Page 22 of Terror at the Gates

The chauffeur entered the driver’s seat and adjusted his mirror.

“Let me know if I can change anything for you, Miss Leviathan,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied.

While I’d have liked to take a taxi from Nineveh to Temple City and not involve anyone in my dad’s employ, it was impossible. No one born within Nineveh was allowed into the other districts, except for Zahariev and any member of his family. Among the five, we called it the Eden Rule, and it meant that districts closest to the Garden of Eden had more freedom. For example, those born in Hiram could enter Temple City, but those born in Temple City had to have special permission from the commission to enter Hiram. Those born in Akkadia and Galant could go between their districts and down to Nineveh but not up to Temple City or Hiram.

Nineveh was open to all, but that hospitality was not reciprocated.

It was a quiet ride north up Procession Street to the city. I looked out the window as we passed the barred entrance to Akkadia and Galant. Akkadia was more colorful than Galant, whose buildings were a dusty brown, once white. They made up for it with greenery, their terraces adorned with lush trees and flourishing bright flowers.

I’d always thought both districts were beautiful, but truthfully, they did not compare to Temple City, which was divided by Procession Street, with one side dedicated to family homes and the other to business. The architecture was mostly made up of rotundas, round buildings ofvarious sizes with domed roofs. Some were copper and varying hues, from russet to bluish green, while others were gleaming gold.

The chauffeur turned into the border entrance, which was manned by uniformed officers. The guardhouse matched the district, a round stone building with a dome-shaped gold roof. Ahead, the road was blocked by a gate, but as soon as my driver inched forward, it opened. All my father’s vehicles were equipped with passes. It was the same for the other families.

We crossed the bridge over the Johra River and into the district center.

I felt small here, where the buildings towered so high, they were always in the clouds, but my father liked Temple City. I wasn’t sure if it was because he favored this particular restaurant, Fig and Dove, or he just wanted to minimize the risk of someone from Hiram seeing us together and telling my mom. I suspected my mother knew Dad made time to see me and that she vehemently disapproved, but he had always chosen me despite the judgment of others, even when the church suggested excommunication.

This is just a phase, I’d overheard him say when Archbishop Lisk and his ministers came to visit.She thinks the world has opportunity. Let her discover otherwise, and she’ll come back, more disciplined and grateful than ever.

Of course, Archbishop Lisk had argued.What sort of example are we setting for young women then? That it is okay to disobey their parents, the rules of the church?

She will be an asset to you, Archbishop Lisk, my father assured.When she returns, she will share her testimony about how she was led astray. She will serve as an inspirationto all women to remain pious because she knows true evil. I know my daughter’s heart, Alarich.

She has one year, Lucius,the bishop had warned.One year, and I will insist the commission make a decision.

I was more than a year into my so-called phase, yet my father had managed to keep the archbishop at bay, though I had a feeling that would not last much longer. Sometimes I wondered if my father kept up our biweekly lunches just so he could shame me into returning to Hiram. I knew he cared, but I also knew he cared about his image and the legacy of the Leviathan family.

I breathed through the guilt squeezing my ribs, but I’d decided long ago that I wouldn’t make decisions about my life based on this feeling.

There were worse things than guilt; there were worse things than shame.

The chauffeur came to a stop in front of the glass-fronted Fig and Dove, which was on the ground floor of a high-rise. I didn’t open the door on my own. With my dad watching, I preferred to follow at least a few of his rules.

“Miss Leviathan,” the chauffeur said and offered his white-gloved hand.

I took it and let him help me out of the vehicle and onto the curb.

“Thank you,” I said.

A porter welcomed me as I approached and opened the door. I gave him a nod as I strolled into the restaurant.

Every table was empty, save one in the far corner where my father always sat. I couldn’t help smiling when I saw him. He looked too large for the booth he had chosen. He was dressed sharply, in a navy three-piece suit. The color suited him well, warming his skin, which was a few shadesdarker than mine. His hair was longer and graying, but he wore it slicked back and gathered into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. Sometimes, he grew a mustache and beard, other times, like today, he was clean-shaven. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled, and the scar on his face deepened. I liked to think of it as a dimple, but I knew better. Many years ago, he’d been attacked on the street with a knife. He’d come away with other wounds but alive.

“Lily,” my father said as I approached. He placed his hands on the table as he rose to his feet, the signet ring on his pinkie gleaming. The image etched on its surface was a dragon-like serpent, our family crest.

We embraced, and I squeezed him tight.

“I missed you,” I said, taking a deep breath, filling my lungs with his comforting scent. My father would always come to my rescue when my mother was being impossible—berating me for frizzy hair or a too-short skirt—arguing that I was just fine.

That was a word I couldn’t hear without cringing—just finebut neverenough, or at least that was what it felt like he was saying. Still, I was grateful to be defended at all, especially against my mother.

He kissed the top of my head. “I missed you too, pumpkin,” he said.

We drew apart, and as soon as we were seated, a waiter approached.

“Mr. Leviathan, Miss Leviathan,” he said as he placed a colorful salad in front of each of us.

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