30. Dante #3
Polite laughter ripples around the table. I glance back again, just long enough to see Virgil's lips part. He's about to speak.
The look Satan sends him in that sliver of a moment—brief, searing, absolute—tells me everything I need to know.
Virgil isn't speaking because he's either forbidden or he cannot.
But he's about to break that silence. For my sake.
And there will be consequences.
I reach out and place my hand over his knee. I can't feel him, of course, my fingers hover in empty air, touching nothing. But he sees the gesture. Understands it.
He closes his mouth.
Satan takes a bite of his lamb, chewing with evident satisfaction.
"I've come to understand you're a man of your word," I say, then glance at Constance, who stands behind Satan like an eager lieutenant awaiting orders.
Something about her posture reminds me of Ms. Hernandez, so desperate to please, even when her mother lay dying, and her bastard of a boss couldn't spare an ounce of compassion.
I continue, "Constance impressed upon me how seriously you take your commitments. How the systems of this realm operate on trust and honored agreements."
"That they do," Satan says, a note of pride creeping into his voice.
I pause for emphasis, letting the silence build.
Satan glances back at Constance and actually smiles at her, a small acknowledgment that makes her practically levitate with validation.
I hope, distantly, that she finds her way free of this someday.
That she realizes she deserves more than this.
Suddenly, I understand Virgil’s compassion for her entirely.
"Many others have confirmed the same," I add. "That you keep your word absolutely. That vows made in your name are inviolable."
“Also true,” Satan says, settling back in his chair with satisfaction.
I fight to keep my expression neutral, though triumph is already sparking in my chest. Because Constance taught me something else, perhaps without meaning to. Something about the architecture of this realm and the weight words carry within it.
"Then I must beg your indulgence," I say, "as I have a vow to invoke."
The smile slides from Satan's face. "A vow?"
I don't smile either, though I desperately want to.
"Virgil is your emissary. He made a vow to me to guide me to the mountain and see me safely there.
I'd like the opportunity to witness that place before making any decisions.
" I hold Satan's gaze. "And I trust you'll honor that commitment, as I know you would never permit a vow made in your name to be broken. "
Silence crashes over the table, heavy and absolute.
Even the servants freeze mid-motion, wine bottles suspended over glasses.
Satan stares at me, and for a moment his gaze feels infinite, the weight of eons compressed into two dark points.
I see something ancient in those eyes. Something that remembers a time before time, that has watched civilizations bloom and wither, that understands patience on a scale I can barely fathom.
Then he laughs.
If I didn't know better, I'd swear the sound was genuine—warm and surprised and almost delighted.
"I like you, Mr. Dante. I truly do." He drains the remainder of his wine as conversation resumes around us, the table sweeping back into motion like a machine restarted.
"Of course, you may go. As I reminded Virgil earlier, I am no brute.
You are free to make whatever choice suits you, and you may depart for your journey directly after the meal if you're eager to proceed. "
He sets down his glass and meets my eyes one final time.
"However, I do hope you'll consider my proposition carefully. It seems a shame—two minds so well matched, a connection so rare—to simply... dissolve it into nothing.” He pauses, swirling the wine in his glass.
"And of course, I reward those who serve me well.
If there's something you desire, anything at all, it could be arranged.
Consider it a signing bonus, if you will. "
"You've certainly given me much to consider," I offer.
He smiles, the kind of smile that knows it hasn't lost, only postponed, and returns to his meal.
I lift my glass in silent acknowledgment, the wine rich and dark against my tongue.
But as Satan returns to his meal and conversation resumes around us, I can't shake what he said. About what ascension truly costs. About the obliteration waiting at the end of that light, not just for me, but for Virgil. His mind. His words. His gentle, infuriating, irreplaceable presence.
I've bought us passage to the mountain, but I haven't solved anything.
Because if I ask Virgil to follow me into that light, I'm asking him to disappear. And if I stay here to keep him whole, I become exactly what I've spent this entire journey escaping. What he may very well never forgive.
There is no clean way out of this. No negotiation that leaves everyone intact.
I glance at Virgil, who watches me with an expression I can't quite read. Something like hope. Something like fear.
Something else that neither of us has dared to name yet.
I look away before he can see the doubt settling into my chest.