Page 164 of As Above, So Below

With a callous shrug, Netharis’ eyes move to Tanila.

“What about you, Tanila?” he croons with a sly grin. “Kill Vestaris, and I’ll give you whatever it is you most desire… which…” his eyes narrow, and he chuckles, “looks like is the Sovereign King of Erus.” Netharis laughs, pulling himself away from the table, shaking his head. “Aim higher, Tanila.”

Tanila begins to stammer, her face stained with red as she quickly lowers her gaze to her hands in her lap.

“Think about it, darling, and get back to me,” he muses in playful tones as he moves to stand beside his chair. “I always deliver on my promises. Don’t I, Rowen?”

Rowen purses his lips, swallowing hard as he stares at the place setting before him. Slinging an arm over the back of the seat, Netharis props himself casually against it. Behaving as if he were a casual friend joining us for dinner, despite the tensioned atmosphere of the room.

“The integrity of mortals is a fickle thing,” he says, curling his fingers to inspect his nails. “But I’m sure I’ll find one who will take me up on my offer. And who knows, maybe your friends will become more eager following the eclipse.”

Knowing Netharis as I do, his words are a veiled threat.

“Do anything to harm them, and I will give Celesta what she needs to free herself of you.” I fling myself upright, rage overriding my fear.

Netharis laughs with his surprise, brows raised. The sound crawls along my skin, causing it to pebble.

“If you’re foolish enough to do that, then you deserve the chaos she will unleash.” His eyes narrow as he huffs his disapproval through his nose. “You have until the eclipse to return to me, otherwise I’ll turn Ollora to ash.”

Hellfire swirls around him, and in a flash he vanishes.

Gone.

No trace he’d ever sat at the end of the table threatening the lives of tens of thousands of mortals, aside from the stench of the hells lingering in the air. As I sink into my seat, the table erupts withpanicked questions, guards rush into the room, and all I can focus on lies upon the table, beside my plate.

A gilded knife, gleaming in the light.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

My life inexchange for the souls of Ollora, of the whole of Erus.

What makes my soul worth more than any other?

And why is Netharis so hellbent on keeping me under his control?

It can’t simply be a matter of his pride. It’s not like I’m the heir of the hells. I’ve never mattered to Netharis. Why do I matter now?

His pride cannot bethisfallible.

Sitting on the floor before the fireplace, the piece of wood I’d added causes glowing sparks to float up, riding the flames into the chimney. I watch them as they vanish, either dying out or rising out of view.

No amount of heat is chasing away the numbness I feel, and I find no glimmers of hope to guide me away from my descent into darkness. I lose myself in the dancing flames, staring through them as I plunge into my thoughts. Growing orange flames lick at the wood, marring it black.

In the end, the wood will change.

It will be rendered so wholly different with no chance of ever returning to what it once was—ash.

I am the log.

Netharis the flame.

In less than twenty-four hours, I will be standing in the hells awaiting the horrors my father has in store as reward for my behavior. I’ll be punished for my escape, for the death of Kassil, for standing against him at every possible crossroads.

I know in my bones I need to be ready for imprisonment.

Again.

My skin crawls with the thought as my innate folds in on itself, creating a tight ball in the pit of my stomach. If I remain, if I continue to fight, he will send demons into the living realm to kill and send my siblings to collect.