I watch the foam and spittle fling from his mouth as he rages. This thing that is my father. I wonder if my own madness comes from him and his blood, or circumstances. He spins back towards me.
“I will be remembered and revered for centuries! I will be the god king of the desert, eternal ruler of the Ohadi! People will bow at the mere memory of me!”
He raises his face to the sky as it rolls with thunder and lightning. I strain against the ropes binding my hands.
“And you daughter, you will kneel before me. You will swear your loyalty. Or you will stain the sands with blood.”
“I’m not your daughter. All I have is your blood and ink. But I’ve never been yours. I’ll kneel to nothing, be it men or gods or death.”
His face twists and I feel the ropes give against my pressure. “I am a god! And you will kneel before your lord. You will worship me.”
I’m on him in one long stride and my hands rip his own dagger from its jeweled sheath. It slips into flesh gone soft with disuse. As he sinks to the floor I look my father in the eyes, “Even gods can bleed.”