Chapter 4
IV.
A siren blares as I exit class, and I stifle a groan. That sound means that someone’s escaped their lot.
Again.
It’s pretty much standard that, at least once a day, someone gets it into their head that they can get out of here. What they don’t anticipate are the sirens, the fact that we can track them, or the agony that follows when we add “fugitive” to their punishment.
One of Father’s souldiers barrels down the hall, and I slip into the closest room to get out of his way. My body unclenches when I find I’m in the throne room.
A smile curls my lips. This is my favorite place in Dominus.
Shimmering crystal makes up all four walls, so thick it blurs anything beyond it.
Colors trickle throughout the glass as though melted into it—sparkling reds, vibrant oranges, and bright yellows imbue visitors with the sense that fire resides within, threatening to consume anyone who dares enter the chamber.
I follow the plush red carpet that runs between rows upon rows of black chairs and up five stairs to the throne at the front of the room.
The throne itself is massive.
Made of pure gold, it appears to be melting in the flames of the room. Gold drips from the back to the floor, and although it appears liquid, it’s solid. It’s as though someone blasted the chair with heat before shoving it into a freezer.
Circling the throne, I trail my palm along the ruby-embedded armrests.
My index finger dips into the small hole where one of the gemstones is missing.
I glance down at my ring, my insides flipping at the knowledge that the magicked ruby on my finger fits the hole perfectly. Once I’m eighteen and insert it back into its place, the Underworld will belong to me.
Leave it to Father to choose this as his gift—a piece of the throne to remind me it would be mine in one year’s time. Like I could forget. I’m forever bound to this place, paying the price for his sins instead of forging my own future.
Using the step stool in front of the throne, I launch myself into the seat, still in awe of its size after all this time. The chair’s so wide that I could lie sideways on it and still not touch the other end with my toes.
When he’s in true form, the velvet upholstery can barely contain my father.
He never appears to me alone at his full size, but he has no problem using it to lead the souldiers from this room or to sentence wayward shadelings.
As a kid, I thought it was a cool trick.
Now, I see it as intimidation, one more way Father controls things.
The same way he’s controlling my future now.
“It suits you.”
I almost fall off the seat as Attero walks in, managing to keep myself upright by gripping the armrest. My jaw juts out in a scowl, the memory of what he said to me only a few days ago still pulsing like an open wound on my skin.
“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you hanging out with your new bestie? ”
“I didn’t want to leave things like that between us. I feel awful.” He studies the carpet intensely. “Please accept my apologies, Your Highness.” He bows at the waist, his eyes still trained on the floor.
“Devica.” I slide off the chair and descend the stairs, stomping down each one with my heavy boots. “Do you remember all the time we spent in this room as kids, Atty? Playing hide-and-seek while Father commanded his army?”
He smiles as he follows my gaze around the shimmering walls. “You always cheated.”
I press my lips together so he won’t see my smirk. “I did not.”
“You did,” he says. “You always hid beneath the throne, knowing I’d never go back there as long as your father was in the chair.”
We flinch in tandem as a scream of agony peals through the halls and the alarms grow silent.
Like me, Attero isn’t one for screaming shadelings. It’s loud. And down here, it’s constant. Atty and I used to stay up at night in my room, cramming pillows over our ears to block out the noise.
“If I ever rule this place,” I would shout, “the first thing I’m doing is enforcing standard screaming hours.”
“What?” Attero would yell.
Sadness clutches my shoulders, tightening them beneath its grip.
Everything was easier then.
I joked about taking over because it never seemed possible. Father was going to reign forever. That’s his punishment, not mine. And one day, I’d be old enough to do what I liked. Maybe even visit the human world without having to be back within days, like Father.
I squeeze Attero’s shoulder and give him a small smile. Maybe something can be salvaged down here. I don’t have to feel alone if I have someone to share it with. He stares at my fingers before dropping his arm to his side.
My heart sinks. “Attero, what happened?”
“What do you mean?” He still hasn’t looked at me. I resist the urge to shake him and scream into his face.
“What happened to us? We were so close as kids. Then you pulled away from me. You stopped talking to me unless you had no choice. You avoid me at meals. And the other day, you chose Ferus, of all demons, over me. What did I do to make you hate me so much?”
His head snaps up, and he finally meets my eyes, surprise lining his face. “I don’t hate you, Devica.”
“Well, what, then?” I throw my arms up. “You were my best friend. We talked about everything. You were the only person I could count on when things went wrong. But you didn’t even show up for my birthday party.
You weren’t there for me to talk to when Father dropped this giant bomb on me.
Now, more than ever, I could use your friendship. ”
“It’s nothing you did. I wanted to go to your party, I swear.
But I got to the dining hall and saw your dad and he looked so serious and…
I don’t know. I suddenly felt like I shouldn’t be there, so I left.
I’m sorry.” His right foot traces circles on the carpet.
“I was going to apologize the next day, but then your dad announced that you’d be taking his place in a year, and it seemed wrong to—”
“To be my friend?” I sputter.
“To be anything to you.” He takes a breath, and his tone softens. “Look, Dev, your future is going to be amazing. I’m so proud of you. I think you’re going to be a great ruler. But you have to understand it means demons will distance themselves. There’s only room for one on that throne.”
I eye the enormous chair, then give him a pointed look. “That’s not true. At least twenty demons could fit up there.”
He doesn’t even crack a smile. “You know what I mean.”
“I get it, I do.” I swallow. “But I miss you. Remember the things we used to dream of doing? The places we’d visit beyond Dominus?”
“I remember.” His voice lowers almost to a whisper as he stares at the floor again. “But those were childish fantasies. We have responsibilities now, you more than any of us.”
Responsibilities I never asked for.
He hunches his shoulders to his ears, and I zero in on the circular badge with a large S on the lapel of his black collared shirt. My eyes widen. “Wait. You’re training to become a souldier? That’s a big deal, Atty. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Blush rises from his neck to his cheek like smoke from flames.
“You have your ambitions, and I have mine. It’s why I’ve been going out with the other demons after work.
I know you hate him, but your father trusts Ferus, and he’s going to command the souldiers now that Primice is retiring. I need to be on his good side.”
“I’m not sure Ferus has one of those.”
“You know what I mean.” Attero shuffles his left foot. “Please don’t hate me for this.”
I press my lips together. Telling him not to do this will only push him away, and he’s still the only friend I have. As much as I hate him hanging with Ferus, it would be worse if he never talked to me again.
“I could never hate you,” I say. “I think it’s great. And hey, this means when I take over, you can work beside me. Just, please, be safe, okay? Especially around Ferus. I don’t trust him.”
“Of course.” He bows. “Goodbye, Your Highness.”
“Devica.”
“Right. See you around.” He’s gone before I can chastise him for not saying my name.
I take a deep breath and exhale the sadness that follows his departure before frowning at Father’s throne and heading out of the room.
Nathan Reynolds’s photograph stares up at me from my bedside table. I haven’t had a chance to return it to his file yet. Plucking it off the blue wood, I stretch onto my side on my bed and hold the picture so it catches the light of the crystal lamp beside me.
I study his eyes, so blue I could swim in them—if I knew how to swim. That lock of hair that escapes from behind his ear to tickle his cheek. He’s good-looking for a shadeling. But he’s also human and a sinner. An adorable smile can’t override that.
Tracing around his face with my finger, I use everything Mr. Bellum’s taught me about my sight to see the moment he murdered his foster dad.
I focus on the photo so long that a headache burns behind my eyes.
Nathan Reynolds’s smiling face never changes.
I shove the picture under my pillow and flop on top of it, groaning in frustration. I’m not getting any better at this, and I have until my next birthday to make it work. Whether I’m ready or not.
And I’m absolutely not.