“That might be true of the others, but not us.” I loop my fingers through the handle of my teacup, because I need something to hold on to so I don’t run out the front door and directly to Uprising headquarters to handle this injustice in the only way they seem to understand. “I’ve said from the beginning that allowing the Gifted any sort of privileges would only lead to more violence, and here they are, proving me correct from their very first decree.”
Alex doesn’t meet my anger with his own, which only irritates me further. “This is not about the Gifted. This is about the new government setting the tone for how they want to rule this country.”
“With violence and bloodshed.”
“With reparations.”
“So you are satisfied with this decision, then?” I aim anger at him because it’s easier than dealing with any of the other emotionsroiling through me. The grief, the fear, and buried deep within me, the slowly building dread. Though I will do everything in my power to find another way. Any other way. One parent was already stolen from me by the Gifted; I refuse to let the other fall by my own hand.
Alex’s eyes flit toward my father but dart right back to me. “I am not happy, and I will mourn the loss of James like I mourned my own sister, but I understand why they made this decision. It isn’t just about you, or the Reids, or even Scota. It’s about what’s best for Avon.”
“Killing people is what’s best for Avon?”
Dom, sitting to my right, places a calming hand on my forearm. “You can’t really blame people for wanting some kind of vengeance, Cal.”
“It’s unfortunate that Scota must be lumped in with the others.” Alex offers this tiny bit of compromise. “But in the rest of the provinces, this decree will not be seen as unjust. Or unwelcome.”
I tighten my grip on the handle of my cup and turn my attention to the one person who should be on my side. “And you have no thoughts on the matter?”
My father turns his weary eyes to me. His face bears the marks of a lifetime of service, and it strikes me for the first time how old he has grown, how tired he looks. His hair is now more gray than red; we no longer share that defining attribute. “I have only one thought on the matter.”
“I won’t do it.”
His fists clench, the only outward sign of emotion he shows. “Then you are a fool and a coward, and not the man I thought you were.”
Dom sucks in an audible gasp.
The handle of my teacup snaps in my hand, the rough edge digging into my palm, a stinging sensation letting me know I shouldlet go before drawing blood, but I can’t seem to force my fingers to uncurl.
I push my chair back from the table. “I’m sorry to be such a disappointment.”
Tossing the broken shard of porcelain into the fireplace, I push out of the breakfast room and head directly for the front door.
Dom catches up to me as I head for the stables, running to keep up with my angry strides. “He didn’t mean that, Cal.”
“We both know he absolutely did.”
For my entire life, I have admired my father. That admiration has only grown as I’ve gotten older. I’ve seen other fathers lie and plot, seen other sons betray and backstab, and I’ve always been grateful that our relationship would never have to suffer any of those indignities.
Life hasn’t thrown us Reids many setbacks, at least not since the loss of Mother, and while I’ve been grateful, I never realized how it might have colored our relationship, this ease with which we’ve been able to make decisions in the past. We don’t know how to disagree with each other, and now, with the stakes so high, is not the time to try to learn.
I stop short, before reaching the stables at the edge of our property, letting a small copse of trees shield me from spying eyes back at the estate.
Dom gives me the silence I need to process my thoughts, plopping down in the shade, her back resting against a large oak.
“It’s not just that I don’t want to do it,” I finally admit as my brain shifts through the anger, allowing other emotions to rise to the surface. “It’s more that I don’t think I can, Dom. I can see the logical points. If I don’t do it, someone else will. Father has lived a long and prosperous life and he would love nothing more than to pass on to the next in an act of sacrifice for Scota.” So many thingsmake sense on paper, but the truth of them stifles the breath in my chest.
“But?”
I sigh, sliding down next to her, preparing myself to reveal this weakness I don’t think I could voice to anyone other than my sister. “But I don’t think I could live with myself. I think the guilt would eat me alive.” The back of my head hits the trunk of the tree, unfortunately not hard enough to knock some sense into me.
“What is there to feel guilty about if you are doing what Father wishes?”
“I’d still be taking his life, Dom. Only for a mere chance at being elected. There’s no guarantee I would even win.” I run a hand through my hair. “And what if I went through all of that, actually went through with killing our father, only for the act of it to drive me so mad with grief and guilt I couldn’t function as a ruler anyway? I don’t know if I have the strength.” I let my eyes fall closed, as if that could block out my thoughts. “It isn’t worth the risk.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
I turn my head to face my impertinent sister. “How can you ask that?”
