19. Lorcan
LORCAN
Dread instantly filled me when I spotted Alistair at Ravenwood the next day.
He stood alone beneath the arch with his dark coat buttoned neatly to his throat, one gloved hand resting lightly behind his back.
My father never came to Ravenwood.
Not unless he wanted something.
The cold reached my fingertips first. My jaw locked as I crossed the Ravenwood courtyard toward him with my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my jacket while cold wind scraped through the arches.
Students bundled up in scarves and winter coats drifted around me, unaware of the predator in their midst. The abandoned tower rose up over us, frost silvering the dead ivy crawling across the old stone.
“Father.” I stopped beneath the archway. “What are you doing here?”
If Liath stood at the window watching the courtyard now, she would see us together.
My lungs tightened hard beneath my ribs.
Alistair’s gaze moved briefly over my face. Then his hand disappeared into his coat pocket.
Every muscle in my body tightened. I shifted half a step sideways and angled my body between the tower and my father’s hand.
Alistair withdrew something small and held it low between us, hidden inside his palm. “For Nuala.”
A cold heaviness opened low in my gut.
Alistair’s voice remained calm. “In her drink. Her food. It’ll dissolve in anything.”
“I won’t poison her,” I snapped.
Alistair’s expression did not change. “It won’t kill her.”
The correction landed softly, as if his request was reasonable and I was making a big deal out of nothing.
“Do it,” he said. “Or you fail.”
My lungs stopped pulling in air properly for a second.
If I refused, I would die. A bullet in the corridor before nightfall or a car accident before the week was out. Alistair had proven he would kill his own daughter when it suited him. He would not flinch at killing his son.
Nuala would still be drugged by whoever they sent in my place.
And I’d leave Liath alone and exposed.
My death did not save anyone.
I took the item from his hand, a glass vial no larger than my pinkie finger, clear liquid glinting faintly inside it beneath the weak winter light. My fingers closed stiffly around the vial, the glass painfully cold against my palm.
Alistair nodded past my shoulder. “I’ll be watching.”
Cold spread slowly beneath my skin. For one suspended second, the courtyard noise seemed to pull strangely far away.
I blinked and I was already moving, walking across the stone paths automatically with the vial hidden inside my fist.
Students passed around me laughing. Somebody called out across the courtyard. None of it reached me properly.
There is no other way.
If I refuse, I die.
If I die, Liath dies next.
By the time I crossed the courtyard, my cold mask had spread across my skin.
Finn and Nuala sat at their usual table under a giant threadbare oak.
I clocked two hooded figures watching Nuala, too still to be students. One under the colonnade. One at the next table, book open, eyes not moving across the page.
Finn spotted me first. “Oi, Lorc.” He waved me over with an easy grin. “Moody bastard finally remembered who his friends were.”
Nuala smiled as I neared, the sight slipping in underneath my armor.
Both of them so stupidly unaware.
I took a seat opposite them, setting down the tray of takeaway cups I had picked up from the cart moments earlier.
Finn immediately reached for one of the drinks.
I snatched it away, forced a smirk onto my face and handed the cup toward Nuala. “This is Nuala’s green matcha shite.”
Nuala laughed softly as she took the cup from me. “Didn’t know you knew my order.”
Finn gave me a look, half soft, half surprised. “Shite, Lorc. What’s brought on this rash of humanity?”
Nuala nudged him. “Finn. Lorcan’s just trying to be nice. You should encourage him.”
“Yeah. Lorcan. Nice. Two words that go together.” Finn watched me closely, like he was trying to figure out what my play was.
Guilt soaked through the cracks in my mask like poison.
Nuala peeled the lid back before blowing across the surface.
Time seemed to slow as I watched the steam curl upward between us.
I could knock the cup from her hands. Laugh it off. Pretend clumsiness. Save her.
Finn leaned sideways in his chair, smiling at her.
She was his soft spot. The first thing that had dragged him out of himself after years buried inside his own head.
And I was about to destroy her.
It would destroy him, too.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose from the eyes of Alistair’s watchers on me. Ready to report back to him.
Nuala lifted the cup and took her first sip and let out a soft contented sigh. “Perfect.” She smiled at me over the rim of her cup, a warm genuine smile. “Thanks, Lorcan.”
I’d used what I knew about her against her.
I have become him.
The realization slid into my heart like a sharp blade, a wound I would never stop bleeding from.
I tore my gaze away before either of them could see too much on my face.
Across the grounds, the tower window sat dark against the winter sky.
Liath. God. How would I tell Liath?
I paced the length of my bedroom while rain battered the manor windows hard enough to rattle through the old stone walls. Most of the house sat dark now. Only the weak gold glow from the lamp near my desk cut through the shadows stretching across the room.
I dragged a hand through my hair and turned sharply at the end of the room before pacing back again.
Every thought inside my head circled the same problem.
Nuala.
The drug.
Liath.
I had to tell her.
Every hour I waited made it worse.
But every time I imagined slipping into the tower tonight and telling Liath what I’d done, I saw the same outcome afterward.
Liath running straight for Nuala. Liath risking herself without hesitation to save her friend.
Alistair finding her.
My stride broke apart halfway across the room as something dense and sharp lodged beneath my ribs, dragging the next breath out of me unevenly.
I braced both hands against the edge of my desk and lowered my head.
I had to bide my time.
I had to wait until I could contain the fallout.
Then I had to be the one to tell her.
I straightened and crossed toward the window. Rain streaked hard across the glass outside while the grounds of Lasair Manor disappeared into the dark lake below. Beyond the lake sat Ravenwood tower and Liath asleep in my shirt.
The pressure behind my ribs sharpened.
I could already see her face changing, the disbelief in her eyes turning cold, the recoil when I tried to touch her.
Nausea rolled heavily through my stomach. I pressed my fist to my mouth and closed my eyes.
I’m sorry, Gray.
A floorboard creaked softly behind me and every muscle in my body locked instantly.
Someone was in my room.
As I spun around, a shadow detached itself from the darkness.
There was a sting at my neck.
I gasped hard and jerked backward.
A needle.
My hand flew to my throat while heat spread instantly beneath my skin.
“What the fuck—”
The words slurred before they fully left my mouth.
My legs staggered beneath me.
The room tilted violently sideways.
No.
No, no, no—
I tried grabbing for the desk but my fingers missed completely.
The floor lurched upward beneath me as the figure loomed over me, their gold mask blurring at the edges as darkness flooded in from my periphery.
My blood turned to ice.
The Sons.
Shit. Somehow Alistair knew I’d betrayed him.
He knew.
I failed.
Now I would die.
Liath was alone with nobody left protecting her.
Christ.
Liath.
Then everything went black.
Children’s music tinkled up faintly from the party below.
Father had gotten me a pony for my birthday. Brown with white spots. I loved him at once. But Ma wouldn’t let me play with him.
Her hand tugged urgently at my arm. “Come on,” she hissed. “Before he notices we’re gone.”
I was angry. So angry. It was my birthday. My pony. My party and she was ruining everything.
She didn’t want me to go to my party at all. She wanted me to go away with her.
“I don’t want to go,” I said as I pushed her.
She stumbled backward just as my father stepped around the corner.
His eyes went straight to her, his words cracking through the corridor. “You bitch. You are poisoning him against me.”
Ma flinched. She stepped in front of me, blocking my view of his face.
Father grabbed her arm and dragged her behind him, up the tower stairs.
No, wait!
I followed her up, running as fast as my short legs could carry me.
I burst into her bedroom.
Father was at the window.
Ma was halfway out of it.
Father stepped back as I ran toward them.
I slammed against the sill and leaned out, terror choking at my throat.
She was clinging to the ivy on the side of the tower, her legs dangling out over the drop, her face twisted in fear.
“Lorcan!” she cried when she saw me. I leaned out further, reaching for her, willing for her to grab on to my hand.
The ivy snapped.
She fell, her arms windmilling as she screamed. “No!”
The thud hit a second later.
Everything went quiet. Too quiet.
Father came up behind me, his hand settling on my shoulder while we stared down at the courtyard. At her. Her arm was at the wrong angle. I just wanted to fix her arm.
“Your mother was sick,” he said. “She jumped. Understand?”
I nodded but it felt like someone else had taken over my body. “Yes, sir.”
Ma’s scream echoed in my ears. The ivy snapping. The thud. Her arm at the wrong angle in the courtyard below.
She did not jump.
He killed her.
My father killed my ma.
And I helped him cover it up without meaning to.