Cut nodded, sitting on his haunches while I sipped from the already open bottle and slowly wrangled my body into life.
Struggling to sit upright, Cut moved so I could spread out my legs and recline against the frigid, dripping wall.
“Better?” he asked. As if he cared about my welfare only moments after beating me to a pulp.
Still alive, unfortunately for you.
I fought my sarcastic response and glared instead. “Did I pass your little test, Father?” In that second, I hated him. I fucking despised that this man was my patron and relation.
He didn’t reply. Only motioned to the thing that’d landed on my chest and rolled to the side with an odd rattle. “That’s the second requirement of this last chance.”
I couldn’t make out what it was. My eyes flickered as my system organised my pain into filing cabinets of life threatening, throbbing, and liveable.
“Pick it up.”
Swallowing my groan, I slipped sideways against the wall and scooped up the small white bottle. I squinted, trying unsuccessfully to read the label.
“What—what are they?”
Cut shifted, bringing my attention to the gun resting on his knee. It stillpointed at me, like it had during the beating Daniel gave me. “I told you. Your final chance.”
I scowled at the gun. “And if I don’t agree...to whatever you want me to do next?”
“It ends. Here and now. I put you out of your misery and life moves on.”
My heart raced, dragging Nila back into existence. “If you kill me, does that void the Debt Inheritance?”
Could I somehow free Nila from this by sacrificing myself?
Cut pursed his lips, anger shading his features. “You’re saying you would die for a fucking Weaver? Come on, Jethro. Be a man and accept what I’m trying to give you.” He opened his arms, signalling Hawksridge. “This will be all yours. The companies, trade routes, mines...allyours. Is one woman worth all that?”
Silence was syrupy, its only companion the chilled dampness surrounding us.
Yes.
She’s worth that and more.
“So that was a yes?” My voice croaked. I took another sip of water. “If you kill me, the debts are done. You need a firstborn. That’s why there’s only been seven Weavers claimed over the centuries. Things go wrong; life interferes. What did you tell me? That raising a Hawk and Weaver to age requirement without one dying, going missing, or failing in some way was a fucking miracle? Kill me—end this so-called miracle. Another generation would be safe.”
Cut shot to his feet and kicked my leg. Normally, such a blow wouldn’t hurt, but it landed on multiple bruises already given courtesy of Daniel.
I hissed, fisting my hands around the bottle and spilling water down my bloodied clothes.
“Ordinarily, Jethro, you would be right. With your death comes her salvation. She’d walk free. She wouldn’t be claimed because the firstborn didn’t survive.”
The biggest wash of relief enveloped me. That was the answer then. The only way. I could avoid any more hardship and Nila could avoid death.
I can give you that, Nila. I can give you a long life free from me.
“Do it,” I commanded, my voice firm with conviction. “It seems our wishes have finally aligned, Father. I wish to die. You wish to have a different heir. There’s only one logical conclusion.”
Gathering my threadbare energy, I somehow climbed to my feet. I used the wall as a cane and swayed like a drunkard, but I was on two feet—equal to Cut standing before me.
Cut raised the gun, pointing at my heart.
All fear was gone. I was happy with this sacrifice. I finally found a purpose for my screwed-up life, and Nila would be safe to live without being beheaded.
It’s the right thing—the noble thing to do.
