Chapter Four
I wasn’t left alone with my spiraling thoughts and consuming fear for long.
In a swirl of hellfire, Netharis appears—seated in his plush, high-backed chair behind his desk. At the same time, hundreds of black candles burst alive with flame, casting the study in dancing light.
Shelves filled with black leather-bound books, stacks of various-sized obsidian boxes in every corner, mounds of papers, scrolls and open chests filled with trinkets are revealed.
A macabre collection of preserved creatures under domes of glass line the topmost shelves. They stare down with unseeing eyes.
Pixies, gnomes, pseudodragons, faedragons…
All once immortal beings from the living realm.
Creatures Netharis hunted or contracted mortals to hunt to extinction—because no living entity should escape death.
The study is reminiscent of the library, and in near the same state of disarray.
But this room doesn’t hold the same respite as the library.
No.
Invitations to this room are best avoided.
Keeping my eyes lowered, I force myself to stand.
Will I simply be lectured? Or will it escalate to being berated and beaten?
I can feel his stare as I keep my gaze lowered and my mouth shut.
He sighs.
“Whatever she told you, I can guarantee it’s not the whole of the matter,” he says, his voice low.
Her words about changing the realms ring in my mind. She must have me mistaken for someone else. I’m not capable of any such feat. Nor would I want to be.
“She pulled me into the living realm,” I say, my voice trembling.
“No, she did not,” he counters, his tone sharp.
Irritation flares to life in my veins. “I know what I saw, what I felt,” I match his tone. “Things you insist are imposs—”
“Enough, Vestaris!” he bellows, slamming his hands down on his desk as he bolts upright. “Celesta is not the benevolent creature she presents herself as.”
I flinch as my eyes race to his, my jaw clenching.
He’s returned to his human glamour.
Gone is the towering creature mortals and demons alike fear, replaced with the visage of a man.
Styled, dark hair, finely chiseled features, ivory skin.
His wings remain on display, the only indication he’s not human.
Constructed of sinew, bone, and membrane-thin flesh, they loom behind him, folded against his back.
He dons a black button down shirt, left mostly open, the collar and cuffs featuring red Malbolge rune embroidering.
Our House brand.
Lord of Death. It reads.
I wear the same runes. They’re inked in black upon the skin behind my left ear. Vessel of Death, it states. It’s a brand I keep hidden with my hair. Of the tens of thousands of Houses in the hells, Netharis’ is not the one I would have chosen for myself—were I given a choice.
“You’re lucky Ylara came to me when she did,” he says, bracing himself over his desk.
He glances over the multitude of papers scattered across it between his hands. Half-drafted contracts, lists of names, letters from various powerful demons. Shifting a few papers aside, he releases a long sigh.
Of course Ylara would have gone to him right away.
I don’t blame her. She needed to protect herself.
Lowering himself into his seat, he taps a long taloned finger against his desk. The sound rings in my ears, a resounding tap, tap…tap, tap. It eats away at the silence between us.
I hate it.
My innate begins to scream, wanting to lash out and bind his hand, break his finger.
Anything to get him to stop. Clenching my jaw harder, I fight against the demonic urge.
Something like that will land me another decade in an obsidian box.
And I’d rather remain outside of them. I’m fractured enough.
Gods, the tapping is unbearable.
“Then tell me the whole of the matter,” I blurt, an attempt to focus on anything other than the noise drilling into my mind.
His finger stops mid-strike as his eyes narrow.
The silence that falls between us is heavy, laden with the threat of rage. It’s as if he’s trying to figure out what to say, and it breeds unease in my chest. Netharis has played political chess with the pantheon of gods for longer than I’ve existed, and I’ve never seen him pause like this.
“For centuries, I’ve kept you safe. Hidden from Nektos,” he explains, a glass of red wine appearing before him in a flash of hellfire. “The Fate she’s woven for you is quite cruel. It’s not something I’d want for you.”
Not something he would want. How easy it is for him to disregard what I want.
A Fate woven by Nektos…
None of this feels real.
Today has been revelation after revelation, each one more wild than the last. First the nature of Netharis’ contract with Celesta, then being pulled through the veil, and now I learn I’m Fated. I would be daft to take Netharis at his word. The truth always lies in the things he doesn’t say.
Snagging the glass from the desk, he raises it in a toast-like gesture before drinking deeply. An indulgence borne of gluttony. Creatures of the hells don’t experience thirst or hunger, not in the mortal sense. Setting the emptied glass down, it vanishes in the same manner as it had appeared.
“Celesta’s selfish stunt leaves us in a situation where Nektos now knows it is I who has you,” he mutters, the irritation clear in his voice. “She’s trying to use you to free herself from her contract.”
How can I free a goddess from a contract with the god of death?
Mind reeling, all I can do is stare at my father.
He sighs. “Now, I have a decision to make.”
Oh, no. Those words are never a good sign.
“Decision?” I ask, doing my best to quell my rising fear and panic.
“She will try to reach you again. I cannot let it happen.” He shifts in his seat, crossing a leg over the other. The chair groans under his weight. “You can no longer reap, Vestaris—”
“What?” My voice raises to a shout.
Netharis’ eyes lock with mine, his jaw tightening as my innate thrashes within me. It swirls around my anger, my fear, ballooning in my chest, causing my entire body to tense. My shadows threaten to swallow the study, consume me, Netharis and anyone else in their path.
Netharis studies me as if I were nothing more than the carcass of an imp he’s pulled from his boot. He rakes his eyes over me, leaning back in his seat, careful not to pin his wings.
“Do not be dramatic, Vestaris,” he says, giving me a lazy scowl. “You’ll be given a new role, one that doesn’t require you to leave the hells.”
“Not leave the hells?” I repeat the words in a dry scoff.
Not walk in the veil? Not see the living realm? Be confined to the library and my bedroom for eternity? Contend with Vaelyn, Kassil, and the court of demons?
Please, no. Please, gods no.
“Do not do this.” My voice trembles with pained restraint. Restraint to keep from screaming, restraint to keep my innate under control. “Please do not lock me here. The veil is all I have—”
“You will not be without purpose, daughter,” he says, and for a split second there’s a flash of empathy in his eyes. I blink and it’s gone, his blood-red stare cold and distant. “You will serve your House in other ways.”
It’s not about serving my gods damned House.
It’s about being trapped in the hells for eternity.
My innate feeds with a voracious need upon my emotions. It should not be this difficult to keep my innate in line. And I have to keep it under control. Unless—the thought emerges from the darkest parts of my mind—I push Netharis enough to end me.
“You cannot keep me prisoner.” My voice sounds strangely calm despite the violent storm within me.
“Prisoner?” His face grows mottled as his eyes darken. “You belong to the hells, Vestaris!” he shouts the words he’s commanded as scripture and I flinch.
Netharis will never view me as a daughter.
I’ll never be Vaelyn.
Taking a deep breath, my lungs are filled with the scent of the hells, sulfur and smoke—and I nearly choke on it. Billows of shadows ebb underfoot as my control starts to crack and fissure.
“I’ve given you countless opportunities to prove your worth,” Netharis continues to shout, the room rattling with his voice. “And at every turn, you fail.”
My innate screams.
And I let go.
Darkness explodes from my being in a violent expulsion of shadowed tendrils.
Lashing out in every direction, dark clouds race to smother the candles.
In seconds we’re entrenched in darkness, glass shattering.
Books and obsidian boxes crash and thunder to the floor, Netharis’ desk creaks and splinters.
A harrowing cold fire rips through my very essence.
The rage, the fear, the hopelessness—it’s all swept up in a swirling vortex of shadow and darkness, leaving me at its epicenter.
A sluice has been thrown open, and I am no longer enough to satisfy the hunger of my innate, nor am I strong enough to close it.
If Netharis doesn’t end me, my innate will.
My darkness will feed.
Bright white stars flash behind my eyes, a large taloned hand closing around my throat.
Faster than lightning, sharp pain blooms in the back of my head, jarring my skull, rattling my teeth.
Grimacing through the pain, Netharis pierces my soul with his blood-red stare as he pins me against the wall, his face inches from mine.
Laughter.
One of us is laughing, and judging by Netharis’ snarling face, it’s not him.
It’s a wild, manic sound as darkness continues to spread and destroy everything it touches. It tears at my hair, my robes, my feathers and cuts at Netharis, leaving him bloodied.
“Enough of this!” he roars, his grip tightening.
Flashes of hellfire strike, batting away barbed tendrils aimed for his throat and face. The tower begins to quake, the floor rumbling, but Netharis doesn’t move.
For once, I am beyond his control.
I will not shirk.
I will not bend.
Leaning hard into my innate, a second wave ruptures, sending a shattering pulse of darkness across the room.
Netharis’ grip vanishes, and I collapse to the floor.
The obsidian beneath me cracks and shifts, a gaping fissure tearing through the center of the room.
Blinded by my shadows, I scramble left, my hands slapping against the floor in haste.
As screams rise, the intoxicating sensation of my shadows feeding on demons lurking in the layers below floods my veins. This is the demonic urge I’ve fought against for centuries.
The desire to kill them all.
The unbearable need to feed my innate.
And good gods, giving in is euphoric.
A sickening crack echoes in my ears, stemming from the base of my skull, and I fall face-first into nothingness.