Chapter Sixteen
Demons are egotistical creatures driven by pleasure, power, or perception. It’s a universal truth; one I’ve come to accept—one I myself am not immune from. Unlike most of my kind, I try not to listen to the dark urges that emerge from the shadowed corners of my mind.
I’m not always successful.
I’ve seen the awful, deceitful, selfish acts demons commit in the pursuit of these things. It makes their behavior predictable. Understanding the inner workings of a demon's mind became second nature during my time in the hells.
But here, in this realm, I lack the same depth of understanding when it comes to mortals.
As I fell into a welcome routine over the course of the week, it became clear mortals were much of the same.
Preferential creatures seeking the company of those who placate their needs—whether that be pleasure, power, or perception.
The largest difference between mortals and demons emerged rather quickly. Mortals who choose to embrace their darker tendencies rarely believe what they’re doing is wrong. Fae especially.
During meals with the Priestesses, I observed.
Silently, I watched their interactions, listened to their words, the tones they used, the expressions they wore. All of it taught me more about mortals than my conversations with Eve and Cora learning about human and fae culture.
And poor Cora.
Often subjugated to the sharp words of Opal during shared meals, she endures them with a smile on her face. The only human at the table, she’s surrounded by faeries and a demon. My strange, feeling little heart has grown to hate how she is too often treated.
Naturally, Eve protects her partner, shooting back with pointed words of her own. Opal’s comments are too often underhanded, a bigoted reminder of how humans are regarded as a lesser species. It never escalates beyond clenched jaws and daggered stares, out of fear of earning Artemise’s ire.
Anatomically speaking, Opal isn’t wrong.
Humans are far weaker in terms of strength, speed, and innate capabilities. Their lifespans are markedly shorter. Cora will be lucky to see a century. Opal, on the other hand, barring her mouth getting her into a situation she can’t handle, can expect to see five thousand years, minimum.
It still doesn’t mean Cora is lesser.
A divide amongst the Priestesses has made itself apparent. Cora and Eve poised against Opal and Aenwyn. I find myself aligning with Cora and Eve and their inclusive natures. With each passing day, it becomes harder to remain silent when Opal speaks.
“You okay over there, Ves?” Cora asks me, leaning over the table to peer around Eve sitting between us.
Pulled out of my thoughts, the sounds of the dining room rush into my ears.
Indistinct chatter, the clinking of silverware against ceramic, nails and rings tapping against glasses being lifted, all accented by the groaning of chairs being dragged against the marble floor as others join and leave during the busy dinner hour.
“Ves is often a victim of her own thoughts,” Eve says with a grin, leaning back in her chair.
With a weak smile, I scoff a small laugh. “You’re not the first to notice.”
Cora meets my gaze. “You’ve been staring at your stew for the past ten minutes.” She flashes a pretty half smile.
Opal, sitting on my right beside Aenwyn, laughs. “Can you blame her? It’s as if this week’s kitchen rotation doesn’t believe salt and pepper exist.”
The others laugh and my eyes bounce to the faces surrounding me.
“Is it bad?” I ask, lifting my spoon to shift the thick stew of vegetables and beef around. “It looks fine enough.”
More laughter.
“Taste it. Experience the fine culinary delight the temple of Celesta has to offer,” Eve encourages playfully.
As their eyes watch my every move, I place a spoonful of the stew in my mouth, only to grimace.
The table erupts with laughter, and Eve claps in slow applause.
Not only is the stew bland, but after sitting out untouched it’s gone cold.
A flavorless congealed substance sits upon my tongue, and it takes an unnecessary amount of willpower to force it down.
“Tell me again how it’s fine,” Eve laughs, her ice blue eyes gleaming with her amusement.
“If you want good stew, you have to go to The Lioness,” Aenwyn says, pushing her own bowl of barely touched stew away from her.
Opal lights up. “They’re hosting a fight tonight. Are any of you going? I thought about it, but I’m not sure I want to wade through the crowd Tarron will draw.”
“I’m not going, but Eve is,” Cora chimes her answer, glancing at Eve as she speaks.
Eve nods. “Yeah, Tarron asked me to come support him while he’s in town.”
“Fight? A sanctioned one?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
“Yeah.” Eve smiles. “The Lioness hosts matches once a month. This month my friend Tarron is up against some fae from Gersand with a zero loss streak.”
“You should go with Eve. She could use the company,” Cora says, pulling her half empty glass of water closer. “I’ve no interest in the fights, too violent for me. But you’ve been in the temple all week, you haven’t explored much of Ollora.”
“Would watching mortals fight even be something you’d want to see?” Eve asks, emphasizing the word with a playful grin.
Laughing, I reply, “I think I would enjoy watching your people in a match.”
Eve’s brows shoot high in mock surprise and amusement. “Oh, so they’re my people now?”
“Eve, please,” Cora chides, laughing. “She’s trying.”
No, I haven’t tried. Mortals are mortals.
“Well, they’re not her people,” Opal quips, drawing my attention to her. “And I’m sure tonight’s match won’t be near as vicious as anything she’s participated in.”
“I’ve never participated in a sanctioned fight,” I reply, brows creased.
She scoffs her disbelief. “I’ve heard about the Abyssal, the bloodbath that is. I find it hard to believe the daughter of Netharis never participated.”
We’d almost made it through an entire meal without Opal’s tongue. I hope for too much, apparently. At least this time she isn’t taking aim at Cora. I’m more than happy to be her target. I have no qualms about bearing my fangs and cutting her down.
Refusing to back down from her pointed stare, I lean forward onto my elbows. “Prizes don’t get to participate,” I retort coldly.
The table falls silent, and Opal tears her gaze away as she purses her lips. A wicked satisfaction creeps over me. I prefer when her mouth is shut.
“But please, continue to make assumptions about my existence in the hells.” I fold my hands on the table.
“Good gods,” Cora breathes, her concern evident on her face. “If Celesta knew her daughter was used in such a way—”
“She’d do nothing,” I interrupt. Turning to Eve, I say, “Yes. I’d like to go with you tonight.”
“Of course. You’re more than welcome,” Eve says softly.
She looks at me with pity in her stare, and it forces me to look away.
“What is the Abyssal? And why would you be offered as a prize?” Aenwyn asks, her voice low.
The question earns her the sharp stares from everyone at the table. She recoils, pulling back in her seat.
“Forget I asked,” she relents, eyes wide.
Eve clears her throat. “I’ll swing by your room and grab you after night prayer.”
“What should I expect?” I ask, sweeping past the tension now looming over the table.
“Well, it will be at The Lioness,” Eve begins, drawing small circles in the condensation on her glass of water. “Tarron will draw a large crowd. He’s from Ollora but has been in Aeros for the last year. People are excited to see him.”
“You know him?” I ask.
“We grew up together. I used to kick his ass around the yard as kids.” She laughs, shaking her head. “Now he gets paid to fight and I’m… here.” She gestures ambiguously with a shrug.
Cora leans against Eve, hugging her arm. “We won’t always be here,” she says softly.
Words of encouragement, I realize. They have plans together.
At the other end of the dining hall, behind Opal, the doors swing open. Artemise strides into the room, donning heavy, dark blue robes I’ve never seen her wear. A chain of silver hangs from her waist, littered with silver charms.
As she makes her way down the length of the room, voices fall quiet, becoming hushed whispers as they stare. Behind Artemise a line of four others file in behind her, all wearing the same attire. A dark-haired fae female, a balding human man, a blond-curly haired fae male, and—
“Lilith.” Her name escapes me in a whisper as her eyes lock with mine. She gives me a playful wink as she tosses her blazing hair over a shoulder.
“Why is the council here now?” Opal whispers heatedly, her head whipping between Eve and the line moving toward the head table at the end of the room.
Eve shrugs. “You’re Artemise’s right hand. She didn’t tell you anything?”
Opal shakes her head with pursed lips. “No. Nothing.”
“Would Artemise have called a council meeting without telling us?” Aenwyn asks in hushed tones, watching the entourage move past.
The council members take their seats along a rectangular table at the far end of the dining hall, but Artemise remains standing. Flanked by the members, she surveys the room before a smile curls her lips.
“Good evening, Children of Celesta,” she greets with the same powerful voice she’d used during the induction ceremony. “The council and I would like to announce we will be celebrating the lunar eclipse at the end of the month.”
Cheering explodes from the surrounding tables, but the table of Priestesses and I remain silent, waiting for Artemise to continue.
Gesturing for the crowd to calm, she turns her gaze in our direction. “This year, Celesta’s chosen is none other than her own daughter, Vestaris.”
My breath hitches in my chest as more than a hundred heads swivel in my direction, and the cheering grows deafening again.
Celesta’s chosen?
What in the nine hells does that mean?