Chapter 11
My father’s old black-favor custom had caused more damage than I knew.
Once I started asking, stories surfaced.
A captain who spent eight years repaying a favor his father had accepted.
A widow pressured into hosting men because her late husband had taken a coin at a wedding.
A cousin who believed an old favor gave him permanent access to private family meetings.
My father thought the custom civilized obligation.
Instead it made obligation hereditary in people’s minds.
I had stopped accepting coins.
I had never explained why publicly.
Again.
Silence leaving room for resurrection.
I gathered the family.
Not a council.
A dinner.
I told them the custom was finished.
Not paused.
Not “under my leadership.”
Finished.
If future heads revived it, that would be their mistake, not my blessing.
Someone complained:
“It kept people honorable.”
I replied:
“If your honor needs a metal token to remember a promise, improve your memory.”
May you like
My father would have hated the sentence.
Good.
