The Black Prism(162)

“ ‘General’ this morning, not ‘father.’ I must be in trouble,” he said. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Come here.”

She came to his side and he pulled her close so they could watch the sun rise together.

“Moments of beauty sustain us through hours of ugliness,” her father said. She watched him as he watched the sun rise. His blue eyes—outside the red halo, of course—looked tired. Corvan Danavis had always had the capacity to survive on less sleep than anyone Liv knew, so she knew it wasn’t the early hour that had him weary. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen this look on his face, but she thought it might be the first time she understood it.

All those times she’d seen this look pinching his eyes and squeezing the joy out of her usually jovial father, he was reliving battles. Today, he was preparing to see more men die—and fighting for the very man who’d killed his people in the past, Gavin Guile. It must be tearing him apart.

The sun rose in magnificent pinks and oranges mirrored in the waves, and slowly the tension leaked out of her father’s eyes. She could see the freckles under his caramel skin around his eyes, and the faint red highlights in his hair were set afire by the sunlight. She’d inherited neither, nor the blue eyes that would have helped her be a more powerful drafter.

Corvan’s lips moved faintly, mouthing words. Oh, he was praying, she realized. Finished, he made the triangle, splaying three fingers: touching his thumb to his right eye; his middle finger to his left eye; and his forefinger to his forehead, the spiritual eye. He completed the gesture by touching mouth, heart, and hands. The three and the four, the perfect seven, sealed to Orholam. What you behold, what you believe, how you behave.

He didn’t turn from the risen sun. “You came to demand how I can fight for my old enemy,” he said.

“He killed mother.” Liv’s voice was icy.

“No, Aliviana, he didn’t.”

“His people did. Same thing.”

“The situation is more complicated than you realize.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t treat me like I’m a child!”

“I’m sorry, Aliviana, I have to protect—”

“I’m seventeen. I’ve been surviving without your protection for three years! You don’t have to protect me anymore.”

“Not protecting you,” Corvan said. “Protecting others from you.”

What? It hit Liv like a shot in the stomach. Her father didn’t trust her?

“You know who was seventeen when he upended the world?” Corvan asked. “Dazen Guile.”

“But—but—that’s not even close to the same thing.”

“Aliviana, I’m asking you to trust me. I’ve seen fathers who abuse their position and demand slavish obedience of their children. I’ve never done that with you, have I? When you wanted to go to the Chromeria and I didn’t want you to go, when I told you that I could teach you everything about drafting you needed to know, what happened?”

“You let me go.” Eventually.

“And it was awful for you there, but you showed me how strong you are, and here you stand. I’m proud of you, Aliviana. You swam with sea demons and survived. But I’m asking you to trust me on this. I’m doing the right thing. I promise. I haven’t forgotten your mother. I haven’t forgotten you.”

She couldn’t maintain the eye contact or her righteous indignation in the face of her father’s open, honest refusal to be more open and honest. He was standing on his record, and more than anyone, she knew that his record was unimpeachable. She also knew that he wouldn’t be moved once he made a decision like this. If she was stubborn, she’d come by it honestly.

She gave in. “It was so much easier to admire him when he wasn’t making war in our country. I mean, I didn’t even think about the war when I was around him.”

“A little infatuated?” her father suggested.

A flush crawled up her cheeks. “Maybe a little,” she grumbled.

“I’d wonder if you weren’t. He is what he is,” Corvan said, shrugging.

“He really isn’t responsible for mother’s death?” Liv asked, feeling weak.

“Responsible? That’s tricky. If the Guiles hadn’t gone to war, would your mother still be alive? Probably. But I can tell you two things: Gavin didn’t order or desire your mother’s death in any way, and he is utterly and forever besotted with one woman, and that’s not you.”

“That’s three things, isn’t it?” Liv asked, shooting her father a grin.