He recovers quickly, swinging his weapon again, this time aiming lower. I sidestep, but the edge of the pipe grazes my side, a sharp sting that has me gritting my teeth. I retaliate with a punch to his jaw, my knuckles cracking loudly, the impact making him stumble.
“You’re pathetic,” I spit, advancing on him. “Just like the rest of your family. When my father tells the Order that you’ve been stealing from us, you’re fucked.”
Eric growls, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “That’s exactly what you always do, hide behind your father like a pussy who can’t run his own empire.”
He charges again. I parry his attack, twisting his wrist and forcing the pipe from his grip. It clatters to the ground, and I kick it away, my focus solely on neutralizing him. With a swift move, I pin him against the tunnel wall, my forearm pressing against his throat.
“You’re going to swear allegiance to me,” I say, my face inches from his. “If not, I’m going to kill you.”
Eric struggles, his eyes wild with a mix of fear and defiance. “Fuck off,” he chokes out.
“No, fuck you.”
I press my forearm harder against his throat. His breath hitches, his struggle weakening under the pressure. The dank, cold air of the tunnel seems to freeze around us, carrying the weight of his impending decision.
Eric’s eyes glow with a mixture of hatred before it morphs into resignation. After a tense moment, he nods once, the fight draining out of him as he gasps for air.
“Say it,” I demand, easing the pressure just enough for him to speak.
“Votum meum tibi,?1” he rasps, each word laced with venom but also the shame of defeat.
“Votum tuum receptum est.?2”
I pull back, releasing him completely. He slumps against the wall, coughing and rubbing his throat, his eyes never leaving mine.
“If you think to fuck me, I’ll tell the Order that you’ve been stealing weapons from me. ThenIwill bury you and your empire,” I say. “Not my father.”
Eric nods, a slow, deliberate movement. This new alliance is fragile, built on fear and necessity rather than trust, but dominance is the only thing he understands.
Stepping back, I turn toward the path that leads out of the tunnels, a mixture of relief and wariness coating my skin. Gaining Eric’s loyalty through his vow removes him as an immediate threat. If he’d said anything other than the Latin phrase, I would’ve had to kill him for lying.
Navigating the final twists and turns of the underground labyrinth, I walk with a mixture of trepidation and determination. My muscles ache and my mind races, not just with thoughts of the Trial’s conclusion, but with the weight of the secrets I carry. The cool, damp air of the tunnel gradually gives way to a more structured, stone-lined passage. This architectural change signals my approach to the end.
Finally, the door marked with a spray-painted crow comes into my line of sight. This symbol, black and ominous against the old wood, is both an ending and a beginning. I take a deep breath, steel myself, and push the door open.
The change from the dimly lit tunnel to the castle’s dungeon is stark. Torches line the walls, casting flickering shadows over the stone. The room is filled with the leaders of the founding families and other recruits, their expressions a variety of relief, exhaustion, and anticipation.
As I step into the dungeon, all eyes turn towards me. A murmur runs through the crowd, a wave of whispered speculations and curious glances. My father stands among the leaders, his presence dominating. His eyes lock onto mine, sweeping over me, searching not just for signs of my condition but for the one I was supposed to bring back with me.
Benjamin.
The absence of the McKenzie heir beside me is evident. The air in my lungs thickens as my father’s initial expression of expectancy turns into one of thinly veiled rage. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move towards me, but the slight tightening of his jaw and the hard glint in his eyes speak volumes. Around us, the other recruits and leaders are too caught up in their own reunions to notice the silent exchange of threats and warnings between us.
I stand my ground, maintaining a composed exterior while my mind races through potential scenarios of confrontation and fallout. The dungeon, with its stone-cold walls and echoes of ancient secrets, is oppressive, a perfect setting for my impending death.
Eric shows up a few minutes later. His gaze finds mine, and he gives me a brief nod. I return it.
“It’s dawn,” Daniel Kent says. He shoots his son a proud look, and Declan stands a little straighter. “Any man present will now be inducted into the Order.”
The three council members take turns speaking of honor, of the sacrifices we’ve made, and the strength we’ve shown in completing the Trials. Their words are meaningless to me,overshadowed by the personal stakes that cause my veins to pulse with urgency. My father’s anger is a silent storm brewing on the horizon, and I am acutely aware of the danger it poses, not just to me but to Benjamin and Delilah as well.
“By dagger’s kiss, allegiance sworn,” he says.
“In shadows deep, our oaths are borne,” the rest of us answer, saying the phrase only full members are allowed to utter.
Each leader of the founding families hands out a pistol to the former recruits. The weapon is engraved with “Mors Solum Initium.” It’s a symbol of our new status as crows, a gift fitting for an assassin. I accept mine with a nod at my father, my thoughts already on the confrontation to come.
“We need to talk,” he says, a statement that holds more threat than any scream or shout.
