Chapter 7
VII.
Attero doesn’t return to my room.
I wait over an hour before inquiring about his whereabouts, but none of the other souldiers will tell me where he went, and he’s not in his quarters when I check them.
I try to sleep, but my body is a giant knot.
When I lie on my mattress and close my eyes, all I see is Nathan Reynolds on top of me, pleading with me to help him.
I roll onto my side and shove my pillow over my head, but it does nothing to block out the inner monologue reminding me I’ve lost my best friend and pissed off my father all in one go.
My alarm goes off as I’m staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the galaxy above to swallow me whole.
I jam the button down on my clock and groan.
I’m supposed to start my lesson on manipulating fire in twenty minutes. But there’s no way I’ll sit still while Mr. Bellum rambles on about controlling my emotions, when all I can think about is Attero and that photo and whether he’s taken it to Father.
Changing into a red crushed-velvet dress, I study myself in the mirror.
My hair still covers the budding wings enough that I don’t think anyone will ask questions. I straighten my shoulders in the mirror and take a deep breath.
I can do this.
Father’s quarters are across a bridge and a twenty-minute walk—uphill—from my own. His house is surrounded by a garden of red roses with flickering flames in their centers, located at the highest point of Hell.
Climbing the hill is a bitch, and my legs and lungs ache by the time I reach the top.
At least the walk keeps me from focusing on the nerves clawing at my throat.
I haven’t seen Father since my birthday. He tends to avoid me as much as possible. The only reason he threw me a party was to tell me he was leaving me for good. Typical.
Father’s quarters loom larger as I approach, the red sky shadowing the peaks of stone that form a crooked castle. Souldiers line the path, but they pay me no heed as I cross in front of them. They remain rigid as the rocks around us.
I’m almost at the door, panting and wiping the sweat behind my neck, when one of the souldiers steps forward.
“He’s not in there, Your Highness. He’s out on business.” The helmet amplifies the familiar voice.
My breath hitches. “Attero?”
He flicks up the black visor and frowns. “Don’t you have class?”
“What?” I curl my fingers into fists. “This was your idea, remember? You insisted I talk to my dad.”
I step around him, but he blocks my path. “It was my idea when I thought you were having trouble understanding your job, Devica. Before learning you’re helping a shadeling.”
His words slam into my chest with the force of a punch. He’s still upset with me. And he’s concluded for himself what that picture means.
“I’m not helping anyone, Attero. His photo ended up in my pocket by accident, and I forgot it was even there. Then, after he broke into my room, I remembered I had it. I was going to bring it to Father for a second opinion. That’s all.”
Attero grabs my elbow and pulls me from the other souldiers. He speaks in a low and controlled voice I’ve never heard from him before. “Devica, I found the prisoner in your room. You were sprawled on your bed—in a nightgown, I might add—with him on top of you.”
I wrench out of his grip and look away so he can’t see the blush creeping up my neck. “I know how it looks, but I swear he burst in on me. I was only trying to prove he’s guilty so he’d leave me alone. I want nothing to do with him. Or any shadeling, for that matter.”
Attero sighs. He studies me, then glances over his shoulder.
When he’s sure none of the other souldiers are watching, he pulls the photo out of his pocket and slips it between my fingers.
“I was going to show this to your father and tell him what I saw last night, but he wasn’t here.
To be honest, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to go through with it.
I’m not Ferus, Devica. I don’t need power over you.
I just want you to be safe. But I trust you. I know you’ll do the right thing.”
My knees buckle with relief.
I can still fix this.
“Thanks, Atty.” I lean in to hug him but stop myself when his body goes rigid.
He eyes the souldiers around us, now staring.
I stash the photo in the bodice of my dress before nodding at my friend.
“I appreciate it. I promise that shadeling will have nothing to do with me or my bedroom after today. I’m gonna go in and wait for Father.
I don’t care how long it takes. I’ve already walked up that damn hill. I’m not doing it again.”
Attero bows his head. “Good luck, Dev. I hope he helps.”
He shuffles back to the line of souldiers as I ascend the steps to the main door. The steel is heavy and groans in protest as I yank it open.
I’m in an empty lobby, made entirely of onyx. A single torch burns in the center of the room, surrounded by tall pillars that disappear overhead. My steps echo off the walls as I walk down the hall to Father’s room.
His chambers are five times the size of mine.
The hickory scent of charred wood and burning debris fragrance the warm air. Yet there are no visible flames in the vicinity. Only the lingering scent of the being who occupies this space.
I stand in the middle of the room with my hands on my hips.
I’m definitely going to redecorate when I take over.
If I take over.
The walls are black, giving off the feeling of standing in a gaping hole. It’s hard to tell where they end and the floors begin.
As a kid, I’d walked into those walls plenty of times. I made Father hang up drawings I’d done so I would stop bruising my nose. Those pictures are nowhere to be found now.
It hurts how quickly my own dad discards me, but it’s not surprising. Thousands of years punishing sinners hasn’t exactly taught him to be warm and fuzzy.
The only colors in the room are the gold embellishments on the bed frame, Father’s severed crimson wings splayed on the wall above the bed, and the wooden desk in the corner. I prefer the sea-blue hues of my own walls.
I’m not sure how long I’ll have till Father returns. If he’s not up on Earth or in judgment, he’s in this room.
It’s like he’s already left Hell in his mind. He has just under one year left, but he’s pretty much given up on this place. I asked him where he planned to go when he gave me the ring, and he wouldn’t say. He got a strange look on his face and told me it wasn’t a child’s business.
Apparently I’m grown-up enough to run the entire Underworld, but knowing where my father plans to spend his retirement is too much.
I perch on the edge of the mattress and fiddle with the gold tassel on his pillowcase. My knee bounces on the mattress, and I stand up and start for the door—only to sit back down again.
If I leave now, I won’t learn the truth about Nathan Reynolds. And I need to know. Because if Father’s wrong about him, who else could he be wrong about?
I sprawl like a starfish on Father’s bed and sigh. I’ve taken many naps here when he’s away on business. He has the most comfortable mattress in the Underworld. I’m definitely keeping this bed when I take the throne.
The fact that I haven’t slept at all creeps into my bones, and I squish deeper into the mattress. Sliding my hand under the silk pillowcase, I frown when something slices my skin.
“Ow.” I jump up and shove my bleeding finger into my mouth.
With my free hand, I pull out a black leather book. It’s either a journal or a photo album of some kind.
What the—?
I flip it over, and my entire body goes cold.
A single word is embossed in gold across the cover. Not a word, but a name. A name I know well:
DINA
Goose bumps race across my flesh, even though the room is a cozy—for my father—one hundred and thirty degrees. I haven’t heard or seen my mother’s name in years.
Father refuses to talk about her. I only know what I’ve been told by other demons. He hurled her into the Ignis River—the river of fire used to kill any demons who offend him—for being a traitor, right after I was born.
No one could tell me what she did, only that she betrayed him in the worst way possible and deserved to die. That story is part of why I’ve feared him my whole life. He had no trouble disposing of the woman he loved; what would he do if a daughter he barely tolerates pissed him off?
So why does he have a book with the name of the person who hurt him most underneath his pillow?
I trace the lettering on the cover, pressing hard enough to indent my flesh with her name. My hands tremble. Looking inside would mean betraying him myself.
But if there are any answers about what happened to Dina in here, I deserve to know. She was my mother, after all.
Sucking in a shaking breath, I open the book.