Page 14 of As Above, So Below

In a fae-populated city?

She nods, as if I wore my questions on my face.

“Despite humans migrating west following the Dividing War, Erus remains open to humans,” Ylara explains and my eyes narrow with disbelief. She begins to laugh. “You should really consider reading about mortal histories, Ves.”

“To what end?” I retort as we follow a left bend in the street. “Knowing mortal histories isn’t going to help me.”

She chuckles. “No. It won’t. But don’t you want to know about the souls you’re reaping?”

Not particularly.

“Is that why you read about mortal histories, Ylara? To know about the souls you’re reaping?” I answer her question with ones of my own, prompting her to laugh. “The souls we reap are those foolish enough to sign a contract with Netharis—they don’t deserve my attention.”

“Fair enough,” she deigns with a small shrug. “But knowing their histories can give you more context intowhythey may have agreed to Netharis’ offer. Think about it. A human in a fae-dominated city would be surrounded by creatures stronger, faster, near immortal. How would a human protect themselves when the standards are ill-matched?”

“I see Netharis still hasn’t broken you of your empathy,” I scoff a laugh and her brows raise. “Or perhaps you like burdening yourself with such thoughts.”

Her light laughter rings out through the night. “Not empathy, Ves. Curiosity. Devran’s decisions are his to make, and hold no effect upon me. But I am intrigued by what factors may have influenced him to make them.”

Her head snaps forward, her pace quickening.

“This way. We’re close,” she says with a fleeting glance over her shoulder.

Ylara breaks into a sprint, and I give her a judging glare before doing the same.

Too fast.

My time here is going by too fast.

Voices ahead reach me as I watch Ylara dip right, through an open gate and out of sight. Rushing to catch up to her, I slow as I pass through seconds later. I’d expected an alley or another street, not an open courtyard.

My head swings right. Not just any courtyard, it seems.

But a courtyard between Castle Erus and the Moon Temple.

Several yards ahead, Ylara approaches a massive crowd, split down the center, standing at the base of the Moon Temple stairs. On her left stand at least fifty people dressed in silver robes, their hoods raised. On her right, fifty more, in black.

The voices, it had been them.

The sound of their prayers, spoken in unison.

Prayer? In the dead of night?

My innate screams at the base of my skull as I trail behind Ylara. She makes her way up the stairs, toward the four black-robed figures standing behind a waist-high platform. Lying upon it, a silver-robed mortal.

I’m not familiar with Celesta’s demands upon her devoted. Nor do I care to learn, but something about this sits heavily in my stomach. The only things I know about Celesta are things I’ve overheard Netharis mention in passing to the Layer Lords.

According to the god of death, Celesta is a capricious female, the perfect creature to embody the moon and its ever-changing phases. She’s known as the goddess of change to some mortals, the goddess of deceit to others. Taking what I know of her with a hefty dose of skepticism, I can’t help but wonder what kind of mortals would devote their lives to such a goddess.

A hundred pairs of hands shoot above their heads, startling me.

“Her light illuminate our heart,” those in silver speak.

“Her shadow reveal our path,” those in black counter.

Repeating the same beck and call, it becomes a rhythmic chant. It fills the courtyard, the night, and resonates within my chest. It doesn’t feel right to witness this.

I feel like an intruder.