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love more?”
“What?”
“Which would hurt worse — being the son loved so much he
is worthy of sacrifice, or being the son who’s spared because he is the
lesser?” She raised a hand and rested it on Thom’s cheek. He
flinched, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I think the latter, but
you’ll have to tell me.”
Thom swallowed hard. A sacrifice. Constance had spoken of
that, and it was on the list next to his father’s name, too. “He loves
Charles more,” Thom whispered. “He always has.” It hurt some-
thing deep inside him to finally say it out loud, to admit to this
stranger what he had always pretended not to know.
She nodded, patting his cheek. “Then Charles is the offering.”
“Should we run?”
She drifted past him, lingering at the top of the stairs. “There
isn’t enough time.”
“I’ll fight him. Alden. I’ll kill him if it means keeping my
brother safe.”
She turned toward him, a smile splitting her face in two, eyes
bright with delight. “You should! You absolutely should. I thought
it would be the Liska boy, but you might do as well.” Laughing,
she picked her way lightly down the stairs.
“So that’s the answer? Kill Alden?”
“No, silly. Kill us all,” she said just as she disappeared
from view.
April, 1968
nineteen
C
harles sipped his tea on the front porch and
watched as a crooked man, obscured by a lengthy
