Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 72: Lady Lucy (2)

Chapter 72: Lady Lucy (2)

The hall chosen for the meeting wasn’t the grand atrium reserved for ceremonies or state affairs. This one was smaller—intimate by comparison—but more grand and organized than the other as torches lined the walls, casting long shadows across the floor. It was used only for matters of grave importance, that concerned the clans, and was attended by only the main family and the elders.

Tonight, the flames burned low, as if dimmed in mourning.

One by one, they entered.

Lady Nandi was the first among them to arrive. Dressed in a blue glowing gown as she made her way over to the seat nearest to the head, and beside her walked Neferura, the First Princess. It seems both mother and daughter decided to come to the meeting together which was a surprise and the same not Nandi’s little pet has Mankhaura his dead, as she also sat beside her mother as both their shwt stood behind them.

The second Princess Talibah came after them as she took one of the empty seats in the hall, with her shwt also

Menkara arrived last among the siblings, his usual air of mischief replaced with pale dread. He stepped into the hall with his usual calm and poised steps, his eyes shifting toward the elders already seated. His breath was steady but also measured.

The elders were already arranged on the crescent dais that lined the back of the chamber. Of the twenty, only fourteen had made it in time. Most were silent, faces carved from stone, their years of discipline showing in the stillness of their posture. But a few glanced toward the family as they entered, studying body language, gauging reactions.

It was clear now that some of them had been informed. Their eyes flicked toward one another—not in confusion, but in grim expectation.

The rest, those who hadn’t heard, exchanged confusing glances. Their eyes narrowed, reading the tension in the room, the whispers that had followed them in.

A low murmur swept through the room as people settled into their seats, but no one dared speak above a hush. Everyone could feel it—that something had cracked in the night.

And whatever it was, it was big enough to summon the core of the Earth Clan from their beds.

Only one chair remained empty at the head of the chamber—the seat of the Patrician, or acting head which was currently Thutmose the same person who called for the meeting.

....

Silence fell as Thutmose made his way into the hall

Dressed in black trimmed with obsidian accents, he moved with the calm authority of someone used to the weight of eyes, of expectation. Behind him, his Shwt followed. He walked straight to the empty seat at the head of the chamber—the seat that bore the carved emblem of the Earth Clan’s ruling line. And when he sat, the room seemed to tighten.

No words passed. No movements stirred. The flickering flames of the torches cast long shadows against the stone floor, dancing across the solemn faces of blood and legacy.

Thutmose said nothing at first.

He let his gaze drift across the chamber, meeting eyes and measuring reactions. His fingers steepled lightly before him, elbows on the armrests, as if he were weighing not just the silence—but the weight of the moment that was to come.

Seconds passed. Then a minute. Then two.

The tension began to boil.

Lady Nandi was the first to break.

With a sharp inhale, she leaned forward, her voice low but laced with unmistakable disdain.

"You best have a good reason for dragging us here at this hour, boy. Not all of us are free to dance to your summons."

A few elders shifted slightly, not in agreement or protest—but acknowledging the crack that had just broken the stillness.

Thutmose slowly turned his head, eyes cold but not unkind, and regarded her in silence. Then, just as calmly, he turned his gaze back to the room.

"I’m certain," he began, deep and steady, "that most of you have already heard rumors. Some of you are still in denial. Others... already suspect the truth." He paused, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

"And her seat," he said, gesturing subtly to one of the empty chairs in the family row, "remains empty."

His voice dropped—quiet, but cutting.

"It is with great pain that I announce the death of my step-sister... Princess Merit."

A breathless silence washed over the hall.

It was like a crack through glass—sudden, sharp, irreversible.

Even those who had heard fragments of the truth reacted as if they’d been struck again. The bitterness deepened in their expressions. The shock returned, raw and fresh.

One elder clenched his fists on his knees. Another inhaled sharply, murmuring a silent curse under his breath. Even Talibah, so often distant, lowered her gaze.

And Lady Nandi—

Her eyes widened with one of shock and disbelief.

Menkara said nothing, but if one looked at his face, they would see one of pure rage, in the midst of his face that always playfulness expression.

....

The words had barely left his mouth before a suffocating silence wrapped around the hall.

Thutmose didn’t bother trying to hold the moment. He leaned back in his seat, eyes trailing over the room—but not truly seeing it anymore. He was listening instead.

To their hearts.

He measured the reactionsOne by one,—not just the shifting expressions or stiffened postures, but the flutter of pulses, the tremors behind the eyes and the weight of every breath they took.

Shock. Rage. Sorrow. Denial.

All as expected.

Except one.

Lady Nandi.

Her face was carved in disbelief, but her heart told a different story—no quickened beat of guilt or satisfaction, no subtle smugness that often accompanied a successful scheme—Just raw shock.

’What?’

His brows twitched, just slightly.

’That shouldn’t be there.’

He had been sure. Everything pointed to her—her recent moves, her anger against Merit and Menkara, as trails of who manipulated Menkhaura were being led to them. He had all but named her the orchestrator.

’Then why... that look?’

He narrowed his eyes slightly, keeping his face unreadable.

’What the hell is going on in this family?’

His gaze drifted from her and swept across the rest of the chamber, only half-listening to the tension stretching through the silence. The weight of leadership sat heavily on his shoulders, heavier than usual tonight.

Father left the clan in my hands.

And already, his firstborn is dead.

And now... Merit.

Even though he wasn’t directly at fault for either death, the blood still clung to the shadows of his rule. It would be seen. It would be judged.

’This assassination will be used against me. That much is certain.’

His eyes flicked to his siblings.

Neferura sat with a clenched jaw, unreadable as ever. Talibah was withdrawn, her eyes shadowed with thought. And Menkara... that one looked like he’d seen death itself.

This... is this their way of sending a message to Father? That I am unworthy?

A sour taste crept into his mouth, but he swallowed it before it could become emotion.

And then—

A voice broke through the fog.

"Has Lady Lucy been informed?"

The question came from Elder Khnem, one of the oldest elders. His voice was calm but not without weight, and when he spoke, the silence cracked again.

He looked up at Thutmose, his gaze steady, the question hanging like a blade.

But before the Thutmose could reply.

The heavy doors creaked open once more.

No words were spoken, but every head turned.

Lady Lucy.

Dressed in a flowing gown of deep purple that shimmered like dusk under firelight, she moved with quiet grace—each step measured, unhurried, yet carrying a weight that made the air bend around her. Her slick black hair fell straight down her back, untouched by travel or time, and her curvy and refined, figure exuded power and poise—a queen in everything but title.

She walked in alone.

No shwt.

No grand announcement.

Just presence.

No one dared speak as she approached the seat across from Lady Nandi. The two matriarchs—silent pillars of power—now sat face to face across the hall like opposing stars in orbit. But Lucy didn’t spare Nandi a single glance.

Her eyes went to the empty seat—the one where her daughter should have been.

She stopped.

Looked at it.

And then looked down.

Her shoulders rose... and then fell. Not in despair. But in restraint.

When she looked up again, her face was composed—flawless in its calm—but her voice?

It carried fire.

"Who is the person," she said, each word clipped and slow, "who orchestrated the assassination of my daughter?"

Her gaze didn’t waver. It burned straight into the center of the room.

"I don’t want stories."

A pause.

"I want names."

Every elder present was struck by the raw intensity of her words. Lady Lucy, known across the clan for her even temper and graceful diplomacy, had always been one of the few voices that could ease tension even in the most volatile rooms. But tonight, there was no trace of that composure beneath her calm exterior—only a tightly controlled fury.

And no one could blame her.

For over five years, she had been stationed in the Thunder Domain, expanding the Earth Clan’s influence against rival Higher Clans and navigating delicate negotiations with global governments. She hadn’t returned even once, dedicating everything to securing their future.

And now, after all that time...

The first news to greet her homecoming was the murder of her daughter.

Silenced took over the hall as no one could answer.

And then Thutmose voice broke the silence

"Apologies for your loss, Lady Lucy," Thutmose said, his tone cool, eyes narrowing slightly. "But if you don’t mind me asking just one thing—what are you doing here right now?" He leaned back slightly, the weight of his gaze pressing down on her. "Because to my knowledge, no one summoned you... and we were only just about to inform you of your daughter’s death."

His expression was unreadable—but beneath it was a clear message: I don’t buy your act.

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