27. Brynn
H e gave me two days. Two fucking days.
I suppose I should be grateful for that.
My body is still broken. Not permanently, mind you. But the way my flesh has turned black is enough to make me physically sick.
I can’t walk straight, I can’t even stand without my legs giving way. Every breath I take feels like a knife in my chest.
But that doesn’t stop my dear husband.
No, he’s more than happy to continue whatever this is, despite the warning from the doctor.
Oh, I know he thinks I didn’t hear. He thinks I was too out of it to realise what was going on, but I hear every word. I heard it all. Including the fact that they gave me a shot.
My stomach turns at the thought of it, that I’m even more likely to get pregnant. My helplessness seems to magnify, seems to take over, like it’s spreading wings and all I can do, all I can focus on is that. I’m trapped. I’m practically defenceless. And there’s a very real, very loud ticking clock above my head.
As we get to the front door, a servant is standing there, holding what looks like a bunch of black cloth in his arms. He passes some of it to Conrad and he takes it, placing it over my head, covering my naked body.
Yes, it’s a relief to be covered but as I look down, I see how the fabric swamps me. How it engulfs me. It’s a robe. A ceremonial one. I’ve seen my grandfather wear these often enough to understand the significance.
Is he taking me before the entire Brethren now? Is he parading me in the Cathedral and announcing me as his wife? If he does that, then there is no way out, no escape. Not that there was ever a chance of that anyway.
My body trembles more as I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to muster what little strength I have. Beside me, Conrad has put his own robe on. It covers his clothes like a shroud, but it fits him far better than mine does me.
He looks at me for a second, and then forcibly pulls me out the open door to where the car is waiting.
I sit beside him, staring out, chewing my lip while I try to figure out what this is. I know he’s taking me to some Brethren meeting, but why? Why now? Unless he’s announcing our marriage, letting the entire community know we’re together?
I tremble more at that thought. Will it be a replica of our wedding ceremony, him abusing me on another altar, only this time there’ll be more witnesses? I don’t think my body can take it. I know my ribs can’t.
The minutes feel like they go too fast, that this journey is over far too soon.
We pull up outside a massive building. A cathedral. God, no.
I can see the lights inside, illuminating every window. There must be hundreds of cars. Hundreds of Lords.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want a part of whatever this is.
Conrad pulls my chin around to face him and before I can register it, he’s sticking something into my mouth. My eyes widen. I try to move my lips, but they’re taped shut.
He silenced me.
I make a noise of anger in my throat, and he just narrows his eyes before backhanding me.
“Not another sound.” He barks before placing a gold mask over my head, hiding my face.
I know the normal Ladies’ masks are meant to be held in place by a mouthpiece. Clearly, this one has been altered. Clearly, he doesn’t trust me to not spit it out and scream at the first opportunity I get.
He pulls the hood up, concealing the ties that shouldn’t be there and then puts his own mask on.
Each mask is made to fit the wearer. Each mask is individual. I wonder what mine looks like. Did he dare to use my actual face, or is he even now still hiding who he has captive?
We step out, him all but yanking me from the car and slowly we make our way inside.
The place is packed. Rows and rows of seats are filled with robed masked Lords and Ladies, though notably the men outnumber the women ten to one.
My eyes dart about, anxious to see if my grandfather is here, if my aunt is here. Would I even recognise them if I did see them? No, there are too many bodies, too many golden faces. This place feels macabre, it feels unworldly.
Conrad leads us up, past row after row. It’s clear he wants to be as far from everyone as he can without attracting attention. We take our place, practically in the rafters, and yet we have a perfect view of the stage. Every seat, every row, it’s all been placed to ensure everyone present can see what is happening.
There’s a crucifix, a massive one, laid out in the centre. They must have had to roll the thing in, because it looks like it’s made of granite or some other dark polished stone. I stare at the thing, half in awe, half in terror.
Conrad places his hand on my thigh, and I swear I almost hit the roof with how high I jump.
His fingers squeeze just enough to keep me in place. As if I had any thoughts of getting up, of drawing attention to myself.
Within seconds, twelve men walk out. They’re wearing red robes, all hooded and masked, and they surround the crucifix, six on each side. I know what they are, what they represent; the twelve apostles. They’re here to pass judgement. They’re here to pass sentencing.
A man is then dragged from what must be the crypt. His knees brush the floor as he tries to gain some footing, but he doesn’t manage it. He’s shouting, swearing. A hush of noise reverberates through the crowd as he’s manhandled onto the stone and locked into place by the iron cuffs.
“Do you understand?” Conrad whispers into my ear.
I shake my head, unable to tear my eyes away from the figure beneath me.
“He broke the rules. He betrayed the Brethren. Now, he will be punished.”
I frown in confusion, because my understanding was everyone who committed a sin went to Oblivion. Evidently that’s not the case.
Perhaps Conrad realises where my head is at, perhaps he’s just looking to taunt me more.
His lips curl and he tilts his head, murmuring into my ear. “Some crimes are too big to be ignored. Some crimes demand a greater sentence.”
A greater sentence than being a life-long sex slave? I shudder, shutting my eyes, wondering what this man could have possibly done to be so publicly humiliated.
One of the red cloaks starts chanting, a Gregorian chant that echoes around off the cold carved stone.
Then another steps forward, throwing his hood back.
I let out a gasp as I realise who it is; Magnus, Conrad’s older brother.
As the other men start joining in the chanting, Magnus leans down to whisper into the condemned man’s ear. Clearly, whatever he says is not meant for us, but the man starts jerking against his bindings, fighting harder.
Is he playing this role because he’s a Reaper, or is this because he’s running for Chapter Lord?
I don’t know enough about our traditions to understand what this is. My grandfather kept me ignorant, just as most Brethren Lords keep their children ignorant. Until we are married and blessed, we aren’t permitted to know any of the finer details.
“It’s a lie.” The man starts yelling. “I didn’t do it. This is a conspiracy, they’re trying to silence us…” Before he can finish that sentence one of the apostles moves, quick as a flash, and rams something into the man’s mouth, silencing those words or at least, turning them into inconsequential sounds.
I want to ask what he’s done. What crime was so great that he ended up here.
Of course, the tape over my mouth doesn’t allow that but then, I’m not sure I would want to know. Part of the safety of the Brethren is not knowing. Knowledge is a crime; knowledge gets you condemned. Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance keeps you alive.
It’s how it’s always been. How they’ve ruled. The Chapter Lords keep their power by ensuring the rest of us don’t get any silly ideas, don’t have any temptation.
The eleven other red robes circle the man while Magnus stays perfectly still, only now he’s holding a gold dagger in his hand. Even from this distance it looks sharp as hell.
“We, the twelve, will give you absolution. We, the twelve, will save your immortal soul.” The others chant.
I draw in a sharp breath as Magnus starts slicing away. Tiny pieces. Small cuts. Taking his time to really carve him up.
The scene is horrific. All of us watching on sit silently.
It takes me a second to register where Conrad’s hand is, that it’s moved. My head turns sharply, and I stare at him in horror. My robes shift as he moves closer and closer to my core.
“Spread your legs.” He says, loud enough that I can hear.
I shake my head. Not a fucking chance.
His snarl sets my heart racing and within seconds, his other hand is wrapped around my throat.
“Do you not get it?” He hisses. “Do you not see? I have total power here, total control. You’re my puppet, my plaything. All I have to do is raise my voice, let them know of your presence and they’ll have you strapped to that crucifix and be fucking the living daylights out of you.”
He won’t do that, I know he won’t. I’m worth too much to him. He’s too obsessed to ever let another man near me, and yet as he yanks me around, I’m petrified all the same. How well do I truly know him? How well do I understand my monster? If I were pregnant, I’d be of more value, but he could just as easily cast me aside and marry another. I’m only worth something while he decides I have value.
“Spread your fucking legs.” He snarls.
My body shakes, and my stomach turns but I do it, I give in. I give my abuser what he wants, playing once more into his hands.
His fingers probe my entrance, and he lets out a deep groan against my throat. “You’re dripping, Doll.” He says. “I think you get off on the violence, don’t you? I think you’re enjoying yourself after all.”
I’m not. I’m not wet, I can feel I’m not. And I’m certainly not aroused.
He forces two fingers into me, forcing them as deep as they can go and a whimper escapes my lips despite the tape.
As he drags them out, he holds them up in front of my face. “Little slut,” He says, full of satisfaction. I can see by the way the light hits them that it’s covered in my juices, and yet I don’t understand how. “I think you want this more than me.” He continues. “You want me to play with you. You want all these Lords here to watch as I make you come.”
No. No, I don’t want that. I don’t.
His left hand grabs my throat, holding me in place, pinning me beside him and his right hand penetrates me again.
“That’s it,” He groans, “Take my fingers, take it all,”
The tape smothers my cries.
I know this is a powerplay, I know he’s doing this to prove a point. To show that he has total control over me, over my life.
My tears stream down my face, and my body seems to lock up as every cell inside me protests. My ribs feel like agony from the pressure of how I’m held against my husband.
What will the other Lords do if they notice? Will they say anything? My fear escalates as Conrad pulls the robes up further, exposing my legs, exposing my entire lower half.
No.
Nooo.
“You’re going to show the world how much you enjoy this.” He states. “You’re going to let anyone who dares to look at you see that your cunt is only for my hands, my cock, my pleasure.”
My feet kick out, and my body jerks more.
I can hear the pitiful cries of the man still being tortured below, and part of me wonders who right now is suffering the greater punishment? Surely it would be better to be shackled to a cross, to have my flesh cut off, inch by inch from my body, than be forced to endure what I currently am.
And all the while, Conrad’s fingers thrust in and out of me. They torture me, they work away, trying to make me submit to my husband’s will. Only, I won’t. I refuse to.
I shake my head, biting my tongue painfully hard.
The sound of my own breathing, of my heart slamming into my chest and Conrad’s obscene words fill my ears. I know I’m getting louder, that I’m making more noise beneath the tape but it’s not sounds of pleasure. It’s not.
“You will come,” He growls. “You’re my wife, you will come right here because defying me, is defying God…”
I know that too, I know that my behaviour is a sin. That fighting him is technically a sin. But how can I obey a man such as him? How can I switch off my hate, and my disgust?
“Do you not understand? I have all the power here, I can do what I like to you so it’s pointless to fight me, because all it will result in is your pain…”
Tears stream down my face as my legs visibly shake. Conrad is now finger fucking me so voraciously that I’m worried he’s going to start doing some serious damage to my insides.
And then the men around us start moving, start leaving.
Conrad freezes, looking around before he snarls and withdraws his hands. “Fine,” He mutters, “We’ll do this a different way then.”
He shoves the robes down, covering me back up and then he’s dragging me out, dragging me away, clearly anxious to be gone, as if he doesn’t want anyone to spot us.