As Within, So Without (The Fated Celestials Trilogy #2)

Prologue

Celesta

Evening of Ashdown

Nothing in this Chaos-given realm could prepare me for the pain raking through me. Jolts of razor sharp lightning sear through my abdomen as I struggle to breathe. Stifling a cry through clenched teeth, I dig my fingers into the furs, fighting to keep myself silent.

“You have to push, Priestess,” Hera coaxes, her bright yellow eyes darkened with concern.

She perches herself between my pitched knees, rolling back the blankets I cling to. The shock of cold strikes my skin and I gasp, blinking away the tears blurring my vision.

“I can’t,” I cry, and the words blossom into an unhindered scream.

I’ve done this to myself.

But I did it for Nalena.

For us.

That has to count for something.

But…what kind of demon am I going to bring into this world?

“You can do this,” Nalena’s comforting voice sings through my heart. “I am here, with you. For as long as I can be.”

More tears spring into my eyes.

Eternity. We promised eternity.

Bed-bound and isolated in the northern wing of the estate, Nalena awaits as anxiously as I do for the arrival of this demon.

Everything we’ve ever known together depends on my ability to bring this cursed creature into the living realm.

Once I’ve done it, once I’ve ascended as a goddess, I can save her.

I can save us.

I can grant us our eternity.

“Neither of you will survive if you do not push,” Hera says, her tone firm. She glances over her shoulder. “Tessa, stoke the fire. Claire, prep the water.”

The two birthing maid assistants spring into action, sweeping across my bed chambers. Their black and white robes swirl with their movements in a dizzying display.

Another heart-stopping wave of pain washes through my core and I sob.

“Push now, Priestess,” Hera orders.

Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, I bear down against the pain with everything. With every ounce of desperation, fear, and malice, I push.

Get it out.

Get it out before it ends us both.

Get this vile creature out of me.

The sound of my scream fills the room, the taste of blood filling my throat. With a swift pull, Hera collects a wailing, bloodied mass in her arms. I collapse onto my back, gasping for breath.

“We did it, my love,” I send the relieved thought to her and the cool wash of her own relief fills me.

It’s done.

I’ve upheld my end.

It’s over.

“No, moonlight, you did it,” Nalena says and though she tries to hide it, tiredness seeps into her voice.

She’s so weak.

I waited too long.

In an instant, Claire appears beside Hera, wiping away the crimson traces of birth from the creature’s face as it continues to pierce my ears with its shrill cry.

“A daughter,” Hera says, her brows creasing.

Propping myself up onto my elbows, I stare daggers at the birthing maid.

“What do you mean daughter?” I snarl the question.

Hera shifts, her long, gnarled fingers curling around the infant’s chest as she thrusts the creature toward me. I shy away with a grimace.

She speaks truth.

I’ve delivered a daughter.

My bewilderment swiftly slides into the darkest pits of dread.

A damp, curled mass of silver sits atop her head. The same shade as mine. No horns. No scales. No glistening skin harder than obsidian. The infant balls her fists, clutching them near her pinched face as she continues to scream. Tiny fingers. Not tiny talons.

Hera continues to hold the creature on display.

“Turn her over,” I demand, unwilling to believe what I’m seeing.

Hera listens, bearing the newborn’s backside.

No tail.

Instead, two tiny, featherless wings. She has wings…

She’s not a demon.

Or at least… she doesn’t look like a demon.

She looks like me. I’ve given birth to a tiny replica… I don’t understand… what kind of cursed magic is this? Netharis must have known—he must have influenced this, he—

“She is your mirror,” Hera says, her voice so soft it’s almost a whisper.

Resentment crushes my dread as she wraps the creature in white, and sways her gently to soothe the screams. Silent, hot tears stream down my cheeks as I stare at the impossible thing that’s been pulled from my flesh.

“Would you like to hold her?” Claire asks, forcing a smile onto her face.

“No,” I answer, and her brows raise with my acidic tone. “You invite me to hold a monster—a demon—a thing that shouldn’t walk among the living.”

She’s an abomination that shouldn’t exist.

Concerned shock sears across Claire and Tessa’s faces as they step back, cradling the monstrosity between them. They don’t know. They don’t understand what I’ve done. How I’ve likely damned the realms.

But Hera… Hera knows.

This changes everything.

And yet changes nothing.

Chaos’ demand to be free will require a new vessel.

Hera stares at the child, making gentle shushing noises which bear no calming effect upon the creature. It continues to writhe and scream, its high-pitched voice wavering with the full power of tiny lungs.

“She can still help you, priestess,” Hera says, not lifting her eyes from the bundle in her arms. “Aether lies in this one.”

“Aether be damned!” I shout, my voice trembling.

Aether has done nothing but grow weaker in the centuries following her fall. So little remains in this realm. What remains in me has been siphoned by the creature I’ve created.

Finally, Hera meets my gaze. “Nektos has plans,” she croons softly, the words nearly lost to the shrieking thing in her arms.

“Damn her and her trifling weavings!” I scream the words through another wave of pain.

Months of planning and preparation ruined. By Fate.

We’ve failed.

I’ve failed.

I let Nalena grow sicker for nothing.

The contraction intensifies, seizing my lungs, and I stifle a cry. This pain’s different—sharper. Less natural.

Climbing from the bed, Hera passes the noisy demon to Tessa, and whispers low in her ear. Too low for me to hear. With a nod, Tessa sweeps toward the fireplace and Hera’s hands find my stomach.

“Now comes the heir of the hells,” she says, her eyes narrowing.

“There is another?” Panic floods my veins.

Hera nods. “We go on as we’ve planned.”

“Chaos will not accept a daughter—”

“He comes.” Hera’s wide eyes snap to mine. “Find me. You know where.”

In a swelling burst of shadow, Hera vanishes, leaving the scent of bergamot in her wake as the darkness dissipates.

I’ve been abandoned by the High Priestess of Chaos.

Again.

The scent is lost to the stench of sulfur and smoke the same instant hellfire blinds me. Clutching at my stomach, I scramble backward, away from the light, flattening myself against the headboard. More pain rakes through me and I choke the small cry in my throat.

“I thought so,” the deep, unamused peal of the god of death rings in the room. “It’s time.”

My skin crawls.

Everything about him is wrong.

The pain subsides as he draws closer, as if the demon in my womb knows who approaches.

“Nalena, run!” I scream the panicked order through our silver bond as I meet the cold, empty stare of Netharis.

How incredibly human Netharis appears.

The single indication of his demonic descent lies in the dark wings of sinew and bone peeking above his shoulders. A towering monster masquerading as a mortal—as the elder gods once did.

As they would have again had I succeeded.

Starting with Chaos to cleanse the realms.

The birthing maids shrink into the corner of the room, shushing and clutching the tempestuous infant between them as their eyes remain fixed upon the god of death. His presence consumes the room.

“Born on Ashdown.” He flashes a cold smile as he stops near the foot of the bed. He makes a soft clicking sound with his tongue, chiding me. “It’s almost like you’re trying to offer your first-born son to the old gods.”

He knows.

My blood lights with fear and I force myself to remain tight-lipped.

He has no proof.

And he shall not as long as I don’t arm him with it.

I blink and the back of my head crashes against the headboard as his hand closes around my throat.

“You will not cost me this, Celesta,” he growls, his low voice rumbling against my chest. “Your god,” he sneers the word, his lip curling, “will remain dormant because I will it.”

Releasing me, he perches himself upon the bed, the mattress bowing under his weight. I remain frozen, barely breathing. He snaps his fingers and two flashes of hellfire reveal two towering figures. Like Netharis, they appear mortal—fae—with the exception of their folded, red leathery wings.

Archdemons.

Soulless, heartless creatures.

“Now, you must be punished,” he says softly, folding his hands in his lap. “You could have had it all, Celesta. Stood beside me, ruled the hells, raised our children.” He shakes his head in a rueful toss.

“Never.” My whisper is a wavering one.

He holds my stare as he says, “Arzak, return the nyraphim to the heavens.”

“Nalena, run, now!” I scream through the bond.

I’m met with infuriating silence.

The taller of the two archdemons makes for the door with a curling grin on his face. Panic fueling me, I reach for the glass of water beside me and hurl it toward the door.

It flies true, but the archdemon deflects the glass, batting it out of the air.

It shoots to the floor, shattering, and the birthing maids wince.

The screaming demon grows louder, its wailing becoming a sharp, piercing cry.

A burst of energy rattles the room, knocking books from shelves and vases from the fireplace mantle.

“Kassil, kill the vessel!” Netharis shouts the order. “Arzak, find the nyraphim now.”

The door closes behind the archdemon as the other snatches the infant from the birthing maids while they scream in terror.

Vessel?

The flash of a black blade silences the infant’s screaming. Pulling the dagger from the bundled mass, the archdemon wipes the silver-coated weapon across his pant leg. A trail of silver smears across black.

“What have you done?” I ask, wide-eyed and bewildered.

The archdemon replies in Malbolge and the hellish sound of the language of demons grates against my skin. Netharis responds in kind and nausea blooms in my stomach.

With a swift swing of the archdemon’s arm, the birthing maids’ throats split and crimson bubbles against ivory. As their gurgled cries rise, they fall, gasping and clutching at their necks. In a swirl of hellfire, the archdemon vanishes, silent infant with him.

Too many things happen at once.

Sharp, searing pain rips through my abdomen—not a contraction.

Talons.

The demon spawn is sundering me from within.

Netharis sits beside me, smiling as he studies me. Waiting.

The silver thread between Nalena and I pulls taut—and snaps.

She didn’t run.

She couldn’t run.

A scream rings out.

My scream.

More pain.

Warmth washes over my hands as I grasp at my stomach.

It grows mind-shattering, the pain, and I collapse against the headboard. Everything… for nothing. The severance of our bond leaves me numbed and I dare to glance down.

I cannot feel it.

I cannot feel the demon emerging from my flesh.

But I see it. It’s going to tear me asunder and claim me for the hells.

I lift my gaze, meeting Netharis’ stare.

He stares back, the wicked grin on his face not reaching his eyes.