Into The Crucible

CHAPTER V: Perilous Eve

LUCIAN

THE memories of last night had seemed like the final moments of a fever dream. Lucid and visceral, but I barely remembered even an inkling what I had said or done. Yet the feeling was still the same.

"That's . . . horrible," Celine lamented, entwining her arm around mine. "I'm so sorry."

She'd met me with an embrace where we always met-the west wing's balcony-and kept me company. I told her everything. The day had passed without as much bustle as I'd expected. I'd avoided talking to anyone else, or even meeting their gaze. And there were many. Each step taken through the corridors and up the stairs was heavy, laden with lead. Afternoon hours always felt sluggish. I clenched my jaw and sighed, looking up at the rustling pines tinted gold by the sun.

"I don't get it, Celine," I muttered. "I still don't."

She pursed her lips. "How are you holding up?"

"Unsure where to go," I murmured. "We've gathered for the first time in what, almost half a year, and then we parted ways in half an hour. All of it just . . . crashed down on me."

"Its your family, Lucian."

"Family doesn't look like this."

She shifted beside me, keeping her gaze fixated away towards the treeline. "What about that invitation you told me?"

"What about it?"

"What's it about?"

I'd asked myself the same question before. The letter had been succinct, easy enough to finish reading on the way here. "A party. Welcoming party for new residents. Don't know if it's addressed to me or to my father. I'm betting on the latter."

The words engraved on the coal-black paper began to rise to the surface. I leaned forward, unwinding my arm from hers, contemplating. Only a single day had passed since I last sat with her, almost at the exact same time, at the exact same place. How come it felt so different?

"You told me you never liked going to those kind of stuff," she remarked.

"Still don't," I replied. "Apparently he's been there for a month, so why the invitation?"

"Mark of respect?" she ventured. "It's your dad after all, you never know."
True enough. Gatherings had been a part of my father's life ever since I was a boy and it was often on his insistence that I would attend at all. I'd been to enough nights of revelry out of habit to understand that more often than not, guests were never there just for revelry. There were reasons-favors, gossip, negotiations, all of it. There were questions, and there were answers.

I reached into my bag and brought out the crisp black invitation, turning in between my fingers. It remained pristine as I held it up to the light. "A courier had sent it," I said. "He didn't specify to whom."

She looked closer at it, and then back at me. "Are you going?"

"I wouldn't be well received if I went," I said.

"You might." She stood up and leaned on the balustrade, arms crossed. "You might not. But it's not really a risk."

"Not with this, anyway." I looked up at her shadowed face. "It's either go and see what's up or stay and weather the hours. Or I could leave."