13. Lorcan
LORCAN
Iwas already sweating through my shirt by the time I returned to Lasair Manor, even though the evening air outside had been cold enough to bite. My nerves thrummed under my skin like I’d swallowed a live wire.
I’d left Liath in the tower at dusk; the smell of her was still on my collar. It had taken everything in me not to look back at the tower as I’d walked away. If I looked back, I’d never have left her.
A memory flashed, my father’s hand gripping the back of my neck when I was a boy, shoving me toward the study for “lessons.” My stomach twisted at the familiar pull, the instinct to obey, to brace. I forced breath into my lungs. I wasn’t that boy anymore. I needed to believe that.
Coming back here, returning to this house, this man, with a plan that required me to play a darker version of myself… I wasn’t sure I’d survive it. But I couldn’t back out now. I needed access to the Sons.
I was barely two steps into the marble foyer before Rua exploded out of the shadows, almost slamming into me. Her eyes were too wide, too bright, pupils blown like she hadn’t slept in days.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, voice pitched high and thin. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to touch my face, then curled into fists instead. “Where did you sleep last night, Lorcan?”
I tried to sidestep, but she darted in front of me, blocking my path, breath shallow, eyes glassy.
She grabbed my arm with shaking fingers, nails biting through my shirt. “Don’t lie to me. I can feel when you lie. I always could.”
“Go. Away.” I pulled her hand off me and strode past her.
She followed me, practically jogging to keep up, peppering me with questions.
“Where did you sneak off to, huh? Where is she?” Her voice cracked before she smoothed it over with a sharp, brittle laugh.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had your dumb friends distract me after class.
But you wouldn’t— You couldn’t do that to me, right? ”
I ignored her. Rua was a threat. But Alistair was the greater danger. And I was walking right into his den. I had to focus.
I reached his study door and knocked once, every muscle in my spine locked tight.
“Enter,” came his deep, cold voice from inside.
Rua froze the instant Alistair’s voice carried through the oak door. Her hand jerked off me as if burned. She stepped back fast, breath stuttering, panic flickering across her face.
Then her expression snapped into something fever-bright and vindictive. “Whatever you’re hiding,” she whispered, “I’ll find out. And when I do, he’ll see I’m loyal. I’ll be his good girl again.”
As her footsteps retreated fast, a cold spike slid down my spine.
Rua wasn’t bluffing. She never bluffed. She fixated. Obsessed. Broke herself on the idea of being chosen.
If Rua started digging, she’d dig until she uncovered bone. And if she stumbled too close to Liath…
My jaw clenched hard enough to crack. I couldn’t let Rua get anywhere near the truth. Couldn’t lead her anywhere near the tower.
But I couldn’t focus on that now. If I was going to convince Alistair of anything, I’d have to tap into that dark place inside me, the part I hated, the part I feared. The part he had nurtured from the moment I was old enough to understand pain.
I forced a mask over my face, one cold enough to mirror his, a carving of a man who felt nothing and wanted less.
My reflection flashed in the gilded hallway mirror, my father’s sharp glare stamped across my features. A jolt of nausea hit. I hated this part of me. Hated how easily it woke when summoned.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind me.
Alistair watched me from behind his desk, eyes like polished obsidian, a small stack of papers at his elbow. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit, son?” he asked, voice smooth but edged.
I walked right up to his desk, my heartbeat climbing into my throat as I loomed over him. “I want access to the asylum business.”
Alistair laughed, the sound low, amused, and poisonous. He leaned forward, studying me with surgical precision. “This is… sudden.”
The implication slithered beneath his words. What are you hiding?
He leaned back in his leather chair. “And why ever would I do that?”
I smirked, letting it hit like a blade. “Because I’m the legal owner.”
A flash of pure rage cracked through his careful expression before he smothered it. “I see,” he said with false calm. “Your mother’s lawyer told you, no doubt.”
I didn’t bother correcting him.
Instead, I tsked softly and accused. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
Alistair’s scowl shifted into a polished smile, the one he wore for the board, for the men he manipulated like chess pieces. “Of course, son. I was merely caretaking it for you. Holding it in trust.”
Liar. He wanted to control it. To hide my leverage over him from me. Must have drove him mad with rage when he realized Ma had cut him out of her will.
I walked to his side table and poured myself a whiskey from his private stash, my hand steady even as my pulse wasn’t. I had never done that before. Not once. The clink of glass on crystal felt like drawing a blade between us.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. His hand curled into a fist before he caught himself. The air between us tightened. He wasn’t used to being challenged, least of all by me.
I took a sip, letting the burn steady my nerves. “I know you’re part of a… circle of business partners,” I said. “I want in.”
His suspicion sharpened. “And how do you know that?”
I shrugged, all casual, as I leaned against the side table. “Oh, one of the other Sons let it slip. Don’t blame him. I suspect he thought it was ludicrous for me to be your heir and not be part of it.”
His gaze sharpened like a blade as he stilled, the way predators stilled before a kill. If I pushed too hard, he’d snap. If I didn’t push hard enough, he’d never let me in.
I sipped the whiskey again. “But if you don’t want to give me access,” I said lightly, “I suppose I could just check out my asylum for myself. All those dark little rooms. Those forgotten corners.”
Alistair stood and walked my way. He turned toward the side table and poured himself a glass, only ever absinthe for him. The whiskey was for guests.
I held my ground, letting him come toe to toe with me. His sharp medicinal smell hit the back of my throat.
“Tell me, Lorcan,” he said, lifting his glass. “Do you know anything about the legend of Cú Chulainn?”
“No,” I lied.
He smiled, a slow, pride-soaked curve of his mouth that never reached his eyes. “Cú Chulainn was a warrior. Forged in fury. Some called him a monster. Others followed him because he represented order in a world slipping toward chaos.”
His voice dropped to a reverent hush. “The Sons of Cú Chulainn carry that mantle. We are the quiet architects of the world as it should be.”
I kept my face placid even as my stomach roiled at his words. “And how should the world be?”
“We safeguard the traditions of power. The correct balances. The order others are too naive to maintain. And when troublesome individuals disrupt that order…” He took a slow sip. “…we correct it. Profitably, of course.”
My blood chilled, but I kept my expression still. “I like profit. I want in.”
Alistair watched me for a long, suffocating moment. He looked satisfied, as if he’d finally carved me into the shape he always wanted.
I felt the weight of it settle across my shoulders like chains. I’d played the monster convincingly. Too convincingly.
“Very well,” he said as he raised his glass for a toast. “You may learn more about the Sons. To see whether you can… stomach it.”
I swallowed down my apprehension as I clinked my glass against his with a smirk, the whiskey turning bitter on my tongue. I didn’t know what I was walking into. Or whether I’d walk out.
But I had no choice now.
He set his glass down with deliberate care, the crystal making a small dry sound against the wood.
“Understand one thing before we go further, Lorcan. The Sons accept candidates. They do not release them. A man who completes the trials becomes one of us. A man who fails…” He let the pause stretch until I felt it in my throat. “…does not walk away.”
The room held very still, the meaning crushing down on me.
If I failed their tests, they’d kill me.
“Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then your trial starts now.” Alistair walked around to the other side of his desk and pulled out a slim folder. He dropped it on his study desk in front of me, the sound cracking through the quiet like a slap.
“Fill in what is missing,” he said as he took a seat.
The leather chair creaked when I lowered myself into it. I flicked the folder open, aware of his gaze on my face, the way his eyes never seemed to blink when he was weighing me.
Nuala’s ID photo stared up from the first page, the harsh light flattening her usually bright features.
Beneath it lay her Ravenwood timetable in neat black columns, then a stack of empty forms. Boxes waiting to be filled with the pieces of her life the Sons did not yet own.
Daily routines. Vulnerabilities. Where she went when she wasn’t in class. Who she trusted.
My stomach knotted. “What’s this for?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
The study felt hotter than it should have. The fire in the grate burned too bright, the glow licking at the rows of leather spines and dark wood.
Alistair lifted his glass, the fire catching the green liquid. “Consider it an initiation into responsibility. A Son must know how to read the world around him. Noticing patterns is the difference between survival and extinction.”
He reached across the desk and brushed a speck of lint from my shoulder, fingers precise, the touch careful and intimate in a way that made my skin crawl. “You will learn,” he murmured, “what deserves your attention.”
He wanted me to spy on Finn’s girl. On Liath’s best friend.
He knew. He knew she’d been Liath’s friend. This wasn’t a random target.
“Why her?” The words were careful, casual on the surface. Underneath, they scraped. “What do you want with this one?”
“Obedience, Lorcan,” he said softly, almost gently. “That is what separates a Son from the rest. You’ve struggled with that since childhood. This is your chance to correct it.”
Nuala’s printed face watched me from the page.
Fuck. I couldn’t do it.
I scoffed as I pushed the file back an inch with my fingertips. “She’s boring as batshite,” I said, leaning into the careless drawl. “Following her around will be like watching paint dry.”
“You’ll do as you’re told.” Alistair’s voice iced over. “Without question.”
I forced myself to breathe evenly, to nod as if this didn’t feel like a trap. Suspicion crawled under my skin, but relief flickered too. At least this wasn’t violent. At least, it looked relatively harmless.
For now.
The Sons are anything but harmless.
Alistair tapped the folder with one finger, nail clicking on the paper. “You have one week.”
I promised Liath I’d do whatever it took to infiltrate the Sons for her. I couldn’t let her down. Not now. Even if their tests involved someone she cared about.
“Yes, sir.” I picked up the folder and stood, the chair legs scraping the rug.
His fingers closed around my forearm with a surgeon’s precision, a grip that carried the promise of violence beneath it.
My muscles locked.
“Do not let anyone discover you,” he said. “Not the girl. Not your friends.” His voice gentled. “We will be watching. Always. And we will know if you fail.”
My throat tried to close. I swallowed it down.
“Understood, sir.” The words came out level, because anything less would be weakness, and weakness never went well in this room.
He released me and turned back to the papers on his desk, already done with me.
I left the study with the folder clamped in my hand, the corridor cooler but not easier to breathe in.
On the surface, it really was as simple as he had said. Watch a girl. Take notes. Hand them in on time like a good little heir.
Practically harmless.
Alistair didn’t hand out harmless tasks. He laid traps.
And whether I wanted to or not, I was helping him set this one.