King cut the engine, checked her pulse once more, waited for the thump of it against his fingers, then adjusted the sling on her broken arm. He looked up from his ministrations. Chosen One stood at the hood of the car, glaring in the window. King understood how it looked, and he’d best explain quick before Chosen One—
“You’ve been corrupted.” Chosen One’s voice hit every note of disgust on the scale. His lips peeled back over wide, square teeth in a sneer that made King feel like the bad little boy he’d once been. The vein in the center of Chosen One’s forehead—the one that swelled and turned blue when he got angry—bypassed blue and went to apocalyptic.
Oh no.
King grabbed the door handle and yanked it. Locked. He hit the unlock button. The window slid down. He jabbed another switch. The side mirror moved. Why couldn’t he find the right button? He punched another knob. Trnk. The locks disengaged, and he shot out of the vehicle and fell to his knees in front of Chosen One. His father.
Father raised his hand—a hand slightly gnarled with age—and swung.
It had been decades since Father had last punished him, but King felt as if it were only yesterday that they were here upon the river, going through the same motions about the same things. Only before it had been about Shayla.
King tensed, braced for the blow. His head jolted back, his cheek burned. Father packed enough force to ring a church bell, and the crack of palm to cheek seemed as loud. King wanted to press his hand over the heat on his face, but he didn’t move. Wasn’t allowed to move.
“You have shamed me, shamed your brothers, and shamed the Lord.” Condemnation was a poison dripping from each of Father’s words.
“No. No, Father, it’s not like that.” King grabbed the cross dangling from his neck, kissing the warm gold. “See? I’m not corrupted. I’m not. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Silence.” Father’s voice boomed, quieting even the river. “You deny you were touching her?”
“I do not deny I was touching her. She no longer burns me. You were right. Her power was linked to the ancestor. She has changed. I can no longer feel her evil.”
Father listened, then looked beyond him into the car. “Stay here.”
King didn’t move. He kept to his knees and didn’t dare look anywhere except forward. He heard the passenger-side door open, then heard nothing else.
Dear Lord, please please please let him see that she is saved. Please please please… He chanted this over and over until Father returned to his line of sight, carrying Isleen in his arms. He walked past King to the demon box on the bank.
Nooooo. The primal scream echoed inside King’s head but never made it out into the world. His chin trembled, his body shuddered, and he couldn’t remember how to breathe. This was exactly the same as with Shayla.
Father meant to lock her inside the iron box for six days and six nights. If she survived, it would be proof of her evil. If she died, she would prove her innocence. Either way resulted in death. King wanted to chase after Father, wanted to steal her away from him, drive off with her and never look back, but he couldn’t move. An entire lifetime of obedience kept his knees on the ground and his protests in his mouth. He couldn’t defy his father, his leader—the one man who communed directly with the Lord.
Father dropped her in the box like an armful of dirty laundry.
Her arm. Her broken arm. The pain was going to be excruciating when she woke.
Father slammed the iron lid. The clang of it reverberating over the river. He locked each side with a black key, then walked back to King, whose gaze never left the box containing his daughter.
“Rex, my eldest son”—Father stroked King’s chin and then forced his face up—“evil’s power is boundless.” His voice was soft and kind. “You know it could be masquerading as dormant to fool us.”
“Her touch no longer burns me. It no longer burns you.” He tried to keep the defiance from his tone, but he wasn’t successful. He braced, waiting for another slap.
“We cannot take the chance that this is a ruse.”
“That’s what you said last time.” King whispered the words, not daring to say them full volume. When Father didn’t strike him, he continued. “Father…” Liquid sorrow flowed into King’s eyes. “She’s my daughter. Your granddaughter. Our blood flows in her veins. She could learn to be strong in our faith. Can we give her a chance?”
“No.” The word was flat and full, offering no room for argument. “I cannot allow this. I have been lenient with you regarding her because I understood your struggles, but we will not squander this Lord-given opportunity.”
King could no longer bear the sight of his father, his leader, this man who was respected and revered in their community. He clamped his eyes shut.
“Have faith. Let the Lord in. He will ease this burden just as he has eased the burden of what went before.”