Well, you all have spoken ~
To avoid confusion, I'm referring to them by their first names in this story. This is also canon to AYCF since my novel is their backstory. minus the Wittebanes and Gravesfield.
The events in this will be very similar in the final novel, but the novel version will be done better since this version is more of a practice ~
Also, Frederick and Richard are both 17
The Sins of the Son: An Ember in the Twilight
I ran through the narrow streets, mud splashing up the legs of my stockings as the church bell tolled somewhere beyond the fog. My breath burned in my chest. I should not have lingered outside Joseph’s study. I should not have listened. Yet the words still echoed in my skull.
“The sins of the mother pass easily into the son.”
He hadn’t spoken Richard’s name or mine, yet the tone in his voice gave it away that he knew somehow. I don’t know how he even found out. We were careful about stealing an intimate moment for ourselves. There was no way he would have known… unless no, that’s impossible. Richard wouldn’t say anything.
I shake the thought from my mind as I see the church standing dark and forbidding against the gray evening sky, and I nearly slip on the wet stone steps as I push the doors hard enough for them to groan on their hinges and rush in. “Richard!” I called out, my voice echoing off the empty chapel.
“Frederick?” He questioned, looking up, completely startled by my sudden appearance. I don’t blame him. I must have looked half-mad, breathless, pale; my hair damp with sweat and rain.
“I have nee to speak with you... in private.”
“There is no time,” I growl as I cross the chapel and seize his wrist before he can protest, pulling him through the side door into the vestry. The moment we were inside, I slammed the door shut and turned the lock.
“What in the Lord’s name is happening? What has—”
“He knows.” The words spilled from me roughly.
“What ?” he asked quietly. I watched as unsettling stillness took over him.
“I overheard him while tidying up outside his parlor. I know he was talking about your mother...” I saw Something cold flicker behind Richard’s eyes as he sternly asked.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said... ‘The sins of the mother pass easily into the son.’”
I watched as Richard turned away from me slowly, and for a long moment, he said nothing at all; then a slow and cold laugh escaped from him as he slammed his fist down on the desk. “Of course he would… He should have died as well. He did bear a child with a deamoness after all,”
“You were there, you watched as he commanded me to push the barrel,” he continued, chuckling in disbelief, “Said it was God’s will… for her son to be the harbinger of divine justice.”
I couldn’t speak. Of course, I remembered that day. The gallows, the crowd, Joseph preaching loudly to the masses. Richard and I had only been eleven when Mistress Faith was hanged. watching the woman who treated me like a second son, swinging lifelessly as she dangled from the hanging tree. Nor can I forget the look in Richard’s eyes as he stood beneath her watching, trying to keep up the emotionless facade. Finally, I decided to break the unsettling silence that sat between us.
“What are we going to do? If he goes to the magistrates…” I whispered, We both knew what happened to men accused of unnatural sin.
Richard turned and studied me carefully as he walked over, reached up, and rested his hand against my cheek, and I leaned into its warmth instinctively.
“You are frightened,” he softly commented
“Of course I am!” I exclaimed.
“How can you say that!? Your father already believes evil lives in your blood. If he suspects us—”
I watched as he reached into the inner lining of his coat. When his hand emerged, a small glass vial rested between his fingers. The liquid inside was dark as ink. I knew exactly what it was, and my breath hitched.
“Two drops, that is all. I picked it up the last time a caravan passed through. I’d hoped not to use it so soon, but I do believe this situation calls for it,” he continued nonchalantly, gently shaking the bottle.
I stared at the vial in horror. “No, we can figure out another way.”
He smiled and pressed it into my palm anyway, curling my fingers shut around it. “He drinks wine every evening.”
“There is no other way, Frederick, you know that.”
“Murder?” he repeated softly. “No, you’re protecting me, just as you always promised.”
“He is still your father.”
“A Father wouldn’t have his son hang his mother.”
The vial felt unbearably heavy in my hand as I stared at the ground, unable to form a response. Richard’s voice softened as he pulled me close once more.
“He will destroy us, Frederick.”
I closed my eyes and let out a slow sigh. I knew he spoke the truth. Joseph Bastion held influence over every magistrate in the colony. One accusation from him, and our fate was sealed long before any trial began.
“I am done living beneath him.” Richard started, “I’m done, being the perfect child he thinks I am, though, the devil’s blood runs through me.”
His fingers tightened around mine. "Richard..." I murmur, my heart broke knowing he thought of himself in such a way.
“I will be in charge one day." He continued with resoure conviction. "I will hold all the power in my hand, and you will be standing beside me; even better, there will be no more secrecy when we are alone.”
He whispered the words against my skin as he drew me closer. Our lips met for a few breathless seconds before he finally pulled away. “You trust me, do you not?”
His onyx eyes met mine as he smiled warmly. His thumb brushing gently across my knuckles, where they wrapped around the vial.
The word wrapped around my throat like a silk leash. I knew what scripture would call us. Yet standing there with Richard’s hand over mine, I believed salvation existed in him alone. I couldn’t lie, a darker part of me wanted to entertain his idea.
Dinner that evening passed beneath a silence so heavy it seemed to press against my skin. Rain lashed softly against the windows of the house while the candles burned low along the table, filling the room with the scent of smoke and melted tallow. Joseph sat at the head as he always did, dressed in black, his Bible resting beside his untouched bread. Richard sat across from me. He had barely looked at me since we left the church. I wondered if he could tell I was still partially debating, as I played with the vial hidden in my hand; two drops were all that stood between us. Joseph barely spoke through supper, though that was hardly unusual. The only sounds he made were the scrape of cutlery against pewter. Now and then, I caught him glancing toward Richard and me, not in suspicion but almost disappointment.
I startled so badly at his tone that I nearly dropped my fork.
Joseph frowned, watching me. “The wine,” he continued.
“Yes, sir.” My legs felt weak as I rose from my chair. I did my best to maintain my usual composure, but by God, it was nigh impossible to act normal. The bottle stood upon the sideboard exactly where it always did, and hidden beneath the fold of my cuff rested the poison. My hand trembled as I reached for the bottle. There was still time to stop this. I could confess everything and beg God for mercy. But then I remembered Joseph’s voice from earlier that day.
“The sins of the mother pass easily into the son.’”
I was the son of a whore, I had no father. By all means, I have the devil’s blood in me, too. Richard was right; if I don’t eventually, the nooses would be around our throats or, at the very least, mine. I exhaled slowly and uncorked the vial with one hand. The liquid inside smelled bitter, with a slight medicinal tang, which made my nose wrinkle.
One drop slid into the dark red wine… then another… The poison vanished instantly. I stared at the cup. No sign that some lay in the sanguine like wine.
“Boy, how long does it take for you to pour wine!?”
“I beg pardon, sir,” I said gently, with a forced smile, as I carried the goblet toward him, my hands surprisingly steady. Joseph took the wine without looking at me.
I obeyed at once. Across the table, Richard lifted his eyes toward mine, perfectly calm and unreadable. It unsettled me to some degree.
Joseph resumed eating as though nothing had changed. He tore a piece of bread absently, opened his Bible with his free hand, and began reading.
I forced myself to take small bites of the meal before me, trying to be patient, yet every minute the wine sat untouched felt like hours. At last, Joseph lifted the goblet. I watched from the corner of my eye as He took one sip, then another, and nothing happened. My heart lurched in confusion. Had it failed? I looked over at Richard, and his eyes met mine with a suspicious look, so I didn’t go through with it.
We watched as he set the goblet back upon the table, swallowing the fourth sip. Then suddenly he froze. The change was so slight at first that I almost imagined it. His hand tightened around the cup’s stem, his brow furrowing as he let out a cough. He went to take another drink. Then his hand spasmed, the goblet slipped from his grasp, and it struck the floor with a sharp crack. Wine spread across the wood like blood. Joseph doubled over violently in his chair.
“Father!?” Richard said at once, rising with rather convincing alarm.
Joseph opened his mouth, but only a strangled sound emerged before he collapsed. The chair crashed backward beneath him as his body struck the floorboards hard enough to rattle the table. I shot to my feet in horror as he convulsed upon the ground, his limbs jerking in unnatural spasms. A horrible choking sound clawed from his throat as foam gathered at the corners of his mouth.
“Oh god...” I whispered, throwing my hand up to my mouth as his eyes found mine. It was sickeningly horrifying, I thought I might vomit, yet I couldn’t take my eyes away.
Richard walked around the table and stood next to me, calmly watching his father writhe on the floor as he grabbed my hand. Joseph’s fingers clawed weakly against the floorboards; his boots scraped desperately against the wood as another seizure wracked his body. We stared as Joseph made another terrible choking sound, reaching toward us as his face had begun turning dark red beneath the candlelight. Then slowly his eyes shifted toward Richard. And for the first time, fear crossed Joseph’s face. Not the fear of death, but the fear of his son. Richard looked down at him without pity or disgust, just a calm, content, and innocent smile.
Joseph’s body jerked once more, followed by a wet gasp. Then an eerie silence flooded the dining room, except for the rain that still pelted the windows. I could only stare as Joseph lay motionless at our feet, one arm twisted beneath him, eyes still open toward us.
“Richard, what have we done?” My body began shaking so violently that I let go of Richard’s hand, stumbling backward into the table, and grabbing the edge to steady myself, fearing I would collapse to the ground in shock.
Richard didn’t say anything at first; he merely stepped over his father’s body, like it was nothing but an inconvenience, and gave it a nudge with his boot as he laughed dryly. The candlelight flickered across his face as he knelt beside the corpse and closed Joseph’s eyes with careful fingers. When he finally looked back at me, there was no horror in his eyes, only a satisfied smile.
“No…” said softly. “What have you done?”
” I looked at Joseph’s corpse again, and I felt the same calm smile cross my lips. he’s right, what have I done? I felt no guilt or shame settle in me; I just murdered a man, and yet I felt relief and a satisfaction I didn’t know I craved. Besides, how could it be murder? If I were protecting all I held dear.
