The walk to her father’s study felt like an eternity to Nina, the hallways stretching out before her like some endless tunnel to her doom. She rarely spoke to her father, rarely even saw him anymore. As director of a trading company his work took him around the world, signing deals, inspecting production sources and company ships. Due to this, the man was lucky to spend a few weeks at home per year.

She hesitated for several minutes outside her father’s office doors, taking deep breaths and trying to organise her thoughts before knocking. The response was immediate, as a deep commanding voice bid her entry.

Her father’s office was the exact opposite of Professor Linesley’s. Where the professor’s office was vibrant and filled with stories, her father’s had only the necessities and felt sterile in comparison. All the furniture, from the wall units and bookshelves to the conversation couches were constructed from dark woods and deep green stained leather. In the centre of the room, in front of the middle of three tall windows, was her father’s desk. A gift from some business partner, it was ornately designed, with the Sterling family crest on the front. Behind it, in a high backed leather arm chair sat her father, paperwork spread out on the desk in front of him.

Nina’s father, Richard Sterling, was an intimidating man—visually, and with his stoic personality. He was quite tall to start with, but then men in the Sterling family were. His broad chest was wrapped in a stiff shirt and jacket, and accentuated his muscular figure, giving the impression he was the kind of person who could snap you in half if you disagreed with him. The Sterling men all had blue eyes, but where her uncle’s eyes shone like the summer sky, her father’s were the colour of the ocean in a storm. While his brother had always sported a rather jolly looked beard, Richard had a strong, clean-shaven chin. Underneath a greying but dignified looking moustache, a large cigar was clenched between his teeth, curling smoke into the air.

She hesitantly broke the silence. “You wanted to see me?”

“Your mother,” the man began, expelling a fresh cloud of smoke into the room. “Came to speak with me about your, internship. She does not approve.”

“I know.”

“So,” he continued. “In the new year you’ll start at Oaksfield and we’ll hear no more about it.”

The words ‘yes father’ were on the tip of her tongue, but she bit them down. “No, I,” she hesitated again, but pushed on. “I want to do the internship. I’ve already said I would, and I want to see it through.”

There was a long silence as Richard surveyed his daughter, his gaze seeming to look right through to her soul. Just as she was starting to think of taking back her words, Richard gestured to one of the armchairs facing his desk.

“Have a seat,” he said, as though she weren’t his daughter, but an employee at his company that he was about to have a performance assessment meeting with.

Nina timidly obeyed. It felt strange to be here with her father like this. The office had always been out of bounds to the children when Richard was away for work, and she couldn’t remember ever being invited here for a talk before.

“So,” said Richard crisply, leaning back in his chair. “Convince me.”

“Pardon?”

“Convince me,” her father repeated, sounding bored, taking his cigar and tapping it out in a large brass ashtray. “Convince me that you taking this internship is something I should support.”

This was not what she had expected when her mother had said her father wished to speak with her. She’d expected his initial denial of her plan to be sure, but not that she would be expected to justify herself to him. A bubble of offense rose in her chest. How dare he even ask? She was an adult now. She could join the military, buy a house, get married. Why should she have to convince him, to what, give her his blessing?

“Keep in mind,” he continued, cutting through her thoughts. “Even though you’ve finished your compulsory education, I still have legal authority over you until you get married, or turn 21.”

Nina hid her wet eyes by staring down at her hands. While it was true he couldn’t control her life completely, when it came to education or employment, one word for him and the museum would be legally required to reject her from the project. It was an old law, a hangover from a more socially-restricted time. Most fathers and husbands no longer acknowledged it was even on the books; the women of Pheras certainly didn’t. The only reason the law had yet to be repealed was that the Pherasian royal family had a long history of ceremonially deciding their children’s future in service to their country. If the law was removed, a large part of the monarchy’s social and cultural presence would be removed along with it. And so it stayed, still available to those who would abuse it.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Her hands clenched in her lap, her offense turning to anger. Would he really go that far? Invoke an outdated law from a time when children were the legal property of their parents, just to get his way? The expression on his face suggested, yes. She took a deep breath, and tried to keep her voice steady.

“I think this is a good opportunity for me to contribute to the professional field for the subjects I majored in during my compulsory. The impact this project will have on the cultural landscape has the potential to be massive, affecting future generations of academics and students alike. To have my name associated with something of that significance—”

“I don’t care about any of that,” said her father, waving the hand still holding the cigar dismissively. “How does this excursion of yours benefit me or my company?”

“Well,” she stammered, a bit thrown. Had her father just implied that he expected all his daughter’s decisions to be made with his personal reputation and profits in mind? She couldn’t imagine a more selfish request, but she tried to respond properly regardless. “A well-travelled person would be better suited to negotiating trade with the leaders of foreign cultures, better able to understand them and their needs, and offer products and services accordingly.”

“You don’t need to intern with someone else if those are the skills you are looking to cultivate.” said her father. “I can bring in tutors on those specific subjects. I can send you on business trips during your internship with my company. There’s nothing you could get elseward that I could not provide for you.”

“It’s not about you,” she said, finally letting herself frown. “This is about my future and the path I want to walk to get there.”

“Your future is decided by your name and the responsibilities that come along with it,” said her father, pointing at her with his cigar. “And as the director of the Sterling Trading Company, it is my responsibility to make decisions that benefit its future, not the whims of my children.”

“We’re not automatons,” she said angrily, speaking for her brothers as well now. “Did you only have children so you could fill positions at your company with them? How could it possibly be good for your company to have people running it that don’t want to?”

“As director—”

“You’re a father!” she exclaimed, slamming her hands on the desk.

“We fill the roles that society requires of us.”

Nina was struck silent, tears welling in her eyes. Had Richard only had children because he felt he had to? Because he needed heirs for his name and his business? Did, did her father even love her?

“I can’t be that person,” she said, her voice cracking as she tried to keep her tears at bay. “I can’t just follow someone else’s plan.”

“You’re my child,” he said, in the same tone of voice someone would say ‘you’re my servant’.

“I need to be myself!”

Richard Sterling stared at his daughter in silence, as though seeing her for the first time. He frowned then looked down at his lap and sighed.

“James used to say that to me,” he said slowly. “Every time I objected to one of his ridiculous excursions. He’d just tell me that and do it anyway.” He tossed his cigar aside and rubbed his face vigorously with his hands. “You’ve grown to be so much like him. I suppose it’s fitting.” He sighed again, looking like an old man for the first time. “James why was all of this so easy for you?” He seemed to be talking to, and from, something deep inside himself, something she had never seen before.

“Very well,” he said suddenly, looking up again. “But you will succeed or fail on your own merits. Understand?”

“Yes.”

Richard hesitated again, fingering the large silver family ring on his index finger. “At the same time, just by being out there, and being who you are, you will be representing much more than just your research team or the museum.” He slid the ring off his finger and passed it across the desk. “You are a Sterling, be sure to act like it.”

The Sterling family ring felt heavy in her hand when she picked it up, like the weight of many expectant generations were contained within it. It felt strange to wear it, she’d only ever seen the rings worn by her father, her uncle and once briefly before he passed away, her grandfather.

She slipped it onto her thumb and gave her father a serious nod. “Yes father,” she said, her voice breaking again.

She turned to leave, but stopped at the door by her father’s voice, sounding oddly formal.

“If you’re truly going to do this,” he said. “Then I have a request to make of you. A personal matter.”

Richard got up from behind his desk and went to one of the wall cabinets. On one of the shelves there was a small collection of photos, mostly of Richard and James as children, along with an odd assortment of objects. Brightly-coloured stones, feathers taken from large birds, little carvings of wood, bone and ivory no doubt found in dig sites around the world. She’d had no idea anything of this was here. Had her uncle been sending her father things as well? It seemed to be the case, but what was more surprising was that he’d not only kept them, but displayed them.

Richard opened a worn wooden box, revealing a stack of well-read letters. The one he took from the top was newer than all the others. He seemed to hesitate. She had never seen her father with such an expression on his face as the one he wore now looking at the letter in his hand.

When he turned back to face her, his expression was once more composed. “I don’t expect you to dedicate your time to it, you will have other priorities,” he said, handing the letter to her. “But, as the Post Office has so far been unsuccessful, should you find him on your travels, I would like you to deliver it.”

She looked down at the letter in her hand. The yellowing parchment envelope had her uncle’s name written in deep purple ink on the front. The wax seal on the back displayed the Sterling family crest, but seemed to have been chipped off and reapplied several time, as though the sender had repeatedly rethought and rewritten the letter inside, without wanting to replace the envelope.

How long had her father been wanting to contact his brother, to speak with him, but was unable to?

Nina looked up at her father, a determined expression on her face. “I will.”