Epilogue – Syriniana
Ikeep my eyes down, watching where I’m stepping. The skulls and bones are unavoidable, though, covering the ground like a macabre carpet.
I can’t believe I’m in the Burning Pits of my own volition. Neph is going to have a stroke when he finds out I went to talk to his father. Can ancient demons have strokes? My Nephithar will find a way.
I follow the grotesquely paved path to the foot of the dais that hosts Sataniel’s throne, a gothic monstrosity of suffering. Only then do I look up, acknowledging my paramour’s creator. The first fallen angel. Hell’s dark prince.
“Daughter-in-law,” he greets me, his voice low and sensual. He looks nothing like his son, and I have to wonder if that’s on purpose. Is the Devil so vain that he didn’t want his son to take after him in looks?
“Sataniel,” I reply, glad my voice isn’t shaking. “You wished to speak to me?”
He grins in a way that lets me know my thoughts aren’t safe around him. “Yes, I did. Thank you for answering my summons.” He tilts his head like a curious cat. “Tell me, how is my son?”
I’m not sure I manage to hide my surprise. He’s asking about Neph now, when I was the one he wanted to see?
“He is well,” I answer truthfully. “Happy.”
But not for long. Once I come home and he smells the sulfur on me, he will be very unhappy.
Sataniel grins as if he knows and relishes the drama. “Good.”
Indeed. Time to get to the heart of the matter.
“I know the prophecy you wish to speak about. I’m afraid it was in poor condition when I had the tablet in my hands. I doubt I know more than you do.”
His lips purse with disappointment. “That is a shame.”
I roll my lips together. “You seem to be putting a lot of stock into words chiseled by ancient humans,” I say, perhaps feeling too brave.
Sataniel’s pale eyebrows rise. “There have been many prophets among humankind. You know this, Syriniana.”
“Perhaps,” I allow. “But I wouldn’t put all my eggs into one basket, as humans say.”
He seems delighted by my use of the analogy. “Daughter, I have eggs in a great many baskets. Fear not.”
But I do fear. I fear that one day he will abscond with a daughter of someone like Lana or Simone, all in his quest to corrupt Heaven as he did Hell.
“The prophecy also speaks of things being forgotten. Does that not worry you?”
He waves a hand. “Highly unlikely to occur.”
But his return to Heaven is likely? I resist the urge to wring my hands in dismay. The outcome would be catastrophic.
“Let us go over it together, Daughter,” he says patiently, leaning back in his throne. Hell’s lord and master. “Recite the prophecy as you recall it.”
I take a deep breath, centering myself. I need to cooperate so I can get out of here safely.
For Neph. For Mike.
Closing my eyes, I picture a cuneiform tablet I briefly held in my possession millennia ago.
Born from light in Hell…
…this child of mortal and archdemon…
…all that is known is forgotten…
…the Lightbringer’s return to Heaven.
Thanks so much for reading The River of Woe! If you’re hungry for more, the next book in the series is The Sanctum of Sin, a sapphic novella, and it’s available to pre-order:
The Sanctum of Sin (Coming February 12th)
I built The Sanctum to worship want.
A pleasure house in the depths of Hell, where desire is stripped bare and indulgence is holy. Behind velvet curtains and candlelight, demons come to indulge… and I feed.
Then Fyrn walks in. A satyress, she’s barely contained wildness wrapped in defiance.
She doesn’t lower her gaze when I look at her. Doesn’t soften when I let my power brush close. She teases instead of submitting. And the more she refuses me, the deeper my obsession sinks—until I’m no longer certain whether I’m hunting her… or circling something far more dangerous.
Because in Hell, lust is my domain.
And wanting what won’t kneel may be the one sin I can’t afford.