Page 10 of Wings of Darkness (Daughter of the Seven Circles #2)

Chapter

Seve n

LUCILLE

G eneral Ronen led us to the second-floor library. We paused at the entrance. The gold-framed doors towered from carpet to ceiling, inlaid with a red, black, and white mosaic. I frowned at the intricate glass pieces.

The mosaic depicted an unsettling image of a demon and his victim.

At first glance, it looked like a sensual embrace—the demon about to kiss the female—until I noticed the rows of razor-sharp teeth pressed into her flesh. Black glass formed a network of veins spreading from the puncture site, echoing the veins crawling up the back of the demon’s neck.

I couldn’t distinguish their faces—only her long back hair and uniform, and his short white locks, suit, and curling horns .

“If Hell doesn’t contain demons, why is there a whole doorway portraying one?”

Oliver glanced at me, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Where do you see a demon?”

I gestured toward the doors. “Right there.”

General Ronen turned, his eyebrows raised in silent question.

“You don’t see it?” I asked them. “The demon, biting her?”

Oliver looked concerned and reached out, placing his hand against my forehead. “Do you need more rest?”

I swatted his hand away. “I’m fine.”

Neither of them saw it, and I couldn’t make sense of that. Oliver’s concern was tangible, but General Ronen looked confused, as if debating whether to comment or simply move on.

Before either could speak, the heavy doors creaked open with a groan, revealing a bald male in white and gold robes. His sharp gaze locked onto mine with unnerving intensity.

I didn’t like that.

The bald male dipped his chin to General Ronen. “Leave us.”

“With pleasure.”

The general snapped his fingers and pointed toward the door. Rune sat, her eyes fixed on her master.

He gave her a brief nod before turning, not sparing us a second glance. Poor guy. Dropping off the hellion must’ve been traumatizing. Now he could enjoy his miserable life in peace. Considering how much of a struggle it had been to escort us one floor down, he deserved the day off—maybe a massage.

We followed the bald male through the door. As it closed, I heard Rune whine, her head peeking through the narrowing gap .

“Rune, you know the rules. Stay,” General Ronen barked down the hall.

Rune’s head dropped, and she obediently sat back out of view.

My chest tightened. The doors shut, and I turned my attention back to the bald male. “Why can’t she come in?” I asked.

“I don’t allow any creatures, food, or thieving hands in my library,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact as he continued his purposeful walk.

Of course the grumpy male didn’t.

We walked along white marbled floors, past towering dark shelves packed with books in every imaginable color. Gilded labels glinted from the glass orbs dangling overhead, each flickering with fire.

The romantic atmosphere of the library tugged at the corner of my lips. I tilted my head back, following the rows of books up to the skylight.

“Lucille and the Nephilim.”

My head jerked back down, finding the king standing near a table, clasping the bald male’s arm.

“He does have a name, you know,” I chided.

“This is Cato, our Throne. In writing, he can distinguish between fact and lies and retains everything he reads. He’ll be teaching you the ins and outs of our world. When you’re not with him, you’ll be with me, learning about control,” the king said, completely disregarding my comment.

Control? Should he be the one teaching me about control when he almost pulverized us with his ice yesterday ?

He must’ve seen the attitude on my face because he stepped closer, his white-ringed eyes burning into mine. “Make no mistake, Lucille—I am not Michael. But I am the King of Hell, and any grief you give me will be repaid in your training.”

“Understood,” I bit out.

He smiled knowingly, then nodded. “Before I leave you with Cato, you and the Nephilim need blood-bands, and you need an Evanescent Rune.”

“A what and a what?” Oliver asked.

My thoughts exactly. Not sure I wanted either.

Cato lifted the sleeve of his robe, revealing a thin red band of ink.

“He’s as tall and scrawny as I am. Maybe I should shave my head and become a Throne,” Oliver whispered in my ear.

I elbowed him in the stomach, smirking at his gasp of outrage. The king ignored our antics and pointed at the tattoo.

“That, Nephilim, is the only way you don’t cease to exist or cycle to the lowest level of Hell. Assuming you don’t want to be burned alive for an infinite number of years, I’d think you’d want the blood-band.”

“Now that you mention it, I think red really goes well with my green eyes. I’ll take it,” Oliver said, nodding like he was possessed.

“And me?”

“My blood and will allow certain beings to reside in my lands. Seeing as you are my blood, there’s potential you don’t need it, but I’d rather not take the risk.”

Sounded like a good enough reason. “Okay.”

“I’ll be taking that blood-band now.” Oliver held out his arm .

The king’s lips lifted in a cunning smile. Pulling a knife from a sheath at his side, he slit his palm. Cato drew a stick from his pocket with a needle on the end, dipped it in the king’s blood, and stabbed Oliver with it.

“Fuck-a-duck, that hurts,” Oliver exclaimed as Cato continued.

Blood -band. Right.

Cato finished Oliver’s tattoo and wrapped it in a strip of thin material. “Every six months, you’ll need it redone,” he told Oliver, moving to me and pulling up my sleeve.

I winced at the first bloody poke. “And the Evanescent Rune?”

“A disguise,” the king explained. “You are one of a kind. The knowledge of who you are and how you came to be could be dangerous—not just for you, but for your mother and this realm. I don’t want any redeemed soul sharing information with the Seraphim when they ascend, or for the Damned Souls to use you to get to me.

The Evanescent Rune will hide the white ring in your eyes from everyone who doesn’t know who you are. ”

“Damned Souls?” I asked, watching and wincing with each stab of Cato’s needle.

“Souls dark enough to be sent to the lowest circle. There, they burn endlessly, choking on the stench of their flesh until the Hordes of Hell consume them,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Lately, we’ve seen more of them in our circle.”

“And that’s not normal,” I surmised, noting the strain in his expression.

“No. I reside in the Redemption Circle—the final circle, where souls are purified on their way to Heaven. Most won’t risk anything to prevent their ascension. But in the last few years, Damned Souls have been sneaking through, causing havoc.”

Sneaking through. So, he didn’t know how they were getting in.

“What kind of havoc?”

The corners of his eyes tightened, and his white rings flashed with light.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to.

Damned Souls were condemned to burn forever in unending torture by his hand.

Add that to the fact they were corrupted enough to be sent there in the first place, and I could only imagine the horrors they’d wrought in this circle.

Horrors they were still causing, considering he hadn’t figured out how they were getting in.

No, I didn’t want them to know I was the Princess of Hell either.

Knowing he wouldn’t answer, I brought up another issue just as Cato finished my tattoo.

“What about Michael? He knows. He’ll tell the Seraphim.”

The king’s nostrils flared. “The Seraphim would demand proof of his tale. Proof we won’t give them.

Only the people in this room, Saraqael, and General Ronen will know you are a born angel and the Princess of Hell.

To everyone else, you’ll be a warrior in training, attempting to prove yourself and work off your debt to stay in my castle. ”

“And Oliver? What’s his cover story?”

“Your companion is sharing the same debt.”

The funny thing about our cover story was that we really were going to train—and since the general hated me, we would probably train hard .

Cato wrapped my blood-band, and the king took out an angelic feather .

“What do you know about angelic feathers?” he asked, his gaze skeptical.

“Only Archangels and Seraphim have them, and they’re used to carve runes.”

He paused briefly. I’d surprised him.

“Yes. They are the only feathers pulled from our wings, forever dipped in Heaven’s inkwell. They can only be used by an Archangel or Seraphim. Any other angel who attempts to use one risks killing themselves—even the Dark Seraphim, since he is of a different breed entirely.”

“The Dark Seraphim?” I asked.

The humorless smile on the king’s face did nothing to calm the nerves that name stirred.

“General Ronen.”

I swallowed.

The king walked around me and pulled down the collar of my sweatshirt. He dug his feather into my shoulder and carved.

“What is a Dark Seraphim?” Oliver asked while I tried not to cringe or squeak in pain.

“A Seraphim with wings as black and deadly as his powers—representing the corruption of souls.”

“His shadows don’t seem that deadly,” Oliver mused.

The king chuckled. That wasn’t a good sign.

He finished the curling rune, wiped at the tender spot, and released my sweatshirt just as Cato dropped three thick books on the table.

“Books on runes, Hell, and Elora, like you asked, Sir.” Cato bowed .

The king nodded. “I have souls to judge. So today, you and the Nephilim will read. Tomorrow, you’ll train with the Tormentors. And the next day, I’ll see what information you retained.”

“You expect us to get through all three of these in a day?” I asked, eyeing the books. Each one was the width of my head.

“You should’ve already learned this by now,” the king replied, his voice clipped.

I opened my mouth, ready to explain my lack of education, but before I could speak, he cut me off.

“How old are you?”

The metal table and Michael’s birthday gifts flashed in my mind, and I swallowed, fighting the pounding in my chest. “Twenty.”

His eyes narrowed, considering my words. Then he spoke, each sentence calculated.

“Angels begin their instruction on the language of runes during their seventh year of creation. They have it mastered by their eighth year. Have you mastered the language of runes?”

Heat rose to my cheeks. I didn’t like where this was going. “No.”

“Angels study the dynamics of each dimensional world and retain all the information by their fourteenth year. Do you know anything about Hell, besides what I’ve told you?”

I dug my nails into my palms until they ached. “No.”

“Angels diligently practice and hone their powers every day, and most have them mastered by their eighteenth year. Do you ?”

My frustration boiled with each jab. It wasn’t my fault! My mother kept me from all of this. She’d done everything in her power to hide it from me.

“Angels— ”

“I’m not an angel!” I yelled, the words leaping from my mouth before I could stop them. I was born on Earth and raised as a human. I didn’t have wings. I wasn’t created.

The king stepped into my space, his eyes glinting with icy flame.

“No, you are my daughter. As your father and king, I will raise you as I see fit—seeing as I lost twenty years of that. Heaven only knows why.” His voice grew cold, cutting through the air. “Begin your studies.”

With that, he stalked out of the library. I stood there, feeling the weight of his words press down on me like a heavy stone.

“Read,” Cato drawled, his robes swooshing across the pristine white floors before he faded into the sea of books.

I’d forgotten he was even there, along with Oliver, who threw an arm over my shoulder.

“I get it now why your father employs assholes. He is one,” he declared, bumping me with his hip.

I gave Oliver a small smile. Maybe. But the king wasn’t wrong.

Sighing, I sat at the table and pulled over the second-largest book: The History of Hell and Its Creation.

Oliver grabbed a different one: Elora, Hell, and Heaven: The Three Celestial Dimensions.

“Seeing as there’s no way we’ll finish reading these thousand-page books in one day, I say we read some and then go find breakfast.”

“Okay, but we’ll probably have to sneak out and make it quick,” I said, resigned.

The silence stretched, and I lifted my head to find Oliver watching me.

“He’s right, Oliver.”

Understanding flickered across his face. He squeezed my hand before we dove into our books.