Thunderlight

(Cont.) A Challenge Given, a Challenge Received

"My love for the Alcotts knows no bounds. I invited them to my ascension because I could not imagine celebrating without them, my dear companions." He's laying the flattery on thick, enrapturing his audience with his words. Every perfectly crafted phrase is delivered like poetry to bend the room to his vision. "But clearly, my love is not returned."

Montgomery can't even try to interrupt, to derail him from where he's headed. A pit of dread sinks in his stomach.

"The Alcotts have come to my home, on the day of my ascension, in an attempt to make a mockery of me," he laments, his tone conveying no deception. He's gotten better at acting since childhood. "There is no limit to my feelings of betrayal. I've always thought of them as a pillar of righteousness in our community. Needless to say, I expected better of them tonight."

Father's eyes flash with indignation. It's not directed at Florian.

"So, it's with a heavy heart that I must ask them to leave," he proclaims, turning to face Montgomery once more. His eyes are dark. The pendant that bears his crest glitters in the light. "I have no room for disrespectful families in my estate."

Just like that, everything Montgomery tried to accomplish tonight has been turned on its head. Shaming the Callahans and elevating the Alcotts morphed into the opposite. The surrounding patrons are regarding him with disgust while revering Florian with sympathy and admiration.

Somehow, from so far away, he still manages to hear the loathing in his father's voice as he says, "It's time to go."

Nursing wounds is not easy in a bumping, unsteady carriage. Especially when no one will help.

Montgomery has cleaned all his cuts and scrapes and has eaten enough healing berries to make his headache go away. He's clear-minded again, but there's still something cloudy inside him. It churns like a storm brewing. But it's nothing compared to whatever is brewing inside Father.

The family knows better than to talk when Father gets into one of his moods. One misspoken word or misplaced tone will spark his anger like you've never seen anger before. They know even better to avoid associating with the object of his anger: right now, that's Montgomery. That's why everyone keeps their eyes on the floor and steadily refuses to offer him any aid as he clumsily wraps bandages around his arm.

Driving over a massive pothole makes him lose his grip on the bandages. The drop to the floor and roll themselves out across the carriage. Outside, the stoutland driver chuckles, "Sorry."

When he dies and goes to Hell, the only thing he'll hear is that stupid stoutland on loop.

He bends down to pick up the bandage, hiding a wince of pain behind his neutral mask. The wrappings he's already done are loose and disordered. Unable to suppress his scowl, he unwinds them to start anew.

Apparently, scowling was the wrong thing to do. Or, maybe it's just making any facial expression at all. Regardless, Father's eyes turn to him and sharpen like they've locked onto a target. The stiffness in the carriage increases tenfold.

"You dare show your anger?" His father seethes, eyes blazing. Montgomery drops his head and stops winding the bandages. Any movement could set him off further. "You think you have the right to be angry?"

He swallows the lump in his throat. It comes back, dry.

"None of you have the right to be angry!" Father roars, slamming his fist into the wall. It jostles the carriage more than any rock has. Carefully, Montgomery masks how much the shaking hurts his injuries. "We should've sealed ourselves as allies to the new Callahan patriarch tonight! Instead, my incompetent, idiotic, useless family have botched every simple request I have given them and have made fools of me!"