“By telling him he could be a monster.”
“Yes,” Arthur said, tapping his head against the headboard. “It was, at the very least, hypocritical of me.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, Rowder might have had a point,” Linus said, scrubbing a hand over his face. Calliope reached out a paw, laying it on Linus’s wrist. Absentmindedly, he resumed stroking her back. “About moral duty. What responsibility do we have?”
“The same as any parent or guardian,” Arthur said. “We show David the difference between right and wrong and allow him to grow to make decisions for himself.”
“What happens if he makes the wrong one? And what if he has an effect on the other children? I’m not sure telling him that he could be a monster was the right course of action. We should show him how to be a good person rather than giving in to baser instincts, the same as we do with Lucy.”
Arthur felt a low rumble of discomfort. He knew what Linus was trying to say, but it sat wrong with him. “Baser instincts? Linus, he is a yeti. It’s part of who he is. Just because you don’t necessarily understand doesn’t give you the right to try to take that away from him.” It came out sounding rather snappish, and an apology attempted to follow, but he kept it from spilling from his mouth. He couldn’t always apologize when things turned slightly uncomfortable—a habit he still found himself struggling to overcome, a by-product of being under the thumb of DICOMY.
“Me?” Linus said in a huff as Calliope glared at Arthur. “I thought it was we.”
“There is a we,” Arthur said. “Always. But for all that you are and all that you’ve done, you can never understand what it’s like for them, for us. You can appreciate the issues and want to help, but you’ve never had to walk in our shoes.”
“Oh dear,” Linus said as Calliope tilted her head back to look up at him. “That wasn’t my intent. I apologize.”
“I know it wasn’t. But we must think about intent more than most, given our wards. After all, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
Linus sighed as Calliope rolled onto her back, yawning, her little fangs on full display. “Then how am I supposed to be a good father? How can I help them if I can’t relate to them?”
“By being there for them,” Arthur said. “And listening. You’ve proved more than adept at both, but I think it doesn’t hurt to have a reminder every now and then. No, you can’t know what they—we’ve been through because you haven’t experienced it for yourself. And I’m grateful for that. You want to protect them. In that regard, you’re no different from me. But I’m reminded of a time when you told me that keeping the children secluded on the island benefited no one.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
“You did,” Arthur said. “And you were right, even if it was hard to hear at the time. You showed me that no matter my intent, it was causing more harm than good. That I didn’t necessarily need to trust the world outside, but that I needed to trust the children because they’re stronger than even I gave them credit for.”
“And it’s part and parcel of being a parent,” Linus said slowly, picking up the thread Arthur had started. “To know when it’s time to step back and let them make their own decisions.”
“Precisely,” Arthur said, taking Linus’s hand in his, fingers intertwining. “The best we can do is to be there to help them celebrate their victories and to pick them back up when they get knocked down.” He laughed quietly. “I’m sure this is a problem faced by most parents since time immemorial. To know when the time is right to let the little birds leave the nest and fly on their own.”
“Most parents don’t have the children we do,” Linus said.
“No, they don’t. We’re lucky that way, I guess.”
“Still. I am sorry.”
Arthur lifted Linus’s hand, lips brushing against warm skin. “And I accept, not to avoid further argument but because I know you’re still learning, same as me. We have to trust Lucy, like we have to trust all of them. And then we have to do the scariest thing of all: step back and hope for the best.”
“Can you do that?” Linus asked without censure. It was simple curiosity born of knowing Arthur better than anyone else, aside from Zoe.
Arthur chuckled. “Time will tell. I hope so, but then I see something that reminds me the world has teeth, and it feels like I’m back at square one.” He paused, considering. Then, “Can I tell you a secret?”
Linus squeezed his hand as Calliope began to purr, a low sound that came in fits and starts. “Always.”
“Part of me wants to let Lucy do what he said,” Arthur admitted. “Allow him to impose his will on everyone. To change their minds, even if they don’t want it. It would make things easier.”
“It would,” Linus said. “But I think you know it’d be a hollow victory, one that we’d have to live with for the rest of our days.”
“I know. But despite that, I can’t help but think it would be a victory all the same. And what makes it worse is I know DICOMY is trying to do the same: to impose their will upon the populace to get them to fall in line.”
“So what do we do?”
“We live,” Arthur said.
“And if they try and take our children from us?”
“Then we fight.”
On a Tuesday afternoon in summer—the sun high, nary a cloud in the blue, blue sky—the residents of Marsyas Island prepared for war. Or, rather, Linus and Arthur called them all together to attempt to prevent war, and grievous bodily harm if possible. Which was why they’d had the children scour their rooms for anything that might be construed as a weapon, or anything dangerous the inspector could use against them.
While they waited in the sitting room—listening to the cacophonous crashes coming from upstairs—Linus paced in front of the fireplace, hair sticking up at odd angles where he’d been running his hands through it. He glanced at Arthur, who sat in a chair, hands folded in his lap. “How are you so calm?” he demanded, hands on his hips. “Were you like this before I arrived?”
“I was a mess,” Arthur said. “Frightened more than I’d been in a long time, same as I am now.”
Linus blinked. “You didn’t act like it.”
Arthur tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Just because I didn’t let you see it doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. And it didn’t last long. Debating philosophy in the forest while you were in your explorer outfit changed my mind.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Seeing you in those brown shorts was quite the distraction.”
Linus sniffed. “I do fill them out, don’t I? I’m surprised you were able to keep your hands off me.”
“It was a monumental struggle,” Arthur agreed.
“I suppose if there’s hope for me, there is hope for anyone.” Linus huffed out a breath. “But that doesn’t mean you can flirt with the inspector like you did me. I doubt they’ll be swayed by your wiles.”
Arthur grinned. “Noted. Especially since the government seems to think I use my wiles to my advantage. To disabuse them of the notion, I will keep said wiles to myself.”
“Let’s not go too far. I happen to enjoy your wiles.”
