I can get there on my own. you can leave me here alone.
He does not cower.
Because he knows, now even more than that night in the forest, that he deserves this.
Because he had touched them both without ever having the right to touch either of them.
And he should have known.
Though he has never been particularly intelligent, he should have made the connection.
And oh, how the child delights in the bared teeth. Her own mouth waters as she leans into it, eyes wide as the viper moves to strike. To kill him. How her heart sings!
But Adna wedges herself between them just as Sabbath stops short and he can do nothing but blink his surprise. Perhaps he wishes just as desperately as his daughter had that she’d killed him.
She speaks, spits her vitriol in the same way her sister had. He should have known.
She says that she hates him and he supposes he deserves it. Prayer, she says and the word pulses in the air between them and in the cavern of his chest. It throbs in the emptiness in his head. “Prayer?” he echoes, breathless.
He touches Adna’s shoulder as he moves around her. Thrusts himself back into the reach of Sabbath’s agony. The brow furrows as he studies her. So much like her sister. He should have known.
“Sabbath,” he says, quiet. “How could I have known?” he asks. He does not look away from her, though there is no challenge in his gaze. There is no accusation in his tone. “How could I have known about her?” He swallows thickly. And, though she had wanted to kill him and perhaps still does and maybe there’s some part of him that wants her to kill him, too, the tone is soft. “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
BETHLEHEM
I'm just tryin' to do what's right. oh, a man ain't a man unless he's fought the fight.
