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Looking over at Maxwell, he shows his worry. That alone is enough to tell me this could turn ugly. But their grandfather shakes his head, and with a deep breath, Freddie presses the bottom of his foot down on Christopher’s back, holding him down even as his natural defences force him to fight for his life.
How much further will they push him?
How much longer must he endure?
When will it be enough?
Kit turns to look back at me, his face stony, and for the first time, void of any light or mirth.
He turns back to the spectacle on the water with a nudge from his father. His grandfather twists, indifference meeting my gaze. If I didn’t know how kind he could be, how doting he was on his grandchildren, I would’ve thought he was the devil. But that’s his son. I want to scream at Lucian to take his violent hand off my friend. But of course, I can’t.
Instead I continue counting the seconds until Freddie pulls my burning soul from the water.
There is no fight. No splash. No panic.
Stillness. Coldness. Quietness.
That’s all there is in the air.
The breeze doesn’t breathe. The trees don’t dance. The branches don’t groan.
Until Freddie yanks Christopher back out of the water. Eyes wide. Water dripping like diamonds shattering in the air. Mouth open and gasping so loud and hoarsely that I am forced to part with my own breath. It feels like he might drain the world’s oxygen supply with the length of his gasp.
“This only ends when you beg or you die,” Freddie snarls even as he holds Christopher’s body up long enough for him to get his bearings and steady himself. “Do you want to die, Brother?”
My stomach twists at the proper term of address for the gathering.
The Brotherhood. An order older than any of the men currently forming it. Generations and centuries. Legacies and history. All to keep power in the rightful hands. In the proper circle and bloodlines.
Is it really worth all this?
Looking down I blink back the tears pricking my eyes. But before I have fully blinked them away, Emily nudges my chin up with a crooked finger. It’s a gentle touch, but meaningful nonetheless.
“Mother…” Penny holds me tighter with a light scold at the woman holding my head high, even with shaking fingers and soft strokes.
A cruel act bathed with kindness and love.
That sums up the way of our world—kindness and love held together by cruelty and power.
Justifications of righteousness.
Freddie begins the cycle of baptism all over again. The priest watching, sandwiched between Maxwell and Francis, and the three most important men in the country.
The Prime Minister, Harry Stanton.
The Deputy Prime Minister, my father.
The Foreign Secretary, Charles Winterbourne.
Behind them stands the only woman allowed in their midst.
Her Majesty, the Queen.
But even she is just a ceremonial instrument amongst them. No man bows to her here.
I have to wonder if she feels what I feel—fear, disgust, and pride.
I have to wonder if she sees what I see—brutal acts made to whittle out the weak from the worthy.
