly toward the casket that rested solemnly on the altar.

“I will call upon you now to approach and give my beloved Julia your blessings—”

At this invitation, several of the guests rose from their seats and approached the casket. One by one, they laid their hands upon the smooth black lid in a chilling mockery of a caress and mumbled a prayer—their hands glowed with power as they did so, and I wondered what they were saying.

Whatever it was, I knew the Sages wouldn’t have approved.

Everything about this felt wrong.

How could this have been the life my mother had chosen?

Titus, Valen, and Bastian took their turns—and I looked away as they laid their hands on the casket.

“Avril—”

Lucian’s smooth voice cut through my desperate thoughts.

I was the only one who hadn’t approached the dais.

“Oh—”

Murmurs from the guests filled my ears as I struggled to stand and made my way to the front of the room.

Each step felt agonizingly slow as the sea of false comfort and veiled glances parted before me. The echoing whispers that filled the room seemed to burrow into my skin and I couldn’t flinch away from the discomfort.

As my trembling hand extended, my fingers brushed against the cool surface of the casket and I bit back a gasp as a searing sensation exploded within me. I gritted my teeth as I forced my hand to stay in contact with the lacquered wood.

Magic—dark and powerful—reached out from beneath that coffin lid and entwined itself within my very being, sending waves of cold dread coursing through my veins. A montage of unfamiliar images flashed before my mind’s eye; fragmented memories not my own—stolen lives lost in the violent pursuit of power.

For a fleeting moment, I saw my mother’s face, her eyes narrowed in anger. But then it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Heart pounding, I jerked my hand away; the abrupt severing of that connection left a hollow ache in its wake. The room was silent once more—a deadly hush, as if the mere act of breathing would shatter this eerie tranquillity.

My eyes met Lucian’s icy gaze; he inclined his head in a gesture of mock approval as a smirk curled on his lips—he knew exactly what had transpired between me and the dark power lurking beneath that casket lid.

Cheeks aflame under his knowing gaze, I turned my back to him and made my way back to my seat. I was vaguely aware of people watching me, but I didn’t look at them.

“But my friends,” Lucian continued. “From sorrow comes joy.” His voice was smooth as silk, but there was something about his tone that made me turn. “In the wake of my dear Julia’s passing, I have been gifted with something much more precious. It is with great pleasure that I announce my intentions to take her daughter, Avril, as my bride.”

His announcement sent shockwaves through the room, and my heart seized with dread.

How—

What was happening?

“Congratulations, my dear.” A woman I didn’t recognize clasped my hand, her painted smile as false as the sympathy in her eyes. I forced a weak smile in return as my mind raced with terror and desperation.

As the guests continued to offer hollow congratulations, I couldn’t help but feel as though they were vultures circling a dying animal.

“From sorrow comes joy,” Lucian repeated. A wicked smile played at the corners of his lips as he gazed down at me from the dais.

There was no joy for me here, only fear and uncertainty.

I had held out a faint hope that Lucian would offer me protection— That he might allow me to return to Messana Academy to resume my studies—or even to go to college far away from Messana. My only fear was that I would be cast out with no one to protect me.

Abandonment would have been better than this.

As I forced myself to smile and accepted the congratulations of the people around me, my gaze drifted across the room and landed on the three Romano brothers who stood like dark statues at the edge of the room.

Their eyes never left me, each of their hard gazes was filled with a hunger that made my skin crawl.

“Avril, darling,” a man’s voice interrupted my thoughts and drew my attention away from my stepbrothers. “You look absolutely stunning. Just as beautiful as your dear mother.” He raised my hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss upon my knuckles. I fought the urge to pull away and forced a polite smile onto my face instead.

This was sick.

All of it.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible above the din of whispers and laughter that filled the room. How could they laugh? How could they celebrate? My mother was dead—about to be placed into the Romano family tomb—and Lucian had just announced that he was going to marry me?

We hadn’t even spoken.

He was my stepfather.

I couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening.

It was… impossible.

The grotesque contrast between their giddy excitement and my own heartache left me drowning in a sea of darkness, struggling for air.

“Lucian seems quite taken with you,” the man continued, nodding toward the Romano patriarch, who spoke with the ghoulish gentleman who had spoken at the podium before him. I fought to suppress a shudder, aware that any sign of weakness would only draw questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.

“Really?” I feigned surprise, trying to sound intrigued by the observation. “I suppose I should be... honored?”

“Indeed,” the man chuckled, his gaze wandering over the other guests before slipping back to me. “It’s not every day a woman catches the eye of a Romano. Especially Lucian. He speaks of you as though you were crafted of fine marble.”

“Oh—”

It seemed like only yesterday that these same people had attended my mother’s wedding… I had seen them dancing in the gardens at Withermarsh.

Now, here they were, smiling and laughing at the bride’s funeral.

And I would be next.

As the older gentleman who had kissed my hand turned away to continue his conversation with someone else, I stepped back and hoped that he wouldn’t look for me again. The room seemed to close in around me, its opulent beauty tainted by the dark undercurrents that flowed beneath the surface.

I knew I had no choice but to play the role expected of me while Titus, Valen, and Bastian watched from the shadows.

The scent of incense and the heaviness of the flowers blended together, and I was sickened by the similarity of the perfume that had floated through Withermarsh on my mother’s wedding day.

The same flowers.

The same people.

But the bride was a corpse.

I scanned the room in search of an escape. Yet, there was none.

The guests moved through the room with reverent steps, but their mourning attire a mere facade; their eyes were alive with anticipation and hunger, and their conversation was punctuated with laughter and teasing words.

I was trapped here.

And to make matters worse, I had tried to shake off the dark tendrils of power that had tried to pry their way inside me when I touched my mother’s coffin, but they refused to leave. They lurked on the edge of my consciousness, a spectral whisper that promised untold power that came at an unimaginable price.

That was what the Sages had told us.

The Necromi traded away their souls for power.

Stole magic from others to add to their own.

Was that what had happened to my mother?

Her magic should have been mine—my inheritance. But I hadn’t been there at her deathbed. I hadn’t felt her dying breath on my cheek—and now her power was lost.

Or taken.

My gaze flickered to Lucian as he stood beside my mother’s coffin.

He looked calm, almost serene, his gaze thoughtful as he traced the golden emblems carved into the surface of the casket. A shudder coursed through me at the idea that he had stolen my mother’s magic—and her life.

A hand came to rest lightly on my shoulder, and I turned to see Valen standing behind me. There was an inscrutable look on his face as his gaze met mine. His hair was disheveled, and curled loosely around his forehead, and there was a softness to his eyes that I hadn’t seen before.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

I blinked at him, taken aback by the concern in his voice and the warmth of his touch.

“I… Yes.”

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue .

“Friends,” Lucian said, calling the attention of the guests. “It is time to lay my Julia to rest. Will you attend me?”

There was a murmur of assent, heads nodding, as they moved toward the dais.

Lucian moved towards the casket and I could see the knots of magic threading through his fingertips, black and red like fresh coals. They danced across his skin, crawling up his veins until they disappeared under the immaculate cuffs of his shirt.

I swallowed hard and reached out to grab Valen’s sleeve.

“Don’t go,” I whispered, my gaze fixated on Lucian’s treacherous display.

Titus sauntered forward from the crowd and took his place at Lucian’s side. In the strangeness of the flickering light, he looked every bit as dangerous as he did beautiful.

“I mourn for my father’s loss,” Titus began. “As we all do.” A pause. “However, I may speak for my brothers when I say that we rejoice in the newest addition to our family.”

Bastian emerged from the crowd and laid a hand on the casket beside Titus’. Bastian said nothing, but I stiffened as he turned his pale eyes toward me.

“I have to go,” Valen murmured, and he pulled his arm out of my grasp as he walked away from me and strode across the room to stand with his brothers.

“Avril,” Lucian called, tearing me from my thoughts. His voice was soft, but it echoed in the vast hall like the clamor of a death knell. His pale eyes locked onto mine, and a cold smile played on his lips as he held out a hand for me.

I felt as if I were walking barefoot on broken glass as I crossed the room to join him. My heart pounded in my chest so hard I thought it might break free. When I reached him, I stared up into his eyes—they were icy gray, like an arctic sea under a full moon—so beautiful, yet brutally cold.

“It’s what your mother would have wanted,” he said .

My throat was tight and my mouth was dry.

There were no words.

How could there be?

Lucian turned his gaze to Titus and inclined his head.

His sons closed their eyes and spread their hands, and I stiffened as their magic surged forth. Black smoke wound up from Bastian’s palms, pale blue for Valen, and green for Titus. Their power wrapped around the polished black casket and I bit back a gasp as it lifted into the air.

As the room continued to churn with dark whispers, I knew I had no choice but to play along.

Lucian extended his elbow toward me, and I hesitated before I laid my hand on it. We followed Lucian’s sons out of the funeral parlor and out into the bleak midmorning. Clouds had gathered and a mist-like rain fell from the iron gray clouds.

I kept my eyes on my mother’s casket—wreathed in Romano magic—as we walked in solemn procession through the cemetery.

Before us rose the grand mausoleum—its ancient black stone weathered and moss-drenched—a monstrous embodiment of death that stood guard over generations of Romano ancestors who rested within its walls.

My mother didn’t belong here.

I didn’t belong here.

The whispers grew louder as we approached the mausoleum, and the words curled around me like tendrils of smoke. I felt the weight of them, their expectation, their anticipation. I wanted to scream, to tell them all how wrong this was, but outwardly, I remained impassive.

Any sign of weakness now would be seen as an invitation for attack.

When we reached the entrance of the mausoleum, Lucian stepped away from me and signalled for his sons to take my mother’s casket inside.

I followed at a respectful distance and watched as Valen and Titus carried the coffin with a grace that seemed out of place in such a grim setting while Bastian trailed behind. Despite the gloom that suffused everything, their magic rippled visibly around them, casting an otherworldly glow on the damp stones.

Once inside, they set the coffin down onto a stone bier in the far corner of the mausoleum.

The interior was cool and quiet, its air heavy with age and secrets. The frescoes on the walls drew my attention—gruesome depictions of battles fought and won, power gained and maintained at all costs.

Lucian stood by my side once again. He didn’t speak for a while as he watched his sons move away from the casket and toward us.

I was numb to everything. To the words that Lucian spoke. To how I was escorted out of the mausoleum. To the sealing of the tomb.

How long would it be until its next occupant was placed inside?

Would it be me?

Everything was hollow.

I stared at the black stone door of the mausoleum and tried to breathe, but it was almost impossible.

The pale glow of my magic fought to comfort me, but it was a losing battle. It wasn’t strong enough.

I wasn’t strong enough.

The only certainty that remained was the danger that surrounded me—and the knowledge that trusting anyone, even Valen, might lead to my undoing.