Page 105 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)
Devin
Five Months Later
H er wails ring out against the cold stone wall.
I’m stood beside my brother, Magnus, watching as this scene plays out. Every seat in the Cathedral is filled. All those masked faces stare down at where the woman is splayed out, half dangling off the altar.
I can see my wife, on her knees, holding her hand, trying to soothe her. I can see Liliana on the other side too, wiping her brow, murmuring something into her ear that I’m sure is comforting.
Priests keep circling them, circling the altar that has been brought right into the middle of the giganteum space. They’re waving their little incense burners, filling the air with a sickly-sweet smell that is almost suffocating.
It’s a bold move of Magnus to have orchestrated all of this. Especially when everything still feels so uncertain after the cull. When the Brethren are still on edge from Ines’s murder.
Brynn’s mangled cry pierces the air, and the white silk beneath her has already begun to show stains of blood and sweat and God only knows what other bodily fluids.
Conrad steps forward, his hands steady despite what must be tremendous emotion coursing through him.
“Push,” Liliana whispers, her voice carrying in the cathedral’s acoustics. “You have to push now.”
I watch as Brynn’s body convulses with effort, her back arching against the silk-covered stone.
I can’t help but wonder if she’s capable of it.
Does she have the ability to physically give birth after what my brother did to her spine?
I guess she must, or we wouldn’t all be here.
Magnus would certainly have checked that little detail out, he wouldn’t have wanted to create such a gathering only to then present a disaster.
No, he’s too good at this already, too good at control.
My eyes travel back to my wife. Witnessing this scene here solidifies what I’d already been contemplating.
That she will not give birth like this. She will never be reduced to a vessel for public ceremony, never have her most vulnerable moments transformed into theatre for the Brethren’s entertainment again.
Conrad moves between his wife’s splayed legs, kneeling down at the altar she’s laid out on to receive what will be his legacy. And it feels like the moment stretches, like it’s suspended in time, while Brynn’s screams become more ragged.
Suddenly there is a rush of fluid and flesh, and Conrad’s hands move quickly to catch the baby before it slams onto the stone floor.
The baby lays slick and red and utterly silent for a heartbeat that seems to last an eternity, before finally a cry comes out so shrill it makes me wince.
I see Conrad’s shoulders relax with relief. “A daughter,” He announces, his voice wavering with an emotion I’d never of thought he was ever capable of.
I narrow my eyes, surreptitiously glancing from one brother to the other. Magnus keeps his face impassive, but I don’t miss the micro expression of disappointment.
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 makes that 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.