Page 169 of Degradation

From the moment we got in the van, she’s not said a word, she just keeps biting her lower lip, chewing it, like she’s convinced this is all some horrible mistake but she’s too afraid to say it out loud and make it come true.

“Trust me.” I say, reaching across, gripping her tiny hand in mine.

She looks up at me, with those big fake doe eyes, but she doesn’t say the words, she doesn’t nod, or smile, or do anything to tell me I’ve reassured her.

When we pull off the road and down the gravel track, I swear you can see the pulse in her neck beating more and more. I can’t blame her. She’s spent the last few years locked in this prison, trapped in the darkness, forced to endure everything Guthrie’s fucked up mind could imagine. Coming back here must have an effect, even if she can’t see this place, she can feel what it is, she can hear those same sounds, can smell that same distinctive stench of human suffering.

I tell Malik to pull over, to park the van in a discreet spot. As much as I don’t want either of them to learn about this entrance, I think the benefits far outweigh the risks. I don’t think this is a trap, but I’d rather have some backup if it is. Worst case scenario, I can always eliminate them if they prove to be untrustworthy.

We then make our way in silence, me and Paitlyn up front, and them behind, echoing our steps, shadowing us.

Paitlyn sticks close to me, partly because she’s blind and has no idea where to go, and partly because she’s petrified. Once we’re up over the rocks and into the lower chamber I stop for a moment and try to reassure her, only it does little to help.

“Here,” I say, pulling out my dagger and fixing it into her palm. “No one is going to touch you but if it makes you feel better then you can keep this.”

She nods, before pulling a face, “What if I accidentally stab you?”

I let out a chuckle, “If that’s the risk I have to take to ensure you’re comfortable, then it’s worth it.”

She mutters back about me becoming “soft”, but I see her tuck the blade into her waistband, concealing it from view.

And I also see the way her shoulders drop, the way the tension in her bones seems to ease. I doubt in all honesty the dagger will do much but if it keeps her happy then that alone is a good job.

We walk past those same bones, past my old friend, Jefferson. I don’t comment, I don’t point them out, I just say a silent word in my head, a silent acknowledgement, imagining that he’s watching us now, watching me and my new wife as we make our way. Paitlyn doesn’t realise, she carries on oblivious.

It’s when we get up past the service way that the fun begins. Antonio told us to meet my brothers in the ante chamber, that Oblivion has been shut down entirely for the few hours that this meeting will last.

It’s eerie to walk through this place and see no one. All the slaves must be locked away, crammed into the nether regions of this prison.

Behind me, Mace and Malik stare down the vast corridors as we pass each one. I know neither of them have been here before, they’re not high enough in the pecking order to be granted playtime.

When we get to our destination, I stare up at all those skulls for a moment. There must be thousands here, thousands of skulls, some are encrusted in gold, some are crumbling away on their plinths. In the middle column, I can see all the ones that belong to my family, to the skulls of my parents.

As a child, this place fascinated me. I used to spend hours here, climbing from alcove to alcove. I even smashed a few skulls by accident and had to switch them out with higher up ones so no one would notice and beat me for it.

Knowing this was where I’d end up always used to leave me with a sense of belonging. A sense of pride, purpose even.

But now, it’s not pride I feel, it’s derision. It’s like my eyes are finally open. We Blakes are nothing more than puppets for the Brethren, nothing but soldiers, keeping everyone else in check.

But if my brother makes Chapter Lord… I shake my head. Even if Magnus does become our great leader, it doesn’t alter some facts. It’s not a hereditary title; it won’t stay in our familyonce he dies. Yes, it will elevate our status, but ultimately, we will all still end up here, just the same.

Ahead, someone lightly coughs. It’s a woman. I look over, narrowing my eyes, recognising the outline of my oldest brother’s wife. She’s put on weight since the last time I spied her. She looks better now, less gaunt. That brand on her chest has completely healed, it gleams almost iridescent in the light. I’ll admit I’m curious about her, curious about their relationship. She’s not Brethren and yet my brother still married her. I heard enough of the rumours to know how they started off, and I don’t believe my brother is anywhere near capable of feelings like love.

So why did he do it? What possible prize could she offer him that made it worth such an offence?

Beside her, Magnus stands, looking his usual irritated self. My other brother is murmuring something into his ear, and I can see it’s pissing him off. Clearly, Conrad has fully recovered from the shooting, but then I did shoot to maim, not to kill. Conrad has one hand placed on his wife’s head, as if he’s controlling where she looks, as if she’s not allowed to even turn without permission.

God, what a pair they make. But then, the apple doesn’t fall so far from the tree, I may be soft with Paitlyn, but I will also dominate her when it’s necessary. And if she thinks to disobey me, if she thinks to try and run… well, it’s a good thing she doesn’t have her sight, and such a thing can’t happen. Because I’d hate to break her more if I had to.

“I see this is a proper family reunion.” I say, stepping closer to them all. “How charming.”

Magnus’s eyes flash, he glances at Mace and Malik, and I can see he’s pissed I’ve brought backup. As if I’d be so stupid as to come alone.

His wife looks like all the colour drains from her face as she runs her eyes over me, I guess he neglected to mention my physical size then.

Conrad smirks, like he’s here for the sheer fun of this and nothing more, and honestly, I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d happily watch the entire thing play out with a bowl of popcorn.

His young wife rocks gently beside him, one foot dangling out of the gold-plated wheelchair, dragging on the floor slightly as she moves. On her chest is a similar brand to Magnus’s wife, only hers looks red raw, like she’s clawed at it recently. Her belly is swollen enough to make it more than apparent she’s pregnant. She makes a strange gurgling noise when she spots me, and he lifts his hand, placing it on top of hers, and the action renders her silent.