The Cursed Extra-Chapter 60: [2.8] My Room is Exactly Where I Want to Be

"The best hiding spots are the ones nobody bothers to look at."

***

Alistair’s finger traced down the ledger with the slow deliberation of someone prolonging a small pleasure. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he found my entry.

"Leone. Right." He looked up again. Took in my modest clothes and uncertain posture with renewed attention. The frayed edge of my sleeve. The scuff on my boots. The way my collar sat slightly crooked.

"The third son."

"Y-yes, sir. That’s correct."

"I’m to be sorted into House Onyx, I believe?" I shifted my weight from foot to foot. Appeared uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Unable to meet his eyes for more than a moment.

"Indeed." He gestured toward a side corridor with the dismissive wave one might use to shoo away a stray dog. "House Onyx is in the West Bastion. Dormitory assignments are third door on the left. Try not to track mud on the marble."

The jab was petty. I let it land. Flinched visibly.

"Of course, sir. Thank you. I’ll be very careful." I bobbed my head. The gesture of someone grateful for even cold reception. Someone who had learned to accept scraps of civility as gifts.

"See that you are." He’d already moved on. Dismissed me as completely as if I’d ceased to exist the moment I stepped away from his desk.

Perfect. Forgotten already. Another face in the crowd.

Lyra and I gathered our modest luggage and headed for the indicated corridor. The moment we crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted.

In the West Bastion, the air grew noticeably colder. A dampness spoke of inadequate climate enchantments and walls that had never been properly warded. The scent of polished marble gave way to damp stone and old torch smoke.

The enchanted lights that illuminated the main halls gave way to older lanterns that flickered with actual flame. Dancing shadows crossed walls that bore the stains of age and neglect.

The servants’ quarters of a palace, I thought. Functional. Forgettable. And perfectly suited to my needs.

No one important ever came here. No one watched the forgotten.

"Master," Lyra said quietly. Her voice barely above a whisper. "That man. Alistair. He has plans for you."

"Of course he does. Men like Alistair live for moments like this." We passed through the third door into a common area furnished by someone with a personal grudge against comfort.

Mismatched chairs clustered around scarred tables. A notice board dominated one wall, covered in yellowing announcements. The fireplace held cold ashes. No one had bothered to lay fresh wood.

"He sees a Leone name and thinks he’s been given permission to settle old scores. His golden boy cousin is a hero, destined for greatness. He’s stuck pushing papers and punishing first-years for uniform violations. That resentment needs an outlet."

"Will he be a problem?"

"He’ll try. But small men with small power are predictable. They follow patterns. Telegraph their moves. We’ll manage."

I approached the dormitory assignment desk. A bored upperclassman barely glanced up from whatever cheap romance novel he was reading.

"Name," he said flatly.

"Kaelen Leone. First year."

He consulted a small, battered ledger with stained pages. "Room 247. Third floor, end of the hall."

He handed me an iron key. Actual iron, not the enchanted crystals important students received. The metal was cold and slightly rough with age.

"Your attendant gets servant’s quarters on the ground level. Shared facilities." He pointed vaguely downward. "House meeting tonight at eight. Don’t be late."

"Thank you. Is there anything else I should know?"

His eyes met mine for the first time. A flicker of something. Pity, maybe. Or resignation.

"House Onyx doesn’t coddle its members, Leone. You’ll figure out the rest on your own, or you won’t. Either way, not my problem."

He returned to his reading. Conversation over.

Charming. Welcome to the bottom of the food chain.

We navigated the bastion’s corridors. Climbed stairs that creaked with age and listed to the right in places. I noted the layout with each step. Emergency exits. Blind corners. The rhythm of foot traffic. Which windows faced which directions. Which doors stood slightly ajar.

"Lyra." I stopped at the second-floor landing. A narrow window looked out over the grounds below. Practice fields where students were already gathering. The distant forest. The glittering spires of the other houses rising like accusations against the sky.

"Your quarters are below, but I want you to see my room first. You’ll need to know the layout. Entrances. Exits. Sight lines."

"Of course, Master."

Room 247 sat isolated at the hall’s end. Separated from the other doors by a good twenty feet of empty corridor that felt less like architectural design and more like quarantine.

Punishment or blessing, depending on your perspective.

I unlocked the door. The key stuck slightly. The lock was old and temperamental, requiring a specific angle and pressure to turn.

My home for the next four years.

The room was adequate. Spartan.

A narrow bed with a thin mattress and plain linens faded to uniform grey. A small desk beneath the single window, its surface scarred with initials and idle carvings from previous occupants. "K.V. was here." "F+M." "Three years until freedom."

An aged wardrobe that leaned slightly to one side. Doors not quite hanging true. Hinges rusted.

A washbasin with a copper pitcher sat in one corner. The metal had gone green with age. Thin layer of dust coating its interior.

The floor was bare stone. Cold even through my boots. No warming enchantments here.

A single threadbare rug sat beside the bed. Its original pattern long worn to indistinct blotches.

The window overlooked the practice fields and distant forest. More importantly, it offered sight lines to observe approaching visitors from three directions. And I noted with approval that it was wide enough to serve as an emergency exit if circumstances demanded.

Not the Sunstone Spire with its golden fixtures and enchanted heating, I thought. Not even close to whatever palatial suite they’ve given Leo.

But it served my purposes.

Lyra explored the space with the careful attention she brought to everything. Her red eyes cataloged details most would overlook. The loose floorboard near the wardrobe. Perfect for hiding small items. The window latch that didn’t quite catch. The way sound carried through the thin walls and the corresponding dead spots where conversation wouldn’t travel.

She was memorizing escape routes. Weak points. Places to hide things.

"It’s perfect," she said finally.

I knew she meant it. The room was defensible, private, and utterly beneath anyone’s notice.

I moved to the window and gazed out at the grounds below. The last arriving carriages disgorged their passengers into the chaos of intake day.

Somewhere in this vast complex, Leo was probably being shown quarters that put royal suites to shame. Surrounded by admirers and sycophants who competed for the honor of carrying his bags.

Lucius would be in House Argent’s Lyceum. Already building his network of alliances. His mind churning through possibilities.

Other students would be establishing social hierarchies. Forming alliances. Jockeying for position in the great game that would define their years here.

And here I stood in Room 247.

The unwanted third son of a declining house. Dismissed and forgotten before I’d even unpacked my bags.

A footnote. An afterthought. A name on a ledger that warranted nothing more than a side corridor and a cold room at the end of a forgotten hall.

Exactly where I wanted to be.