Page 184 of Degradation

But Conrad, he doesn’t seem unhappy. If anything, he looks relieved, as if he knows something we all don’t.

His hands are gentle as he cradles the infant, protective in a way that speaks more to genuine paternal love rather than mere duty.

But why would Conrad be happy with a daughter?

I lean forward slightly, trying to get a better view as Conrad hurriedly cuts the chord and wraps the child in prepared swaddling clothes. His movements are swift, almost furtive, as though he wishes to keep the baby from our collective gaze. But in that brief moment, before the cloth obscures my view, I catch sight of the infant’s features.

The realization strikes me with stunning clarity. Her tiny features, her colouring, none of it matches our family’s distinctive characteristics. This baby bears no resemblance to her supposed father. The red hair where Conrad’s is dark, the delicate bone structure that speaks to entirely different ancestry.

This child is not his.And more importantly, Conrad knows it.

But of course he knows it. His joy makes perfect sense now, he is not disappointed because he never expected this child to be his heir in the first place. The fact that she is a girl makesthat issue far easier to manage. He can marry the girl off when she comes of age, but at least this way, an imposter will not take away our family’s hard-earned heritage.

Brynn cries out again, getting everyone’s attention as she gives birth to the placenta. Liliana is quick to catch it in a golden bowl and she passes it over to a waiting servant who will prepare it properly so that Brynn can digest all its holy qualities in a few days.

Magnus walks silently up to where a priest is waiting, and he takes the great jug from his hands. He approaches the altar where Brynn still lies, exhausted but alert, never taking her eyes off her husband as he holds their supposed daughter. She looks more alert, more lucid than I’ve ever seen her before.

“Brynn Blake,” Magnus intones, his voice echoing off the stone walls that had to be scrubbed clean from all the smoke damage. “You have fulfilled your sacred duty as a woman and brought forth new life for our holy Brethren. May this child grow strong in our traditions and pure in our faith.”

He raises the vessel high, allowing the holy water to catch the candlelight before pouring it over Brynn’s forehead. She gasps at the cold touch, but her expression remains serene, accepting. The water runs down her face and onto the altar before dripping down onto the floor.

“May the sins of conception be washed away.” Magnus continues, his words following the prescribed ritual exactly. “May the pain of birth be transformed into the joy of new beginning. May this mother be restored to purity and this child be welcomed into our eternal brotherhood.”

As the other Brethren murmur their approval, I cast my eyes around, studying them, anticipating something, another attack, a sign of dissent? I’m not sure exactly, but this would be a perfect chance for the Esau to strike. A perfect moment to rid themselves of all the Blakes in one foul swoop.

But they’re gone. Gone from here. At least, they should be.

Time will tell how well the cull actually went; how effective it was.

I look over at my wife, seeing as she walks slowly towards me and, as she clasps my hand, I pull her that bit tighter.

No one here knows our secret. No one here has guessed it.

She goes to lift her hand, to instinctively cup her belly and I murmur ‘no’ as quietly as I can. She’s grown careless, not intentionally so, but she’s forgotten all these little tells, all these little cues we give away about ourselves. Being blind has stripped her of that awareness.

I don’t want anyone to know, I don’t want anyone to realise.

We need to get back to America, get my wife safely home. We both know now that she’s not just carrying our own family’s future but the entire Brethren’s future too. Because Paitlyn is pregnant with my son. Paitlyn is pregnant with our future Chapter Lord.

As the mass of people start to walk out, we slowly shuffle behind them. I can’t help thinking as I leave this cathedral that the game has changed, though even Magnus doesn’t yet realize it.

They say the future belongs to those bold enough to seize it, and my son will be raised with that boldness in his blood. When he comes of age, when he returns to claim his birthright, these old stones will witness a new kind of ceremony, not the blessing of tradition, but the coronation of revolution.

The brotherhood’s future has been born tonight, though not in the way any of them realised.