Chapter 27
ASMODEUS
“Forneus.”
My majordomo appears in an instant, bowing deeply. Most of the blood and viscera have been removed from my throne room, the surfaces restored to their original dark luster. Forneus was wise and stayed at my largest Lethe villa, away from the madness that reigned here.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Inquire if my brother is home,” I instruct him. “I’m overdue for a visit.”
One more curt bow. “Yes, my lord.”
As I wait for him, I think about Simone and our unborn baby.
How is she doing? Is she eating? Somehow, I managed not to check in on her myself, though I did ask Forneus to make sure she has fresh food and plenty of water.
But it’s getting harder and harder to resist. I’m not sure I can stand being away from her another night.
Forneus reappears, immediately bowing again. “My lord. You are expected and welcome at the archduke’s seat.”
I presumed as much. When I was a child, I spent more time at Ashtaroth’s court than in the vicinity of my parents. As a father myself, I’ve been equally negligent of my children. And we think so little of humans when we’re just as susceptible to nature and nurture as they are.
“Make sure my consort has everything she needs,” I say to Forneus, my final instructions before I will myself to my brother’s fortress.
When I materialize in his throne room, I’m greeted by more than one familiar face. There’s my brother, of course, Simone’s red-headed team member by his side.
Another one of Simone’s team members stands nearby as well.
The only other female from the group that day when I first laid eyes on my little fairy.
She’s standing next to my nephew, who somehow seems more mature than when I saw him last. And next to him, where I’d expect Armaros, is a different Fallen, one with white hair.
He seems like a beacon of purity among the gathered.
“Father,” Naamah greets me, relief in her voice. I have to remind myself it’s been quite some time since she’s seen me, even though it feels like far less for me.
“Daughter. You’re…”
“About to pop,” she interrupts me, patting her large, rounded stomach. “You’re going to be a grandfather. Again.”
Indeed, no one knows how many grandchildren or great-grandchildren I have. But this will be Naamah’s first child. I wonder why she decided to procreate now.
“Congratulations,” I tell her, surprising myself with how much I mean it.
She must sense it too, her perfectly groomed black eyebrows rising with evident surprise. “Thank you, Father. This is my pet,” she adds as an afterthought, pulling a leanly muscled Cambion to her side like he’s not taller and heavier than her.
Another of Simone’s teammates. How curious.
“Kevin,” he says. “S-sir.”
I smirk at his fear—this is how it should be. My daughter did well.
“I would ask where in Satan’s name you have been, Brother, but I know he himself was involved in at least part of your disappearance.”
I scoff at Ashtaroth. “You don’t know the half of it. Did he tell you time passes differently in the Burning Pits where he had caged us? As far as I’m concerned, I was only gone for less than a day, but it’s been—”
“Almost two years,” Naamah says, pouting. “We were all looking for you.”
“Then we were looking for a rift to the human world Belial created and blamed on you,” Sariel adds with a grin. “Ended up in the Malebolge where I made a Heavenly angel fall with my dick.”
“Sariel!” the angel next to him hisses, his pale face now red with embarrassment.
“I contributed,” the reddish-blonde girl between them says, waving at me with her fingers.
“Yeah,” my nephew drawls. “With your pu—”
“Silence,” Ashtaroth says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I do not care if you have consorts now. You can still spend the night in the dungeon without the ether.”
I laugh at Sariel mimicking locking his mouth and throwing away the key.
“Where is Simone?” Ashtaroth’s redhead asks, speaking for the first time. Her body is so tense, she’s nearly vibrating. “Lucifer showed us a vision of the two of you in cages.”
An iron fist squeezes my chest at the sound of her name, but I try to keep my tone neutral. “She is at our home by the Lethe. She’s well.”
I’m not sure if I fully managed to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“Can I see her?” the Nephalem—I believe my consort called her Lana—asks.
“Yeah,” Naamah’s consort adds.
“Me too,” Sariel’s says.
I swallow hard, trying to smile at them. “As long as she welcomes your presence, you may visit us.”
“Is she still pregnant?” my daughter asks curiously. My smile becomes more genuine as I nod at her. “Wonderful,” she continues. “Our demonlings can grow up together.”
Her consort visibly pales at the word demonlings, his eyes lost and unfocused. I’m not sure he knows what he’s getting himself into with my daughter.
“Should we move to a sitting room?” Lana suggests, obviously already comfortable in her role in his court. “We have a lot to talk about.”
I acquiesce with a tilt of my head, letting her and my brother lead the way. I may be an archdemon with my own vast territory, but this isn’t my court.
“Where is Armaros?” I ask my nephew when he files in beside me.
Sariel’s face drops, and I even see my brother’s back straighten in front of us. Something is very wrong.
“Has Andras checked in?” my nephew asks instead of answering me.
I blink at him. Most of my lieutenants were confined to my ziggurat by Sataniel, starving and pissed off, but I haven’t seen Andras among them. Honestly, I haven’t given him much thought.
“No,” I say carefully. “Why? Where is he?”
“Somewhere in the human world,” Sariel says. “Aim is looking for him.”
“But why?”
We’re interrupted by a loud clang ahead, followed by Ashtaroth’s consort hissing, “Puck! Drop that!”
“Why do you need Andras?” I add impatiently, not letting the little hurricane imp derail the conversation.
Ashtaroth sighs. He takes the head of the table, gesturing to his left for me. Once I sit down, he finally fills me in.
“Andras defected, Asmodai. He joined Belial in his quest for supremacy. Killed Armaros. Nearly killed my son’s consort.”
I need a few seconds to process the information. “What?” I manage in the end. “Andras? Was I gone for a century?”
“I’m sure they’ve been plotting longer than that,” Sariel says through clenched teeth. “The Elioud in Purgatory? All their doing. Whispering to the Council, putting events into motion, setting the scene.”
“Belial drove a spear through my consort.” As Ashtaroth speaks, the fortress around us rumbles, lightning striking nearby.
“And Andras appears to be his right-hand man,” my daughter says. The fire in her eyes makes her look like a pregnant Amazonian warrior. “Armaros was our friend.”
I nod, reaching across the table to take her hand. Her mouth falls open in surprise. I guess I won’t be getting any Father of the Year awards, as Sariel would say.
“I’m not doubting your stories,” I say. “I’m merely taken aback. As far as I’m concerned, I spoke with Andras a few paltry moons ago. And all the while, he was already preparing to leave my court.”
“What did Sataniel do to you?” Naamah breathes.
“Yeah,” Sariel says, dragging the word out. “No offense, Uncle Asmo, but you’re like a pod person.”
I squeeze Naamah’s hand one more time before I pull back, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I know I’m different, but it’s not aliens or any other of Sariel’s fantastical imaginings. It all has to do with my little fairy. She’s the one who changed me. Her and our unborn child.
“How close is Aim to finding Andras?” I ask, feeling no mercy whatsoever for what’s to befall him once my family gets their hands on him. And if anyone can find him and do it fast, it’s Ashtaroth’s spymaster assassin, Aim.
“Very close,” Ashtaroth answers. “He is somewhere in London, and so is Aim. It could be any moment now. You are welcome to be involved in the execution.”
Not interrogation. There’s no need for that.
I shake my head. “No. You all have cause for vengeance greater than mine. I’d rather be with my pregnant consort.”
My brother tilts his head. “So Simone is your consort, then? You made a soul bargain with her.”
“She is,” I say proudly, making sure I meet each of her team members’ gazes. “And our child will be my heir.”
“Ouch,” Naamah says, rolling her eyes. “And here I am, one of countless faceless, nameless offspring.”
“Shut up,” Sariel says, lightly punching her in the shoulder. “All of Hell knows you’re his favorite.”
“Yeah, until now,” she pouts. “But, fine. I’ll be the baby’s favorite aunt.”
“I’m sure you will,” I concede with a smile. It quickly slips off my face when I remember the rift between the child’s mother and me. I need a distraction. “So, tell me. What else did I miss?”