Chapter 15
Daisy
Iwake to the feeling of my chest inhaling deeply.
Which sounds basic, I know, but trust me—when you’ve actively tried to stop breathing, waking up mid-breath is…
disappointing. It’s like someone else had taken over the controls for a while and just handed them back with a cheerful, “Good luck!” My entire body feels like it’s been used as a punching bag for the Grim Reaper and then politely returned.
There’s a fire crackling, and the silk sheets whisper as I wiggle my toes. There’s a warmth surrounding me that absolutely does not belong to my tiny, crappy apartment. Oh no.
My eyes snap open. Dark walls, that faint scent of sulphur with a hint of floral undertones. Zeriavoss. Hell. Again.
I sit up far too quickly and immediately regret it.
My vision whites out like I’ve been flashbanged, stars sparking across my eyes.
Gods, everything aches. My muscles feel like they’ve been filed down with sandpaper.
When my vision returns, I glance down, noticing I’m wearing a soft green linen dress, and my hair’s braided in one, long simple braid that hangs over my shoulder.
The door slams open, causing my aching body to jolt.
Enter: The Worst Welcome Committee Ever.
Korithax steps in, shirtless, towering, blood coating his knuckles.
Looking every bit like the villain in a dark fantasy.
I flinch on instinct. He doesn’t say a word, just glares at me like I’ve inconvenienced him by surviving.
“Why am I here?” I ask, voice cracked and raw. He doesn’t move, nor speak. “I didn’t die… did I?”
The disappointment in my tone doesn’t go unnoticed by either of us, his nostrils flaring at the question. Still, he says nothing. Just that judging silence that burns its way straight into my soul.
“Did… did you help me again?” I whisper, and honestly, I hate that I sound so small. He turns, stalking back to the door. “Korithax—”
“I do not care for your questions,” He snaps, cutting me off. He swings the wooden door open, "Tell the help she’s awake.”
Then he’s gone, the door slamming behind him. Okay then, eff me for asking.
Before I can even process the whiplash of all that, the door creaks open again, this time much more politely.
Several figures enter, and to my surprise, none of them look like they’re here to disembowel me.
One of them is young and quiet; her deep purple eyes glowing beneath her long, thick lashes.
She has small horns protruding from her temples, the colour of them matching her eyes.
Another one, much older—muttering what I presume is insults under her breath—approaches with a tray of food and several vials that all glow softly.
She has a deep skin tone, lined with wrinkles, and deep-set emerald eyes that look friendly, despite the scowl on her face.
I offer her a small smile that she does not return.
They help me sit up slowly, adjusting the pillows behind my back like they’ve done it a thousand times before. The older one puts a warm hand on my shoulder and presses one of the vials into my fingers.
“For strength,” she murmurs.
I drink it without question, the citrus flavour burning the back of my throat, causing me to cough.
Once they seem satisfied with how I look, they leave, and the room is eerily silent again until the door creaks once more.
I hesitantly raise my eyes to the door, expecting to find the demonic prince of angst standing there.
Instead, it’s the man who escorted me out of Hell last time.
He’s wearing another tailored suit, with silver buttons that gleam like tiny stars.
He has such an unreadable face, it makes an uneasy feeling creep up my spine, despite him being one of the kinder beings I’ve come across in this place.
“Miss Sandoval,” he says, stepping closer. “My name is Aran. I’m Korithax’s right-hand demon.”
“Right,” I clear my burning throat. “The assistant.”
“Yes.” He stops a few feet away, eyes flickering over my face with a concerned look that makes my throat tighten. Realisation sets in quickly, his expression leading me to a conclusion I’m brave enough to voice aloud.
“You’ve been keeping an eye on me, haven’t you?” I say slowly. “Not Korithax.”
He nods. “I saw something… off. So, I watched. When I went to check in the scrying mirror and saw you in that… state. I told him.”
I frown, my annoyance getting the better of me. “Why?”
“I couldn’t say. Just a feeling, miss.” He hesitates. “But, when I told him, I have never seen him react that way. He destroyed a wall, and he nearly killed three people on his way to retrieve you.”
I stare, my mind whirring with so many thoughts. I lay my head back on the pillow to look up at the intricate ceiling above me. So many swirls and patterns carved into the stone roof, some looking like the tattoos that cover Korithax’s body.
“He came for me?” I barely choke out.
“Without a second of hesitation,” Aran says softly, coming to the side of the bed to sit in the chair next to me.
“He brought you here. Called the best healers, and stayed by your side every moment, right here in this chair. The only time he left before last night was when he was summoned by the Divine Six or your friends.”
I blink, lifting my head off the pillow so fast the stars return in my eyes. “Wait—my friends?” I gasp.
He sighs, rubbing at his temple. “Yes. They summoned him. Desperation, I think. One of them even threw holy water on him.”
I choke back a laugh, despite the horror of the situation. “Are they alive?” I ask, my heart stuttering.
“Yes. Though you may wish to tell them to never do that again.” He gives a thin smile. “The sparkly one nearly had his neck snapped. But Korithax didn’t harm him because you care about them.”
That shouldn’t make my stomach twist, but it does. He was summoned, doused in holy water, and he didn’t kill them? That doesn’t sound very demonic of him. I exhale shakily, my fingers fiddling with the sheets.
“And, the Divine Six?” I ask, confusion etched across my face as I nervously chew my lip.
Aran’s expression dims. “They’re not pleased. A mortal was brought to Hell twice. A soul once claimed, now returned. It unsettles them.”
My chest tightens. “Returned? What do you mean, a soul once claimed has now been returned?”
Aran’s eyes widen like he just told me something he probably shouldn’t have. “Uh… that is not for me to disclose, Miss Sandoval. Please forgive me,” he stutters.
I let it drop, despite wanting to know what on earth he was talking about. For some strange reason, I didn’t like seeing him so flustered.
“Are these Divine Six powerful?”
“The most powerful.” Aran nods. “Seraphiel, Amarithe, Velentha, Calrix, Elaron, and Mal’Thariel. Each one represents a force of the cosmos. Judgement. Light. Time. Order. Dreams. Fate.”
My eyes widen. Maybe I’m still dreaming, or maybe I have died, and this is my torture. My head goes fuzzy again from the new information. So there isn’t just Hell, and demons, and princes who take soul bargains from idiotic mortals—there’s a whole system of divine creatures.
“They summoned him, because of me?”
“Not entirely. They’re pressuring him,” Aran responds. “He cannot ascend the throne without a bride. Law of balance, as they like to remind him often.”
“A bride?” I whisper.
He shrugs lightly. “He needs someone who balances him. Anchors him. They believe love is weakness, yet still demand it as a condition to rule, of stepping up in the line of hierarchy.”
My heart skips, not able to stop myself from blurting out my next question, “Does he have someone?”
“No.” Aran studies me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But perhaps one day, he will choose someone worthy, made from fire.”
The words sink in, spreading through me. Made from fire. What a strange thing to say. Before I can ask more, Aran stands up from the chair, brushing imaginary dust from his suit.
“I shall have more food brought for you soon. You’ll need your strength if you are to fully recover. And when you’re ready, I would be honoured to show you around. Help you stretch your legs. But first, rest, eat, and heal.”
He strides towards the door, but glances back over his shoulder, “He won’t say it, but we are both glad you made it, Miss Sandoval.”
With that, he leaves, the door clicking softly shut behind him. I lay back against the cool pillow, my head spinning. Hell. The Divine Six. A throne. Korithax.
I don’t know what any of this means. Only that I survived, again. Did I want to survive? I most certainly didn’t when I took that overdose, but now, I’m not so sure.
The days in Zeriavoss blur together, but at least my body doesn’t feel like it’s dying anymore.
The tonics burn less each day, and I can finally sit up without tipping sideways, even managing to keep down an entire slice of something called pyreloaf this morning—blackened crust with ash berries, and some kind of warm fruit preserve that left my lips tingling.
I’ve also stopped flinching every time a demon enters the room. Mostly.
Aran visits often, always knocking softly first, unlike everyone else, who just enters as they please with no warning.
His presence is steadying and oddly comforting.
Korithax hasn’t come back, though. Not even a glimpse of his shadow through the doorway, or anywhere, for that matter. It shouldn’t sting… but it does.