Fuck you,I think, my throat seizing as I try to suck back in some air.Fuck. You.
“What are you going to do?” I rasp, looking up at him. “Kill me? And then? You’re a man down without me. And I’m notexactly easy to replace. You really going to waste all that time trawling through the shitholes of the world and hope you’ll somehow come acrossanotherpoor kid with a sword who’s willing to call you daddy? Good fucking luck.” I choke in an inhale, reconsider. “You know what? No. You don’t even have the balls to kill?—”
I try to get back up, but Luther shoves me down by the shoulder.
“Don’t be stupid,” he snarls. “I’m not going to kill you. I don’tneedto kill you.” He laughs. “Where would you go? Where would you go, Kai? Please, tell me. Who would have you? Who would take you in?”
I grit my teeth and stare into the swirls of his stupid fucking Oriental rug.
“I’d manage,” I say.
Not that Luther hears me. I hear his steps retreating, and when I look up, he’s back at his desk, Kingston behind him.
Kingston’s face is unreadable.
“You have no family, Kai,” Luther goes on. “And do you know why that is?”
A thousand smartass replies burn the back of my throat.Bad genes. Bad drugs. Failed social safety nets. Capitalism’s indifference to human suffering. Take your fuckingpick, Pendragon.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” I mutter.
“Because this world is not kind to the weak, Kai. To the ill-formed.” Luther pulls the leather case towards him and Kingston, smiling like a daycare teacher explaining that it’s time to use the big-boy potty now. “To the…easily tempted. You’ve seen this truth for yourself since you were young.”
At that, I snap my head up, seething, too fuckingangryto stand. “Oh, so it was theworldthat shot my mom full of dope?Is that what you’re saying? Because I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure that was all just shitty luck and a bad timing.”
Luther rests his gaze—his steady, snake-eyed, smug gaze—on me.
“Hardly.”
A chill runs down my spine.
No. I can’t form the word.
No. But…
“The world is a trial by fire through which is forged the eternal soul,” Luther goes on, flicking up the clasps on the leather case. “The body is its crucible.”
Beside him, Kingston seems to have caught sight of whatever the mystery prize is, and whatever it is makes his throat visibly tighten with disgust.
Something about the tiny gesture makes my heart plummet into my ass.
“Father,” King tries again.
“Silence!” Luther roars. Then composes himself. “The body is its crucible,” he repeats, “and pain is its fire.”
At first, I can’t tell what the fuck he’s got in his hand—a bunch of ropes?—but then he flicks his wrist and I get the full picture.
“Adisciplina,” he says, smiling slightly. “A gift from the White Brothers.”
It’s a fuckingwhip.
And he puts it in Kingston’s hand.
“Twelve strikes,” Luther says.
“You can’t be serious,” I say. I want to get up, but now Ican’tget up, because I’m not sure my legs will hold me.
There is nothing behind Luther’s eyes now. “Remove your shirt, Kai.”
