12. The Forsaker
“Iam so sorry for your loss, Ezekiel. I will devote my prayers to our beloved Lord so that he may give you peace. It is truly a horror to lose one’s new Sacred Wife in this manner, especially before she was able to give you an heir.” The balding man in front of me pats my shoulder with his meaty hand, offering me sympathy for a loss he can’t even comprehend.
No one here, with their false condolences, truly understands the loss that I have suffered. The sins that I have committed against the people that I loved the most in my life. They don’t comprehend that I am the perpetrator of the crime that took my wife, my beautiful Snow. My despicable hand wielded the blade that ensured she wouldn’t survive to see any heirs born. My fingers are stained with the crimson of her blood, and it never washes away, no matter how much I scrub.
I swallow down the bitter taste of regret and self-loathing as I play my part—the part demanded by my father to ensure that Sammy continues to breathe. Sammy, whom Dinah loved more than anyone, is self-destructing before my Judas eyes, and no longer cares whether he lives or dies now that she is gone. I should have let them kill me. I should have died with her. “Thank you, Brother Simon. Your prayers for my family are appreciated. The Lord, in his wisdom, will see justice served.”
If there is any justice, someone will shove a blade into my heart and end my life, but not before I free Sammy. I have two tasks that I must complete before I can serve my penance. I have to save the man she loved, and I have to save my lover’s son.
I feel my father’s cold, calculating, and malicious gaze on me, watching and waiting to see if I will break our bargain. He would love nothing more than any excuse to kill Sammy, and end my life right along with him. I have no fucking intentions of giving him the pleasure. I need to save Abe from the rebels, and Sammy from my father, and nothing will stop me.
How unfortunate for him, that he still requires my assistance to get what he wants. It seems the Holy Father was devastated at the news that his precious niece was murdered, when she was barely out of her honeymoon period. So devastated, in fact, that he has issued a mandatory investigation into her death. One led by his inner circle, of which my father is not a party to, and suspended any transfer of Camrose assets pending that investigation’s findings. Checkmate, bitch.
A smirk tips the corner of my lips at the memory of my father’s rage at receiving the notice from the Holy Father, delivered personally to his hand and not mine.
“That motherfucker is trying to steal everything from us for himself, the greedy bastard! He’s trying to prevent us from getting what is ours now, by right! You are her husband; it all belongs to the Rothesays now. He won’t get away with this. He may be the Holy fucking Father, but I am Noah Rothesay, the most powerful man in this Order!”
Apparently, he’s not the most powerful man in the Order, at least not yet. There are some things even the cunning Noah Rothesay can’t control, it seems. In his fit of rage, he then proceeded to trash his formal living room in agitation, until my mother screamed and cried in a corner at his actions. The hypocrisy of his words was obviously lost on him. After all, he killed Gabriel and Dinah in order to get his hands on their Camrose wealth and power. Karma will have her pound of flesh, and he will pay for both of their lost lives. I’ll make sure of it.
“Brother Ezekiel, has there been any word on Brother Abraham? His parents must be devastated and filled with worry, at their son being in the hands of the traitorous rebels.” Brother Matthew leans forward, his thin, rat-like face coming closer to my ear. “That is, if he’s even still alive.”
My immediate reaction is to wrap my hand around his neck, and squeeze the fucking life out of him for saying that Abe no longer lives, but I restrain myself. Taking a deep breath to calm the rage within my soul, I stare coldly back at the man and picture in my head, ripping his eyes from his face and forcing him to swallow them. I can’t behave like a psychopath here; too many eyes are watching, including those of the Holy Father’s entourage. They are all just waiting for me to slip up, and then my father will take it out on Sammy.
He’s still alive, and he still breathes. I refuse to believe otherwise. Abe will come back to me. He has to.
“Yes, devastating. My heart goes out to the Merciers. This is truly a horrifying situation, but our Lord will see them through this troubling and distressing time, and bring their son home to them.” I grit my teeth as I force my words out. The only one heartbroken, other than myself, about Abraham’s capture, is his mother, who has fallen apart and had to be sedated in her home in order to cope. His dear, distraught father was participating in an orgy in my father’s den just last night.
The heavy weight of the mourning robes my Father insists that I wear, feels like they are suffocating me, drowning me, and trying to pull me down to hell, where I know I should reside. Dinah’s name, printed vibrantly on the white ribbon across my chest, makes a mockery of her memory. I, her murderer, have to stand here before others and express my grief. Grief that they don’t honestly believe I possess, because a Sacred Wife is just a vessel, a tool to get what we leaders of the Brotherhood want. Something to be used and put aside when not needed.
She was so much more to me, she was everything, and now she’s gone. The permanent stain of her blood will forever reside on my hands, and a mammoth-sized hole now lives where my heart should be inside my chest.
If these fuckers could see how shattered my heart truly is at her loss, they would think me weak. How every waking moment, her memory, and the sound of her voice, plays havoc with my mind. Her voice calls me to her side in the afterlife, even though I don’t deserve to ever be near her again.
The last two weeks have been pure torture, reliving that moment when I plunged a blade inside of her body, while she stared at me with pity and understanding. How she begged me with her last words to save someone other than herself. Nothing will ever be the same now that she’s gone. Gone and out of my duplicitous reach, finally safe from me, and those who would do her harm.
Murderer. Betrayer. Forsaker.
“Son, come here. I want you to meet someone.” My father beckons me with his hand, and an unhinged glee in his eyes breaks me from my morose thoughts. I picture his death over and over in my mind, each time more painful and bloody than the last.
I nod politely to the other men standing close to me, and approach my father’s side. The mere sight of him threatening to push me over the edge, and commit patricide right here in a room filled with his peers. Control. Restraint. Get Abe back. Keep Sammy alive. I remind myself of what I need to do, so that I can outsmart the fucker, and not lose myself to the dark rage that is bubbling inside of me. The rage that threatens to consume me whole.
“Ezekiel, I want you to meet Brother Zakariya. He has come from one of the outlying states to bring us his family’s sympathies, and to participate in Dinah’s mourning day celebrations.”
Ah, yes, my wife’s mourning day celebration, where members of the Brotherhood pay tribute to a Sacred Wife, who was barely married a few weeks ago. A ceremony for a woman they never personally knew, and with no body to entomb and bless. Never mind the fact that her closest relative, other than myself, believes I may have had a hand in killing her, and he would be right.
I can’t make up how fucked up this shit all is. I’m surrounded by males who wouldn’t have hesitated in raping my wife, currently pretending to mourn her, while the women of our society are not allowed to mourn publicly, for fear that it would lead to hysteria among the masses.
I see that malicious gleam in my father’s eyes and the tilt of his chin, and I know with a certainty that the asshole is up to something. I don’t have long to wait in suspense, when his next words rock through me, and almost have me forgetting my need for restraint, and not to murder him.
“May the Lord bless and praise you. The Brotherhood, honor you and keep you sacred.” The tall man with the graying, receding hairline greets me. His nervous blue eyes meet mine but are unable to hold my frigid stare. Weak coward.
“It is right to give thanks to the Lord, my God, and to the Brotherhood, which keeps its order,” I respond robotically, wishing I could get the fuck out of here. Right now, I need a stiff drink, or maybe to drown myself in a whole fucking bottle, just to be able to cope with the travesty all around me. You don’t deserve oblivion; you murdered her, my mind whispers.
“Brother Zakariya has a daughter coming of marriageable age in the next few weeks, and he is seeking to join our families. He was just filling me in on her attributes and character. By all accounts, she will make an obedient and diligent Sacred Wife.”
I swear to all that I have ever held sacrosanct, I will murder this fucker, and spill his blood before I part his head from his shoulders, and rip out his heart. Dinah hasn’t been dead for more than a few weeks, and he’s already seeking another wife for me, another alliance so he can grow his power base. Fucking manipulative cunt.
“She’s a meek and pliant girl, one you can mold to your satisfaction. Her mother and I have kept her sheltered in the countryside, and she understands her duty to her future husband, the Brotherhood, and the Lord. She will do whatever you tell her without objection.” Zakariya winks at me and gives me a knowing smile. “I have heard about the activities the Order in the metropolis favors, with the company of their wives; my Ruth will obey you in all things.”
Is this motherfucker for real?He’s literally willingly offering me his young daughter, while I currently stand under suspicion of murdering my first wife, and not even discreetly telling me to abuse her, and share her with other men of our Order. What kind of fucking father does that? What kind of sick fuck suggests another man share his eighteen-year-old daughter with his friends?
I’m really starting to believe that the best course of action is to murder them all, every single one of them. Dinah was right; every male who is part of the Brotherhood must die. I promise myself here and now that Brother Zakariya won’t live out the year, and I will ensure his daughter gets to safety.
“How very generous, but I am in mourning for my beloved Dinah, and am not in a position to consider a future wife.” I stare him down, letting him see his own death in my eyes, and watch as he squirms uncomfortably before me.
“Nonsense, you need heirs, boy! You will consider Brother Zakariya’s very generous and gracious offer, immediately after the mourning period has ceased. We must go on with life, Ezekiel. Dinah would not want you to waste years on her memory.” My father’s eyebrow rises, daring me to contradict his words. The fucker is playing a dangerous game with me. He’s betting that Sammy’s life means more to me than me being able to murder him. If he keeps pushing me, I’ll prove him wrong and slit his throat open and bathe in his blood.
A bell sounds in the vast room and grabs all of our attention. Each member of the Brotherhood slips their masks on and makes their way to their assigned seats, awaiting the entrance of the Holy Father, who has insisted on presiding over this blessing.
I make my way up to the front of the room, to where a casket would usually be placed, but because we have no physical body, it lays empty with only muted red and orange flowers in its place. I refuse to look at any of the faces staring at me. The ones I know are actively wondering, behind the shield of their masks, whether I killed my wife and disposed of her body to gain her wealth. They are not wrong; I murdered her, but not for wealth. I did it for love.
Another bell sounds, and everyone bows their heads, as the Holy Father’s procession begins to enter the space. A cold draft enters the chamber, and I feel as if it wraps itself around my body. A strange humming begins in my ears, as all of my muscles tense, and my mind starts to drift, as if oppressed by a thick fog. The smell of frankincense and amber enters the space, taking over my senses. Only the sound of thick fabric swishing along the stone floors and the rapid beating of my heart in my ears registers.
The edge of an ornate black robe, fringed in gold decorative threads, meets my vision as it stops before me. I risk glancing up and meet the dark brown eyes of the Holy Father’s man. The one who participated in my wedding night. His mask is in place, but his intense eyes meet mine without any sympathy in their depths, before he moves away and continues forward. Only to be replaced with an even more opulent velvet black robe that’s draped over the Holy Father.
A cold shiver races down my spine, and I clamp my teeth to prevent them from clacking together. What the fuck is happening to me? It feels as if a cold hand is tightening around my neck and slowly tightening bit by bit, until the air no longer moves freely into my lungs.
The Holy Father’s distinct golden and white mask, surrounded by a thick plume of golden-tipped feathers, is in place, revealing very little of his actual features. All that is visible are his dark blue eyes, which meet mine, filled with so much wrath that it has me taking a step back. I give myself a slight internal shake to steady myself. I will not cower before this false prophet.
The Holy Father wears a similar ribbon across his chest, but whereas mine is just my wife’s name printed neatly on white silk, his has her name made out of rare rubies and sapphires. Well, fuck, I didn’t realize we need to make a fucking fashion statement to commemorate my dead wife. Flashy bastard, upstaging me.
“May the Lord bless and praise you, you who have suffered a great and powerful loss. The Brotherhood, honor you, and keep you sacred in your time of mourning.” The Holy Father’s rich voice echoes through the silent room.
“It is right to give thanks to the Lord, my God, and to the Brotherhood which keeps its order,” we all answer in unison.
“I’ve commanded you to be brave and strong, haven’t I? Don’t be alarmed or terrified, because the Lord, your God, is with you wherever you go. Take heed that he knows what is in your hearts and the sins you hold dear. He will forgive you, if you but beg for his forgiveness, and turn away from those who lead you from the lamb.”
The Holy Father’s eyes never leave mine, and I don’t dare attempt to break the connection, even as unease fills me, causing a crawling sensation across my skin. The sensation grows, and my flesh feels as if it is being pricked over and over, the sharp pain forcing me to grit my teeth, and swallow any sound that dares to attempt to escape. It’s not real, this is not happening. It’s a trick, my mind is playing tricks on me.
“It is right to give thanks to the Lord, my God, and to the Brotherhood which keeps its order.”
“A sister, daughter, niece, and Sacred Wife, has been called home to the hand of the Father. At his knees, she will eternally rest. We, as her community and brethren, pray that she has found salvation even though, as a female, she required years of penance and subjugation to be worthy to enter the kingdom of heaven.”
“It is right to give thanks to the Lord, my God, and to the Brotherhood which keeps its order.”
“I say to you, my brethren and men of the Brotherhood, my eye shall not spare, neither will I have pity. I will recompense thee according to thy ways and thine abominations that are in the midst of thee; ye shall know that I am the LORD that smiteth.”
He finally breaks the connection between us and turns away with a swish of his thick robes, his eyes slowly assessing all who are present, and landing on my father’s bowed head. “Those who seek to deceive the Lord, and gain riches from his mercy, will perish in the fires of hell, smited by his fiery blade.”
I watch, enthralled, as my father’s shoulders tense, and he dares to raise his head and meet the Holy Father’s glare. “For I am the Lord, who commands thee; in my words, you will seek retribution or death. Heaven’s mercy be on the souls of those seeking to betray the Lord.”
“It is right to give thanks to the Lord, my God, and to the Brotherhood which keeps its order.”
“Come forward, Ezekiel Rothesay, beloved and grateful husband of Dinah Camrose, who has been taken from us too soon, by forces that live in the shadows of the Lord.” The Holy Father gesticulates to me with his ringed hand, and again, that sensation of fog trails over me, causing my body to feel like it doesn’t obey my own commands, but is moving against my will.
I fall to my knees before him, the sound loud in the silent room. The pain in my leg, from my healing wound, helps to wake me from the feeling riding me. I can feel over a hundred pairs of eyes on my back, as I keep my eyes focused on the robed man before me. Danger, this man means to punish and murder me, my intuition tells me.
“Here, my brethren, before you is a beloved husband who has lost a wife. One that the Lord promised him would fill his house with heirs, and fill God’s army with warriors. Woe are we in this moment of dark loss. Together, we will strengthen our brother, allowing him to continue to fight against those who oppose the laws of the Brotherhood, which keeps God’s Order.”
“It is right to give thanks to the Lord, my God, and to the Brotherhood which keeps its order.”
The Holy Father looks to the space that should hold Dinah’s body, but it lies empty, and deadly silence permeates the air. The air is so thick with tension that not even a thousand knives would be able to cut it. My knees begin to ache against the hard, cold stone floor as the silence stretches on, the sound of slight rustling the only noise in the space. It’s as if everyone is holding their breaths. Do they all sense the danger, too?
“I speak to you as the Holy Father, but also as one of you. I come to you as an uncle of a beloved niece with her grieving husband. I say unto you, those that harmed one of us, harm all of us. My grief and sorrow is your grief and sorrow. My vengeance will be your vengeance, and my truth will be your truth. Do not let the wolf who harbors amongst us in sheep’s clothing lead you into peril, for only the Lord and the Brotherhood which keeps its Order can offer you salvation.”
Holy fucking shit!Did the Holy Father just clearly insinuate that he knew it wasn’t the rebels who killed Dinah? I wipe the shock from my features, and keep my head downcast as he continues praying quietly, moving where Dinah’s body would lay and chanting in words I don’t understand. I keep kneeling even though my legs are starting to go numb. Minutes race by, and a cold sweat breaks along my back, drenching my robe, and causing it to stick to my skin like a second layer.
“Rise, nephew, husband of my Dinah, and know that the Lord promises you retribution and vengeance for your loss.” He lays his ringed hand across my forehead as I rise, and a wave of nausea assails me as I get back to my feet. He leans forward, his mask’s feathers brushing against my mask and obscuring my view. “If you had a hand in murdering her, know that the Lord’s might will demand your death, and forgiveness will not be offered to you. You will suffer for taking God’s child.”
His whispered words have deadly implications, and his making sure to whisper them so that only I could hear, cements the fact that he knows it wasn’t the rebels who ended Dinah’s life. He’s out for blood, and he won’t stop until he has it. Fuck.
My only hope is that he murders my father before he does me, so that way, I might still have a chance to free Sammy and Abe.