Page 106

“I said, I’m aware of how I’ve fallen short of your expectations. You’ve made it abundantly clear I am not the son you think you deserve.”

Father’s nostrils flare, and I should back down right now. But I can’t.

“And maybe you’re right. Maybe you don’t deserve me.”

I glance at the bandage wrapped around his forearm. He must have had his tattoos modified after his position was stripped from him. No doubt he wishes to transfer the burden of his failures to me. My throat tightens, but I shove my next words through, ignoring how the corners of my eyes prick with the threat of tears.

“Has there ever been a moment where I did not do exactly what you asked?”

He answers with a snort of disgust.

“Even my best has never been good enough for you. Because obedience isn’t really what you desire. It’s fear.”

“Watch your words, boy,” he growls. “I’ve only ever wanted to make you into someone strong.”

“Really? Well, you’ve succeeded in that. But not, I think, in the way you intended.”

He leans back and hitches up his brows. “Enlighten me.”

“Strength—” I stop and lick my lips, but my tongue is dry. I try again. “Strength has nothing to do with beating someone into submission.” I flinch as his fingers twitch but force myself to get this out before I lose my nerve. “I’m not talking about fists. You do it with something much more cunning. Words and actions.” I stand straighter, anger beginning to take precedence over fear. “All this time, you thought you were the one dominating, but you’ve really taught us how to persevere under adversity.”

His lips press so tightly together, they all but disappear. A flicker of doubt causes that hard line to wobble, but he makes no other motion.

He doesn’t seem so intimidating anymore.

I almost laugh, but it sours in my mouth before it can escape. Is this how he feels when he uses words to cut us down?

You are just like him.

I push the thought aside.Not now.“I guess I have you to thank. What you’ve labeled as weakness—looking out for another person, seeing their needs and standing by them in the face of opposition—has made me stronger than you can ever know.”

My speech hangs in the musty air, growing heavier with each beat of my heart. I run the words over in my mind again. No, I don’t regret a thing. It needed to be said, and it is better for him to take out his fury on me instead of my mother or brothers.

Silence is a tempestuous thing with my father. The tension between us builds to a caustic level, burning in my veins like acid, threatening to suck the stamina right out of me.

Wouldn’t it be easier to fold, to let him win? He’s my father, after all. Isn’t it wrong to oppose him like this?

But in my heart, I know the most difficult and necessary place to stand up against evil is in the home.

Beads of sweat form on my brow, and I utter the first prayer of my life.

Elyon, give me strength.

This time, when the drums ring out, they are my saving grace.

“Get out,” he says, and it’s not venomous; it’s more like something slowly deflating. “I never want to see your face again.”

40. Amyrah

AMYRAH

A GROAN PARTS MY LIPS as a hand slips beneath one of my armpits and yanks me upright. I struggle to get my feet underneath me, yelping as the strong fingers dig into my tender flesh. My wrists ache, bound behind me with coarse rope. A meaty palm reeking of rendered animal fat clamps over my mouth. I struggle against my captor, but the grip tightens, bringing tears to my eyes. I blink them away and try to make my surroundings make sense.

Where am I?

“I wouldn’t fight it if I were you.” A slick voice tickles my ear, causing a shudder of pure revulsion flows through me. “It won’t do you any good.”

My breath escapes in forceful bursts through my nostrils. The smell of his hand makes me want to retch.