“No, none of that.”
“What is it then?”
I didn’t want to condescend, but in many ways, I still saw you as a child, the one who’d clung to me when you were scared or hurt. Even though I knew, rationally, you were a man with your own strengths, talents, and ambitions, I sometimes couldn’t help myself from interfering, especially when it came to your safety.
“You’re precious to me. I don’t want you harmed. Or captured. Or mistreated.”
“You have to let go of those fears. You have to see me as your superior, Henri. Because if you don’t, no one else will.”
I nodded, deeply ashamed that I’d compromised your authority in the face of the warborn. You’d endured imprisonment and torture, battled a warborn blindfolded, convinced the Tribal Council to rescue your father, then threw yourself in front of a spear to protect him. I hadn’t given you enough credit.
“I’m sorry, Vincent. I won’t go behind your back again.”
Your eyes searched mine. “We’ll never win this war if we’re battling each other,” you said softly. “And if we lose…”
“Yes, I know.” I bowed my head in humility, not wishing to contemplate it.
I was not moved by the promise of revolution or the newfound camaraderie between the tribes. My motive was altogether selfish, my goal the same in this lifetime as in your last. I wanted you safe. I wanted you free.
Then and there, I surrendered.
