Page 21 of Terror at the Gates

For two hours straight, he made me write one sentence over and over:I will not question the authority of the church. When I started to grow tired and my penmanship became messy, he would hit the table with a ruler to startle me, but it wasn’t long before he hit me.

When I finished, he led me out of the room to my waiting mother, who apologized profusely for my behavior, ignoring the red welts on my hands and my tear-stained face.

“It is not your doing, Analisia. I know your devotion,” Archbishop Lisk had assured her. “Some children are born with demons in their hearts.”

He’d gone on to suggest that I would benefit from a fewmore private sessions with him. I’d begged my mom not to make me go, but my pleas were dismissed in favor of appearances.

You must, she said.One day, you will be the face of House Leviathan.

Father is the face, I said.

Your father is a puppet, she said. I still remember the wild look in her eyes as she snapped at me. It was a look I’d grown to fear and one that haunted me to this day.I have built our reputation, and you will carry my legacy.

It was a legacy I never wanted, but it was one I might not have run away from if it wasn’t for Archbishop Lisk. He was the man who had turned me against the church. It might have begun as an institution for good, an organization that provided order and a sense of morality for people, but that all hinged on who ran it, and if the leadership was corrupt, everything else must be too.

While I waited for my ride, I texted Zahariev.

I still wasn’t over that awful nightmare. Even now, my throat felt raw, still parched from the desert sand.

Do you still have the knife?I asked.

He would probably think it was a silly question, but truthfully, I didn’t know what he planned to do with it. When I woke up from my dream, I half expected it to be in bed beside me, as real as my parched mouth.

I do, he texted back.

Are you sure?I wanted to know if he actually knew. Had he gone to wherever he’d stored it and checked?

I wouldn’t lie, he said.

I’m not accusing you of lying, I said.I just want to know if you saw it with your own eyes.

I realized I sounded a little ridiculous.

What’s this about?he texted back.

Zahariev. Please check.

I could practically hear his annoyed sigh, but when he didn’t message back immediately, I knew he was doing what I asked. Minutes passed, and then he texted.

Safe and sound.

Thank you, I replied, pausing before I sent the next text forming in my head.You aren’t going to take back your offer, are you?

I waited, staring at the screen.

There was no indication Zahariev was typing. My heart sank, so I continued.

I didn’t tell you about the rent so you would pay it, I said.I’ll pay you back, I promise.

There was no word from him.

I tried not to think about what the silence meant. He was a busy man. Maybe he’d been interrupted by a call.

My worry distracted me. I didn’t notice a black SUV had stopped in front of me until my father’s chauffeur exited the driver’s side, intending to open my door. I reached for the handle anyway.

“Miss Leviathan,” he said, catching the door as I climbed inside. I met his gaze and offered a small smile as he tipped his cap and closed me in, suddenly surrounded by the scent of new leather. I wondered how recently my dad had purchased this vehicle. He never held on to one long and sent more than a few to his own scrapyard.

I didn’t have to be a genius to know why. My fatherenforced the law the same way Zahariev did, through fear and violence.