Page 8 of Written in Sin
“Yes, sir,” he says through gritted teeth. He stares me down as he leaves, but his wide side steps around me say all I need to know.
“I just don’t get it. You’ve never asked me to leave before, and all of a sudden, I’m being sent on rescue missions?” I stand and he clears the distance between us. Even though we’re the exact same height, he always expects me to shrink.
“You’re leaving tonight, right after the evening chapel. I’ll announce your brief departure then, so no one has any questions. We’ll tell them you’ll be gone doing a personal outreach visit. Harold will transport you. It’s only a little over an hour away.” I open my mouth to speak but he cuts me off. “Say one more word and there will be consequences.”
I step into him, burning with the urge to end him right here, right now. “You keep threatening me, but I’m really starting to lose interest.”
He smiles, raising his hands in fake surrender. The grin spreading across his face would’ve made me sick once, but not anymore. Not just because I finally feel strong enough to defend myself, but because I can see his power slipping. I hear the whispers in the hall. The respect people once held for him is nowhere to be found. I know it, but even better, he knows it.
“Go pack your bags. It’s only a week. We’ll talk when you get back.” I turn to leave, but before I can take a single step I hear him speak. “Oh and, Zedediah, I’ll have Brady take over the care of Catarina while you’re gone.” I feel a shiver swirling down my spine, all the way to my tailbone. I hide the sudden stiffness in my shoulders and hold my tongue. I step forward without evenoffering him a glance before I leave. Fury surges through me, but it’s quickly replaced by panic. I need to pack so I can find Catarina.
Chapter Seven
Zedediah
My bags are packed and loaded up so Harold and I can leave once chapel ends. I haven’t been able to find Catarina. Fenris must’ve known I would go to her, probably changed her schedule to throw me off. I’ll just have to find a way to speak to her after, but it’ll have to be quick. I’m sitting near the front where my father can easily focus his attention when he announces my—what did he call it again? Personal outreach. I’d typically do my best to hide in the back, not that there’s anywhere to hide in here. Especially not when his voice fills every corner, echoing off the tall wooden beams. Fenris is behind the pulpit, the one customized just for him. A giant cross, made from cherry wood, stained with an almost-black stain.
His presence is commanding, I’ll give him that. He’s never had to tell anyone to be quiet, they just are. His fingers are spread while his hands rest on both sides of the pulpit, drawing out the silence, allowing the tension to build before he finally speaks. It’s typical before the closing prayer is called.
I snap my head up when I don’t hear the usual music softly playing or “Father we come to you” slip from his lips, signaling we’re close to the end. No. When I hear him speak, pressure builds behind my ribs. When he doesn’t follow the usual closing routine, it’s never random. It means something is about to happen, and it’s never good.
“Submission,” he says, “is not a suggestion. It is not optional. It is ordained. By god, of course.” I keep my face blank as he speaks, but I already know where this is going. I’ve heard it too many times before.
“Defiance is rot, and what does rot do? It spreads.” A chorus of amen’s fill the air in agreeance.
“A single act of disobedience can poison the lot. That is why we must remain vigilant. That is why we must correct, and cleanse, before the decay can take root.”
A murmur ripples through the room, the sound of people nodding, whispering their agreement. I glance at Catarina who is sitting across from me and see that she’s stiff. Her back is straight and her fists are clenched in her lap. Fuck. Has she done something? Is that why I couldn’t find her?
I snap my attention back to my father as he sweeps his gaze across the room. When he lifts his hand, gesturing for someone to come up, I hold my breath. I don’t blink. I don’t move. “Come.” A woman rises from behind Catarina. I exhale. It’s Lauren. She moves with hesitance, her head is tucked low as she makes her way to the front. Fenris watches her approach with something that almost looks like pity, but it never is.
She makes it up to him and he spins her around. “This,” he says, resting a hand on her shoulder once she’s in front of him, “is a child who has struggled today.” He pushes the strands of hair out of her face before tucking them behind her ear. The room stays silent, no one dares to move. “She was given hertasks,” he continues. “Tasks that serve us all. Tasks that teach discipline, and yet, she did not complete them.”
He lets the silence settle, and again, sweeps his gaze across the room. It’s like he’s daring anyone to look away. Then, he turns his eyes back to her. “She was asked to prepare the bread for our evening meal.” He sounds like a father explaining something simple to a child. “A responsibility that ensures nourishment for her brothers and sisters.” I catch a few heads shaking and hear the small whispers of disapproval. Every part of me wants to stand up, call them all out, and shut it down, but I don’t.
“She was asked to mend the linens in the women’s wing, so that her sisters had clean bedding after a long day of work.” Lauren shifts slightly but doesn’t lift her head. “She was also asked to sweep the floors of the dining hall before supper. A task that seems small, but if neglected it allows filth to creep in.” He takes a slow step forward, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Do you see?” he asks, addressing the congregation now. “A single failure may seem insignificant. A loaf of bread that was not made. Sheets left soiled. A floor left unswept. But what happens when we allow these things to slip through the cracks, hmm?” Silence.
“It spreads.” I look back over at Catarina again. She isn’t nodding like the others. Her jaw is tight, and I can see her nails pressing into her palms. Fenris’ voice lowers. “One woman’s failure to complete her work means hunger at our table. It means discomfort for those who rely on her. It means disorder in the spaces we gather.” He pauses. “And where there is disorder, there is sin.”
“We do not correct out of cruelty,” he says, turning his gaze back to her. “We correct out of love.” A rustle moves through the congregation, everyone’s uneasiness finally begins to show because they know what’s next. She stares at the ground,hands clasped in front of her, and I catch the slight tremor in her fingers. “We do not let failure fester here.” He tilts her chin up and speaks directly to her. “So we must correct.” He turns, nodding to the audience, signaling for them to nod in agreement. They do.
He guides her to the front of the pulpit, pushing the offering table away and placing her directly in front of the podium. The space gives her enough room to settle between the two. My stomach tightens. Lauren bends over without being told. Fenris looks out at the congregation, and I see the fucking glimmer in his eyes. He lets the moment settle before speaking again. “For every mistake, there is an equal consequence. Therefore, she will count them, so she remembers.”
Everything moves in slow motion as Fenris raises his hand and strikes. The crack echoes through the room. She flinches but doesn’t pull away. “One,” she whimpers. Another strike. “Two.” I grit my teeth, my eyes are locked straight ahead. I’m numb to it. I’ve seen this, and worse, too many times. But then I catch movement from my side and turn my head to Catarina. She’s breathing heavily, and I watch as her chest rises and falls in sharp bursts. Her knuckles are white in her lap,fuck.
She’s not just upset, not just disgusted. No, she’s angry. I see it in the way her forearms flex and her nostrils flare through breaths. From her body language, I’d say she wants to cut him open. I swallow hard, feeling something sharp stab in my chest. I wish I had her kind of rage. When it’s all new and you feel like there’s still a chance you can escape or at least make a difference. I also wish I didn’t know what will happen to her if she decides to act on the anger that’s rushing through her veins.
The final strike lands and I exhale. The woman’s voice shakes as she whispers the last number. Fenris steps back and places one hand on her head in false comfort, and I watch as the other slightly adjusts himself. The sick bastard.
“You are forgiven.” He leans down and places a kiss on her head. Lauren’s face is bloodshot. She slowly nods before wiping the tears from her cheeks. She stands up straight before returning to her seat.
Catarina’s eyes are still locked on Fenris, and I start praying to whatever god will listen that she doesn’t do something stupid.
But, like all my other prayers, it goes unanswered. She stands from her seat and everything stops, including my heart.
“Catarina, sit down.” His eyes refuse to leave her, and I feel the air in the room build alongside his disdain. She doesn’t flinch, so expecting her to sit down is almost laughable, although nothing about this is funny.
