Page 5 of As Above, So Below

I’ve stood on this balcony countless times. Especially since that night on the battlefield. I stopped attending court, escaped Kassil, abandoned Druka, and withdrew.

To this library, wanting to learn.

Needing to figure out what kind of anomaly that fae is.

Meetinghimset off a chain of events that has left me desperate to escape the hells but lost as to how. I haven’t seen him since then, and at least now the dream isn’t nightly. It comes and goes every few months, but it’s just enough to remind me if Netharis won’t grant me the ability to leave, then finding a means to end my existence is the next closest thing.

I’ve nit-picked over every detail, every uttered word, every possible meaning and have yet to find an answer that makes sense. A mortal capable of seeing or perhaps evenstandingwithin the veil shouldn’t be possible. Despite scouring this library, I’ve yet to understand howhepossesses that ability.

He didn’t strike me as a necromancer.

Necromancy is forbidden acrossEldoterra.

While it’s gotten easier to let the fae fade into the back of my mind, the mornings following the dream leave me ruined. Irritable, unable to focus, and mourning a life I’ll never have.

The dream is nothing more than a reminder of my place in the hells, and a sore reminder at that. I exist to serve my father, the god of death. And that fae—it’s a matter of time before his name shows up on a reaping list, I’m sure of it.

I’ll never see it. His name will never make any of my reaping lists. Netharis stopped giving me high profile souls as a result of that night. Punishment for losing control of my shadows and killing twenty-two soldiers.

They were bound to die anyway.

But Netharis doesn’t like to draw the attention of the goddess of Fate.

I lied about the fae that night when Netharis questioned me. I don’t know why. In the end, it didn’t matter. I shared what happened with Vaelyn, my twin, believing our bond as siblings was stronger than his allegiance to the hells.

I was wrong.

Retreating from the balcony in search of better distraction, I stride into the library. In here, I can lose myself in thousands of books, tomes, scrolls—written histories, the comfort of silence, and the silver glow of magelights. Here, I don’t have to think about my existence and how much I want it to end. In here, I’m not simply a tool Netharis uses to tip the scales of judgment in his favor.

This library is my one last respite.

And gods know how much longer I’ll have access to it. Netharis’ swift and unforgiving temper has stripped me of nearly all joys I’ve managed to uncover in the hells.

Sweeping past the unkempt rows of shelves stacked with books, scrolls, obsidian boxes, and soul-filled crystals, I make for the center of the room. The light shed by the souls follows my movement, swinging from one side of their crystalline prisons to the other. Some bounce excitedly, as if trying to draw my attention.

I ignore them.

We want the same thing, these souls and I.

We’re all trapped here. I could free them, smash their crystals, set them loose within the hells. And in no time they would be found by one of the millions of prowling demons. Freeing them would be damning. There are worse things in the hells than being trapped in this library with me.

They may not believe it, but they’re safer here.

The soul crystals are everywhere—overburdening shelves, stacked in corners, piled on books. Some so ancient their red glow has faded, obscured by a thick layer of sulfuric dust. The light they cast creates pockets of red between the shelves, giving the aisle a pulsing, ominous hue.

“I am not sorry to disappoint,” I mutter to myself, to the crystals as I round a corner. “I’m no savior.”

No. I’m far from it.

Each crystal was once a living, breathing entity. They lived a life, walked in the living realm. Perhaps they had families, or lovers, interests and preferences. Human or fae, possibly some demon souls linger here as well. With their voices lost upon death, they now spend eternity here, subjected to Netharis’ neglect.

What I would give to be forgotten by him.

I’m forced to slip around a stack of books I’d left in the middle of the path, careful not to topple the curated pile I created. Random stacks and piles serve as a reminder—I need to return the titles to their shelf.

Not today.

Tucking my wings against me, I weave around yet another waist high stack. Before long, the familiar wooden table in the center of the library comes into view. It’s an intricately carved thing. Dark ebony wood, thick legs carved to resemble the skulls of various creatures from the living realm. Humans, Fae, werewolves, vampires… All horrors in their own ways.