Thefemur trembled at his neck.
“I wasyour prisoner!You told me I was a waste, a burden!An anchor around your neck!You told me I should have died with my mother!”
“Thecontext—”
“Thatis what you said!”
Berithswallowed.His hands rested on a bank of metal controls, the knobs and dialsalight with unknown power.
“Was Istill your son,” Isaac said, “when you sent me off to die?”
Hisuncle’s fingers roamed towards tiny levers.
“Youlied!”Isaac was so furious he could barely speak the words.“You lied abouteverything!Every spell, every book, every potion!Every day, there was nothing butlies!You knew it was pointless!You knew I was going to die!You could have told methe truth, you could have doneanythingother than mock and berate me foreverything I tried to do, but you didn’t!And you are still trying to tell meit was everyone else’s fault, you are still trying to purge yourself of blame,when it was always you!”He jagged a finger, the dagger glinting with motion.“It was you!No one else!It wasalways you!”
Heslapped the femur away, taking a step forward.The bone shot back into place.Barely an arm’s length remained between them.
“Iwould rather die than be your son,” Isaac said.
Behindhim, the thralls stepped closer, forming a semicircle at his back.A blaze offire thickened his shadow upon the stone.
“Doit.”
Berithblinked.The bone quivered.
“Doit!”Isaac yelled.“Kill me!”
“Isaac.”
He leanedhis neck into the bone.“No more tricks.No more lies.”
“Isaac,”Berith said.“Please.”
Isaacfelt tears come down his face, mixing with dirt and blood.
“Thisdoesn’t have to happen,” his uncle said.
Isaac’shand was shaking.His fingers ached around the dagger’s hilt.
“I canjust—we—you and I—”
“Uncle,”Isaac said.“It’s me, or you.”
Berithlooked him up and down, as if seeing him for the first time.The air was hot,and the wind was dry.Only their breathing pierced the silence.
“You’vealways had his face,” Berith said.“Your father.You’ve been told that yourentire life, but ...you do.”He pointed.“Except for the eyes.Your father’swere brown.Yours are blue.Like mine.”
Overhis uncle’s shoulder, something glinted in the sun.
“Youwere less than a year of age,” Berith said.“I had finally worked up the nerveto kill you.Not for the Diet, not for your father.For your sake.To spare youthe life I knew would be waiting for you.”
Isaaccould feel the thralls standing at his back.To the side, loose bones skitteredacross the floor, like embers in a breeze.
“I wentto your crib, in the dead of night.I had a plan for your disposal, for my ownalibi, for an escape from the Nine if I should have to become a fugitive.Ithought I had everything settled.”
Thefemur was tight on his neck, the withered edge bulging down against the skin.
“Youwere asleep.All day, you had wailed and moaned and tittered, and nothing Icould do would make you stop.By dusk, it had driven me to a rage.And though Itruly wanted to help you, I could not help but stoke this rage, like a fire.”
