Chapter 22
Hell’s prison was almost empty, and the more time passed, the greater the soldier’s plans of betrayal weighed.
Asmodeus had told Dante that this prison wasn’t used often — that it was more a place for threats than punishment.
Most demons didn’t come to the devil, or his regent, to address grievances; they relied on confronting their foe directly or on forming a mob against them, or on ignoring evil acts in their totality.
‘Demons are rather,’ Asmodeus had said, ‘jaded to it — all the violence between us. We’re not like you humans, always demanding justice.
If we kept track of all the suffering inflicted on us, we’d run out of numbers.
And if we asked for punishment each time, then punishment would stop feeling like punishment.
’ He’d paused, then turned over to sleep, as he finally added, ‘What I’m trying to say is to not expect justice when Baal runs that trial.
Hell holds trials for entertainment, never justice. ’
But Dante had never believed in justice anyway, or he hadn’t for a long time. He believed in survival. And, presently, survival meant escaping Hell, calling his commanders, telling them how to kill Tadeo.
His mother’s survival, at least. ‘Follow him,’ a fellow soldier had told him over the phone the day after Tadeo released Dante from torture.
Dante had recognized the soldier’s voice from the college; he used to taunt Dante’s height and call him ‘humble-skinned’ — brown, too native-looking.
‘Learn about him,’ the soldier had said, ‘what kills him. You don’t want your mother involved in this, do you?
’ But she was already involved; they had taken her in for interrogation after Dante had made the mistake of informing them he was alive.
‘She’s a kind soul, Dante. Don’t make her suffer more. ’
From his corner of the cell, the soldier rubbed at a tired eye after sleeping for what must’ve been hours and lifted his body to sit, the makeshift blanket of his jacket falling from his chest to lap.
As he did this, he accidentally drifted his gaze too far to the left, where Armoni was sitting beside Asmodeus, the duke sleeping against the wall.
The blonde jolted when the soldier locked eyes with him, and then Armoni swiftly twisted his face away, lips pursed. ‘Still scared of me?’
Ever since the three of them had been marched to this place — a tunnel burrowed straight down with a collection of prison cells attached to a spiraling, descending staircase — the angel had maintained as much distance as possible.
He’d exchanged words with Asmodeus, but they’d been in their demonic language.
In that same tongue, a voice called out from nearby, before hastily switching to the one Dante knew: “Hello, human? I brought you something to eat.” As the soldier looked past the bars of the cell, he sighed in relief at the sight of Rosier with a basket of baked goods and a soft smile.
Dante hurried onto his feet and made his way over as the kind demon retrieved a peach-filled roll and offered it. “I hope it’s still warm.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Dante said, taking the pastry and bringing it to his mouth immediately. “You’re the love of my life.”
“Be careful,” Asmodeus warned, his voice suddenly close enough behind that the soldier jumped.
Huffing at the duke, first, Rosier then said to Dante: “Ignore him. He won’t hurt you or else he’ll have to face my wrath.
” Dante shoved more of the bread into his mouth, hiding an amused smile and trying to imagine what the wrath of this sweet demon could ever look like.
“Here,” said Rosier, offering a pastry to the duke, who reached for it, only to take Rosier’s wrist. Asmodeus lifted Rosier’s hand to his mouth, then kissed his fingers with a sultry smile.
Rosier sighed, then pressed the pastry he held to Asmodeus’ lips.
“Eat,” he urged, then switched to their demon language.
“Baal will send some guards soon. There’s not a lot of time until the trial. ”
Asmodeus answered in the same language, not turning when Dante stepped away to look at the blonde angel still curled up in a corner.
“How angry is Baal?” He reached to take the food that Rosier was pushing into his mouth, then lowered it to hold by his hip.
His other hand lifted to hold the bars of their cell, his knees trembling beneath his own weight.
“Not as much as you think,” Rosier said, “at least it didn’t look that way to me.” But Baal had always spoken particularly kindly to Rosier, even as the last few centuries had turned the regent more bad-tempered.
Dante, slow, moved toward Armoni, reaching him with just a few steps, and he extended his pastry-holding hand; he was half offering it, half trying to tell the angel that there was food. When the angel lifted his gray eyes to his, they were dark, however, and cold.
Nearby, Asmodeus sighed at Rosier, took a bite of bread, chewed, then swallowed.
Then, he smiled, and he leaned his face between the bars, to Rosier’s height.
He whispered, “If they tear me to pieces, will you put me back together again?” The demon of fruit flushed, but he leaned to peck the taller demon on the lips.
“Maybe not this time,” Rosier replied, then shut his eyes, breathed against Asmodeus’ mouth. Like kissing him weren’t enough, and he needed to live off the same breaths as his lover.
Dante watched them curiously, wished he could speak the demon language enough to at least ask Armoni if the homosexual-seeming relationship before him was normal in Hell.
And maybe ask if queerness was, indeed, the absolute greatest evil against God.
But the angel wouldn’t look Dante’s way, his face set in a permanent scowl.
Afterward, Rosier nuzzled Asmodeus’ face one last time, then he turned over to the angel and called his name, said some words in their tongue.
Armoni soon stood, brushed past Dante, and walked toward the demons.
Rosier handed him some bread, though not without offering Dante an apologetic look.
Asmodeus limped away from the bars, toward the soldier, and shoved the last of his pastry into his mouth.
Through his chews, he said, “Human.” The soldier nodded his head affirmatively.
“Don’t worry about him.” Armoni. “He’s just an angel, but his wings are clipped.
He doesn’t like humans. Scared of them.” At that, Dante raised a brow, but he let Asmodeus continue.
“Also — the trial is happening soon, so if you could—”
“Asmodeus!” a new visitor called, turning the heads of everyone at once.
A pink-haired demon with strikingly human clothing — a coat, a long dress, and heeled shoes appeared, hurrying down the steps.
She skidded to a stop, grabbed the cell bars.
Instantly, she groaned and shouted in the demon language: “What did you do?! I heard that you came back willingly!”
Rosier, beside her, quietly answered, “Yes, we thought it’d be safer to return willingly — but then an angel fell into Hell. His name was Dina, and Armoni told me he’s young and kind.”
Gemory turned her head. “Oh, my dear Armoni…” Pity flooded her face. “You’re in here too. And you look terrible.”
Armoni sighed, finally spoke: “Hello to you too, dear Gemory.” He smiled tiredly at her. “Yes, apparently Dina came down. I don’t know why. Asmodeus told me that, well, the human there told him that Dina was searching for the Watchers.”
“The human?” Gemory looked over again, then gasped, spurring Dante to jump again, this time with heat rushing to his cheeks. Just as she started speaking to him, Asmodeus interjected to tell her what language to use, then she began again: “Boy,” she said. “Man? What are you doing here?”
Dante blinked in surprise at her perfected accent, then looked at the others — Rosier’s patient face, Armoni’s sullen glare, and Asmodeus’ bored expression. “Uh. Well, I followed the angel Dina down and another human. His name was Tadeo.”
Gemory brought a manicured hand to her mouth, then bit down on her nail in thought. “Mm. I can’t remember a Tadeo.” She stared at Dante for a moment, then her own cheeks began to pinken before she looked away and laughed bashfully. “Well, it’s a good thing that I’ve come! I can translate for you.”
Rosier said, “Asmodeus and I can speak for him, as well, Gemory.”
“Oh you be quiet,” she shushed, then turned back to Dante and waved him over. “Come, come. Tell me everything.”
“Gemory,” Armoni called lowly, then muttered in their language: “You know better than to get close to men.”
“Not all men are evil,” Gemory grumbled at the angel, “only most of them.” Then, she laughed at her own joke and reached through the bars to touch the wrist of a still flustered soldier — right above where his hand had been amputated.
“Ignore my friend. He hates humans.” Asmodeus had already said that, but Gemory clarified further: “And he’s only in here because he’s trying to hide from Moloch, I imagine. He’s his slave.”
“Slave?” Dante scoffed without meaning to.
“Mhm,” Gemory said, nodding. “Or a captive housekeeper, if you will. After the world flooded, Armoni ran away to us and this wicked demon named Moloch took him in. He tricked Armoni into thinking he was kind, but no, no—” She wagged her finger.
“He tried to hurt him, and then well, he was saved by this other demon, Mammon, and by Asmodeus over there, and—” Dante’s confusion must have been showing on his face, and Armoni’s anger was beginning to heat the room; and so, Gemory sighed.
“Well, what you need to know is that Armoni begged Satan for help, and Satan handed him back to Moloch. You’re not safe here even when the devil is around to control the demons, so imagine how much more terrible it is since he’s been gone. ”