The Brothers Plot
Chapter 16: The brothers plot
Raven sat at the edge of her desk, arms crossed, eyes dark with thought. "I know someone who can get word to your father," she said finally. "I'll make sure they send someone to meet you at the Crooked Tankard."
Rogue nodded, though a part of him hated the idea of relying on a third party. "How long?"
"Not long," she replied. "Be ready. Once word is out, things will move quickly."
Conner, who had been leaning against the wall, straightened. "I should go. If your father suspects we're working together, this falls apart."
Rogue met his brother's gaze, understanding the weight behind those words. "Agreed. Stay out of sight. If something happens—"
"I'll be ready," Conner said. He clasped Rogue's forearm briefly before stepping away. "Be careful."
Rogue gave a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Since when am I not?"
Conner didn't answer. He turned and slipped out of the shop, disappearing into the shadows of the street. Raven watched him go before looking back at Rogue.
"You're sure about this?" she asked.
"I don't have much of a choice," he muttered.
---
The Crooked Tankard was quieter than usual, the air thick with the scent of spilled ale and unspoken threats. Rogue sat in the dimly lit corner, his hood pulled low over his face as he nursed a drink he had no intention of finishing. The plan had been set. He would return to his father, feign regret, and slip back into the Coven's ranks to uncover their scheme. The thought settled uneasily in his gut.
A knock at the door of the tavern made the room stir. A man entered—tall, broad-shouldered, with a face carved from stone. One of his father's enforcers.
"He'll see you now," the man said gruffly.
Rogue rose, his heart a steady, controlled beat. Without a glance back, he followed the enforcer out into the night.
---
The old estate loomed in the darkness, a structure of cold stone and sharper memories. Rogue had spent his childhood within these walls, though it had never felt like home. The corridors whispered with old magic, the air thick with power that clung to the skin like oil.
His father waited in the main hall, seated at the long wooden table where deals were struck, lives were traded, and power was hoarded like gold. He looked the same—graying hair, piercing eyes, the weight of command resting easily on his shoulders. A man who had never needed to raise his voice to be feared.
"Rogue," he said, voice smooth as ever. "I must say, I didn't expect this."
Rogue inclined his head. "People change."
His father chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "Do they?" He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
Rogue did, careful to school his expression into something neutral. The room was dim, the flickering light of the candelabra casting long shadows.
"I heard about your… departure," his father mused, fingers steepled. "And now you return, tail between your legs?"
Rogue smirked. "Something like that. I saw what the world has to offer. Didn't like it."
A pause. His father studied him, eyes unreadable. Then, he nodded slowly. "Clever. You always were."
Rogue kept still.
"The Coven is not as it was when you left," his father continued. "Things are changing. We are close to something great, and I cannot allow sentimentality to disrupt that."
"I wouldn't expect you to."
Another silence. Then, his father leaned forward. "The decision is not mine alone. I will speak with the others. If they agree, you will be summoned."
Rogue inclined his head, feigning patience. "Understood."
His father watched him for a moment longer before standing. "Return to the Crooked Tankard. If you are welcome, you will know soon enough."
Rogue stood as well, giving nothing away. "I'll be waiting."
His father said nothing more, only turned away, dismissing him like an afterthought. Rogue left the hall, his steps silent against the marble. He knew better than to believe his father's patience was endless. The next move had to be his.
As he stepped into the cold night, he exhaled slowly. The first step was done.
Now, the real game began.