Page 20 of As Above, So Below

Lord of Death. It reads.

I wear the same runes. They’re inked in black upon the skin behind my left ear.Vessel of Death, it states. It’s a brand I keep hidden with my hair. Of the tens of thousands of Houses in the hells, Netharis’ is not the one I would have chosen for myself—were I given a choice.

“You’re lucky Ylara came to me when she did,” he says, bracing himself over his desk.

He glances over the multitude of papers scattered across it between his hands. Half-drafted contracts, lists of names, letters from various powerful demons. Shifting a few papers aside, he releases a long sigh.

Of course Ylara would have gone to him right away.

I don’t blame her. She needed to protect herself.

Lowering himself into his seat, he taps a long taloned finger against his desk. The sound rings in my ears, a resoundingtap, tap…tap, tap.It eats away at the silence betweenus.

I hate it.

My innate begins to scream, wanting to lash out and bind his hand, break his finger. Anything to get him to stop. Clenching my jaw harder, I fight against the demonic urge. Something like that will land me another decade in an obsidian box. And I’d rather remain outside of them. I’m fractured enough.

Gods, the tapping is unbearable.

“Then tell me the whole of the matter,” I blurt, an attempt to focus on anything other than the noise drilling into my mind.

His finger stops mid-strike as his eyes narrow.

The silence that falls between us is heavy, laden with the threat of rage. It’s as if he’s trying to figure out what to say, and it breeds unease in my chest. Netharis has played political chess with the pantheon of gods for longer than I’ve existed, and I’ve never seen him pause like this.

“For centuries, I’ve kept you safe. Hidden from Nektos,” he explains, a glass of red wine appearing before him in a flash of hellfire. “The Fate she’s woven for you is quite cruel. It’s not something I’d want for you.”

Not somethinghewould want. How easy it is for him to disregard whatIwant.

A Fate woven by Nektos…

None of this feels real.

Today has been revelation after revelation, each one more wild than the last. First the nature of Netharis’ contract with Celesta, then being pulled through the veil, and now I learn I’m Fated. I would be daft to take Netharis at his word. The truth always lies in the things he doesn’t say.

Snagging the glass from the desk, he raises it in a toast-like gesture before drinking deeply. An indulgence borne of gluttony. Creatures of the hells don’t experience thirst or hunger, not in the mortal sense. Setting the emptied glass down, it vanishes in the same manner as it had appeared.

“Celesta’s selfish stunt leaves us in a situation where Nektos now knows it is I who has you,” he mutters, the irritation clear in his voice. “She’s trying to use you to free herself from her contract.”

How canIfree agoddessfrom a contract with the god of death?

Mind reeling, all I can do is stare at my father.

He sighs. “Now, I have a decision to make.”

Oh, no. Those words are never a good sign.

“Decision?” I ask, doing my best to quell my rising fear and panic.

“She will try to reach you again. I cannot let it happen.” He shifts in his seat, crossing a leg over the other. The chair groans under his weight. “You can no longer reap, Vestaris—”

“What?” My voice raises to a shout.

Netharis’ eyes lock with mine, his jaw tightening as my innate thrashes within me. It swirls around my anger, my fear, ballooning in my chest, causing my entire body to tense. My shadows threaten to swallow the study, consume me, Netharis and anyone else in their path.

Netharis studies me as if I were nothing more than the carcass of an imp he’s pulled from his boot. He rakes his eyes over me, leaning back in his seat, careful not to pin his wings.

“Do not be dramatic, Vestaris,” he says, giving me a lazy scowl. “You’ll be given a new role, one that doesn’t require you to leave the hells.”