Page 23 of Terror at the Gates

“Thank you, Demetrius,” my father said.

“Of course,” he replied, folding his hands together. “Please, let me know if you need anything. I’ll return soon with your entrées.”

My father was a creature of habit. Since he’d started coming to this restaurant, he ordered the same thing every time—a salad to start and then a rare steak with truffle potatoes. For me, he ordered baked chicken with vegetables. Among the families, women did not order their food; we ate what our husband or father chose for us. It was something I despised, but I couldn’t bring myself to take the choice away from him, because even though I knew I’d never go home again, I couldn’t handle the thought of him losing hope.

So I ate chicken and vegetables every fucking time, and tonight, I’d order pizza and devour the entire thing.

My father waited until I took a few bites of the salad to speak.

“You look well,” he said, as if he were relieved.

I wondered what he had expected when I arrived today and immediately became suspicious. I thought about everything I’d done over the last two weeks, but the only thing that came to mind was Abram and the blade. Had Zahariev told my father?

Even as the thought crossed my mind, I felt it wasn’t true, mostly because Zahariev would have to admit to my father that he’d lost track of me, which happened a lot because Zahariev actually gave me freedom, far more than my father realized.

“I am well,” I said, offering him a small smile.

“Your mother will be pleased to know,” he added.

My body instantly reacted, muscles locking up. Just hearing about her made me feel on edge, ready to fight at any moment.

“You don’t have to lie,” I said.

I just wanted to get through one meal—through one fucking meal—without him bringing her up.

“I don’t lie, Lilith.”

His voice was cold and firm.

I averted my gaze and ground my teeth. I didn’t want to argue with him about whether Mom cared. In the end, he would side with her anyway, even when he defended me.

After a few moments of tense silence, my father sighed.

“Lily,” he said, reaching across the table. He placed his hand over mine. The band of his ring was cold against my skin. I winced, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I know you and your mother haven’t always seen eye to eye, but she cares about you. She loves you. She only wants what’s best.”

He was right. She did only want what was best—for herself.

If I fell in line, it made her look good.

I didn’t say any of that aloud, because I knew my father’s wishes were aligned with hers. They wanted me home, devoted to the church, and ready to marry whoever they chose.

I wondered if they were scouting despite my absence, but then again, I didn’t really want to know.

My phone lit up, and a message flashed across the screen. Zahariev had finally replied to my earlier text. I was glad for the distraction, because I wasn’t sure how I was going to extricate myself from a conversation around my mother without a fight.

I’m not asking you to pay me back, he said.I’ll see you at 2, little love.

My face grew hot. I wasn’t sure which part of his message I was reacting to: the reminder that I was going to dance for him in an hour or the nickname he insisted on using.

“Who is it?” he asked.

I looked at my father, and I knew by his expression henoticed the change in my demeanor. His gaze felt heavy, a weight analyzing every part of my reaction to Zahariev’s message. His mouth tightened, and I suspected he didn’t like what he saw.

“It’s just Zahariev,” I said, slipping my phone off the table.

My father pulled his hand away and wiped his mouth with his napkin. His eyes didn’t leave my face.

“How is Zahariev?” he asked.

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