Page 66 of As Above, So Below

I’d expected black, as it had been in the hells.

Or perhaps even red, the color I’ve seen mortals to have.

Notsilver.

What kind of living creature has silver blood?

The silver begins to rise, lifting off my hand, floating toward the ceiling. It beads together like water as it wafts upward. Whispers and murmurs begin to rise from the crowd, and I can feel their eyes turn to me.

Glancing down the line, the red blood of the others does the same. Along the line, shapes are formed in blood.

Circles and crescents.

Our placement into the sects, I realize.

Above me, a silver crescent hovers, higher than the rest of the initiates. Celesta has labeled me as one of her witches. The realization pulls a sardonic scoff from my chest.

All the blood evaporates, and the crowd erupts with cheering. Clapping, whistling, shouting—it overwhelms my senses and I grimace, shrinking away from the sound as I pull my hands close.

“Welcome into the fold, brothers and sisters,” Artemise’s voice cuts through the crowd with a surprising ease. “Now let us celebrate!”

As the line breaks and the new members scatter, joining the crowd, Artemise approaches me, a stern look on her face.

“It’s a good thing the Sovereign King isn’t here after all,” she whispers, her voice barely audible even to my fae ears. “I failed to consider you having the blood of a demigod.”

She takes my hand, unfurling my fingers to peer at the silver stain across my palm. With pursed lips, she huffs a sigh.

“Yet another thing you will have to hide, Vestaris,” she says softly. “I’m sorry.”

She lifts her eyes, meeting my stare. “Go wash your hand, and then join us in the garden,” she instructs before stepping away, robes swishing behind her.

With a meager nod, I begin toward the left side of the sanctum, toward the hall leading to the eastern wing where my quarters lie. As the heavy wooden door swings closed behind me, the cacophony of the sanctum falls away, becoming muted.

My racing heart begins to slow.

The hall lies empty, unlike earlier in the day, and I’m reminded of the hells. Despite the bright white marble contrasting the black obsidian of the tower, the emptiness resonates all the same. Unlike the Tower, dread does not weave its way into my chest as I begin forward.

In its place is an unexpected sense of peace. Whether it be a lingering effect of the blood oath or having escaped a room filled with over a hundred mortals, I can’t be sure.

As I approach my bedroom door, voices fromfarther down the hall catch my attention. A figure darts across the hall at the end, where the northern and eastern wings meet—a flash of silver robes and dark red hair. Excited feminine laughter trails behind as she streaks past.

Seconds later another figure crosses, at a much slower pace. Robed entirely in black, his cloak billows behind them. A fae male, with a rather striking profile. Midnight black hair that falls to his shoulders.

As I watch, he crosses the eastern wing, following his silver-robed counterpart. And as if he could feel my stare, his head turns and for a sliver of time, our eyes meet before he vanishes into the northern wing.

Eyes of ochre?

Perhaps copper. An unusual color to be sure.

Too brief a moment at too far a distance to be certain.

Opening the door to my room, I cross the threshold to the bathing room. Throwing forward one of the small handles to the faucet, I stare at my reflection as I scrub at my hand.

A face so like mine, yet entirely different, stares back at me.

If I had been allowed to live, I wouldn’t have known any other face.

Thiswould be the Vestaris I know.