“I know I made a mistake,” Tahki said. His father knelt across from him. “I know you won’t allow me to attend the fair this year. I understand.” He might as well be diplomatic about it. He already knew the outcome of this conversation, so it would be better to just take responsibility. Next year he would try again, and he didn’t want to hurt his chances by arguing now.
His father raised an eyebrow and took a slow sip of tea.
“But you have to admit, the temple looked amazing,” Tahki said. “For a moment, anyway.”
His father set his cup down with a gentle clink. “You could have been badly hurt. Possibly killed.”
Tahki shook his head. “I must have miscalculated something. Something in the support structure. It was a simple mistake anyone could have made.”
“What if your brother had been hurt? Or one of the monks? Do you ever consider others before yourself?” His voice was calm but deep.
Tahki scowled. “I’m doing this for other people. I have a lot to offer the world. I can make it better. I can improve it.”
“By destroying a five-hundred-year-old temple?”
“By making the world a better place to live in.”
His father shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Tahki folded his arms. “I don’t need you to understand. I just need you to see that this is what I want to do with my life.”
His father took another slow sip of tea. His patience was agonizing.
Tahki sighed. “I already know you won’t let me attend the fair this year.”
When his father looked at him, he didn’t appear angry or frustrated but sad. Something about his expression said pity, not disappointment, which confused Tahki.
“I’ve spoken to the monks,” his father said. “Gotem is deeply troubled by your actions, as am I.”
Tahki bit his tongue. If he spoke badly about Abbot Gotem, it would only make things worse, even though Gotem was always out to make trouble for him, like when Gotem had told his father Tahki had stopped meditating, or when he’d caught him stealing a bottle of blessed rum.
“I’ll help clean up the rubble,” Tahki said. “I can even design a new temple. I won’t do anything special to it. Just a plain, boring temple.”
His father rubbed his eyes. “Tahki, you’re very gifted. Your mother’s blood runs strong in you. Even if you don’t think I see it, I do. But this obsession you have with architecture, with technology, has fogged your judgment.”
“My judgment is fine. I’m just not great at construction,” Tahki said.
His father sat back. “I let you pursue architecture because I could see how much you loved it. You’re imaginative and clever. But I can’t overlook your actions today.” His voice turned sharp and stern. “I’m sorry, Tahki. I can’t allow you to continue this hobby any longer. You will turn over your tools, books, and drawings to me, and you will no longer pursue architecture.”
Tahki opened his mouth, stunned. He stared at his father. “What do you mean?”
His father’s face hardened with resolve. “Things might be different if you pursued normal architecture. But your designs… they are not architecture. They are dangerous. You are grasping for technology you don’t understand. You need to find a more suitable career.”
Tahki shook his head. “You can’t. You can’t.” His father had never punished him before. He’d been sent to his room for mouthing off when he was a child, but nothing like this. The gods taught forgiveness, not punishment.
“You’ll find something else to occupy your time,” his father said.
“What if I promise not to build anything ever again? Just draw?”
“I’m sorry, Tahki. Gotem says I have to follow through on my punishments or you’ll never learn.”
“I’m an adult.”
“I haven’t seen any proof of that. You’re still living under my roof. You have no apprenticeship to rely on, no form of career you can support yourself with. If you want to continue to live the lifestyle you’re accustomed to, you’ll abide by my wishes. And my wish is to have no thoughts of architecture or technology in our home.”
“You can’t do this to me.” Tahki felt like a beetle on its back trying to pull itself upright. He’d come to terms with not entering the fair this year, but why did he have to give up what he’d spent the last ten years of his life learning?
“The servants will clear your room today. I think it will be easier if all temptation is removed,” his father said.
Tahki’s face burned. “You have no right.” His father had always hated architecture, or more the idea of modernism and change, but he’d never restricted Tahki from doing what he loved. He knew he should walk away, cool his head, give his father a week to reconsider. Instead, he looked his father dead in the eye and said, “Mom would have never let you do this to me.”
His father clenched his jaw but kept his voice steady. “It’s because of your mother I’m doing this. Do you think she would want you buried alive by your own mistakes?”
Tears stung Tahki’s eyes. “She understood me. She loved me.”
“Tahki, everything I do I do because you are my son, and I love you and your brother more than anything.”
“You love Sornjia. You tolerate me.”
“You’re being overly dramatic.”
“Architecture is my life. You can’t take my tools and books away!” Tahki hit his teacup with the back of his hand, and it shattered against the window. Pieces of glass slid across the marble floor, and tea dripped down the wall.
His father stood slowly. “My mind is set. We will speak no more of this.”
Tahki didn’t trust himself to speak again. He didn’t want his voice to quiver or tears of frustration to start.
His father opened the door but didn’t leave the room. “I truly am sorry, Tahki.” And then he disappeared into the hall.
THEY TOOK everything.
Tahki sat
