Page 11 of As Above, So Below

Gods know what kind of mortal I’d be.

I sure as the hells wouldn’t be anything like the creature I am now.

Growing up in the hells is a strange thing. I can’t honestly call it ‘growing’ as nothing grows in this realm. Vaelyn and I simply came into existence one day and began to learn our roles within the demonic hierarchy. Oft times it was a trial by hellfire, quite literally at times.

Vaelyn learned everything he needed to rule the hells. I learned how to serve it. Nothing more than a tool to my father, he uses me to secure contracts, tempt Layer Lords, and reap souls of the damned.

An untouchable trophy.

That’s how I serve my House.

All of this information about my mother begs the question why her? Why would Netharis, the god of death, choose a mortal winged fae to mother his heir? It doesn’t make sense. Not when his subsequent children were mothered by goddesses.

There has to be something I’m missing.

Some answer I’m overlooking.

Letting my head fall back against the chair, I stare at the high ceiling and sigh. My head is filled with questions I’ll never ask Netharis and thus never find the answers to.

“Oh good, you’re still here!”

Jerking upright at the sound of Ylara’s voice, my head whirls over my shoulder. Ylara sprints toward me, her dark eyes lighting up as they meet mine. Her pin-straight, black hair swirls about her face and chin, and I can’t help but feel she’s cut it yet again.

She crosses the library in a matter of seconds, halting abruptly beside me and kneeling. The broad grin on her face is ridiculous.

“What are you doing, Ylara?” I ask, weary.

She curls her hands over the armrest of my chair. “Please tell me you’re finished with your reapings,” she breathes, not because she’s exerted herself, but because she wants to be dramatic.

Staring at her, my concern deepens along with the crease between my brows. An excited demon, even if it’s little Ylara, is always good reason to give pause.

“I finished earlier, yes,” I answer with a slight nod.

She springs to her feet and I recoil, leaning away from her.

“Perfect!” She nearly shrieks the word, clapping her hands. “I’m almost finished with my list, and the next—”

“You haven’t finished?” I hiss at her, peering over the back of the chair toward the library entrance, half expecting the god of death to appear. Sliding my eyes back to her, I give her a withering glare. “If Netharis finds you here—”

“Ves, listen!” She shakes her head. “My next reaping is in Ollora.”

Ollora, the capitol city of Erus.

I blink.

A moment passes and the bitter sting of jealousy settles into my veins.

I haven’t been given reapings in any of the major cities in two centuries, reapings at night for half that. Ylara announcing her reaping in one of my favorite fae cities during what would be the dead of night wraps itself around my lifeless heart and squeezes.

“I didn’t take you for the cruel type, Ylara,” I manage, not masking my hurt.

Her expression shifts with concern and confusion. “What? No. Ves, I want you to come with me.”

“What?” Surely I didn’t hear her correctly.

She grips the back of my chair and gives it a shake. “Yes! Netharis has already said you could come with me.”

My confusion transforms into laden fear.