Page 12 of Daggermouth

“I did not tell you, you could speak,” Maximus snapped. He turned back to Greyson, eyes dark as pitch. “When I tell you to drop something, you drop it.”

Greyson’s fists clenched around his knife, his muscles pulling tight in an effort not to jam the utensil into his father’s jugular at the disrespect he showed his mother. At the disrespect he showed Brooker’s memory.

“He did everything you ever asked of him. He killed hundreds of people day after day in the plaza on your orders. People you hunted down over minor infractions to your law. And yet you refuse to look for the Daggermouth scum that murdered him,” Greyson spat, knowing immediately he should’ve kept his mouth shut.

Maximus smiled, lips thin as a blade. “Your brother was a greater man than you will ever be, you do not need to remind me of that. He was the son I wish had lived. To insult me, to question my loyalty to him, is treason.” Slowly, Maximus leaned forward. “The elite are not immune from the violence of the rings. The job of Executioner will make youenemies. Brooker knew that, and still he did itwithouthesitation. He died for the Heart, and that is what I will honor. I will not give our enemies the upper hand by making emotional decisions.”

Lira spoke up, her words flat and dangerous. “His death wasn’t an honor.”

Maximus’s hand curled around the stem of his goblet, knuckles whitening. “Please, speak plainly, Lira.”

She met his gaze, mask to face. “His death was a sign of weakness. A sign that the Daggermouths can get to us. And your hesitation to retaliate only gives them more power.”

The silence that followed was so pure, so total, it threatened to fracture the room.

Elara recovered first, smoothing her napkin with trembling fingers, daring to speak again without permission. “We’re all tired,” she said, voice a shade above a whisper. “Let’s not fight tonight.”

The back of Maximus’s hand struck the side of her face faster than anyone could stop it, knocking her out of her chair and onto the floor with a whimper of pain.

Greyson shot from his chair with a snarl as Lira gasped beside him.

“Sit. Down,” Maximus growled, raising a single pointed finger at Greyson.

Greyson hesitated, every instinct screaming to pull his gun from its holster and put a bullet into the back of his father’s head. His fingers splayed on the tabletop, breaths rough through his mask.

The decorum of the room demanded submission, but every knot in Greyson’s body flexed against it.

He forced himself to sit, knowing that would be the only way to protect his mother from another blow. Maximus held his gaze for a long, balanced moment, then turned away.

Maximus’s voice trembled not with regret, but with rage. “This family is not a democracy. You will mourn your brother however I tell you to mourn. And you will never again question my choices.”

The words slashed through Greyson, and he felt the sudden, irrational urge to laugh. To laugh at the irony of it all, the cruelty that rotted the inside of this family while the outside looked polished and pristine.

Instead, he forced his jaw tighter, grinding the fury down to a stone he could swallow and watched as his mother straightened her mask. She struggled to her knees, steadying herself on the arm of her chair with no help from his father. Slowly, she slipped back into her seat and cleared her throat as she smoothed out the front of her cream blouse, now stained with drops of blood.

“Now, let’s finish this pleasant family meal, shall we?” Maximus said, the coolness of his voice more brutal than the violence of the moment before.

The scraping of silverware against china was the only sound that filled the room as each of them picked at their dessert, tasting nothing.

At last, Maximus set down his utensils and addressed the room. “The Vow is scheduled for Saturday. I expect full attendance. No exceptions.”

He rose, wiped his mouth, and left them with nothing but the echo of his footsteps. Elara’s voice caught as she rose, excusing herself to hurry after him, sparing a single look toward her children before disappearing into the corridor.

Greyson waited until they were alone, the room shrinking around them.

“You shouldn’t have said anything,” he said, but without the heat he’d intended. “He’ll make you pay for it.”

Lira’s own voice was flat. “I don’t care, Grey. Not anymore.”

“You need to care. You need to let him think he’s won. Hewillhurt you, Li.”

“I need,” she replied, pushing her chair back with an abrupt scrape, “to get out of this family, before it eats me alive.”

Greyson watched Lira go for only a breath before he followed her into the corridor, catching up to her near the elevator. For a moment, neither spoke as they waited for the lift to arrive.

“If he’s not going to do it, we have to,” Lira started. “We have to find the Daggermouth that killed Brooker, and kill them ourselves. He deserves that much.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her that she shouldn’t get involved, but couldn’t find the words. She put a hand on his arm, just above the elbow, squeezed once, then stepped into the elevator.