Page 181 of As Above, So Below

But we’re not left with any other choice.

Everything I aim to do hinges on a goddess known for her capriciousness. If she decides not to honor the agreement and I return to the hells without the dagger, I’m fucked. All of this will have been for nothing.

The Sovereign Kings’ plan is no better. They plan to fight for as long as it takes, hoping Gaia will notice the breach and intervene.

And gods, I hope she notices quickly.

Would she let her son suffer?

Surely the goddess of life is more compassionate than the god of death.

And please, gods, don’t let Netharis get his hands on Ryc.

The thought of Ryc’s soul dragged to the hells chokes me, seizes my heart, freezes my mind with unadulterated fear.

I know what Netharis is capable of.

If Ryc ends up in thehells—

I cannot fail in this.

The small lawn below the balcony of my bedroom is filled with at least four hundred elite soldiers from Sol.

Fenryn’s country.

Their armor glimmers in the last bit of sun before it sinks below the horizon. Seeing, hearing, knowing they’re all here—it gives me hope they’ll survive.

At least survive long enough for me to reach the hells.

After that—my fingers brush against the dagger strapped to my thigh—I must end it all.

Standing on the balcony, I stare down at the garrison of soldiers below.

My eyes fall on Fenryn in their midst.

His sun-lightened, chest length hair trails in the breeze as he walks the ranks, his hands clasped behind him. He’d exchanged his finer clothing for polished silver armor and the battle axe strapped across his back. He towers over the fae around him, drawing attention without trying.

A flash of crimson catches my eye. Lilith weaves through the soldiers, headed toward Fenryn. She moves with a nimbleness I hadn’t expected, and she’s dressed in fighting leathers of her own.

My jaw tightens.

Even Lilith is going to fight?

Why?

How can a dreamweaver stand against a demon?

A touch on the small of my back swings my head to the right, meeting the gaze of Ryc. I smile instantly as warmth floods my veins. My heart seizes as I recognize what he’s wearing.

It’s the same platinum armor he’d worn during the Dividing War—the same armor I’d seen him in the night we met. The warmth I’d felt seconds ago dissipates, replaced by a mixture of icy fear and heartache.

It hurts me to look at him, knowing what I know.

It kills me not to tell him, but he would find a way to stop me. I can feel it in my bones. I suck in a deep breath and bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling. This all feels full circle. Ends meeting and joining as woven by the goddess of Fate.

Damn her.

Damn her and her eight legs in all of this.