I was drawn to the sections about the King of Hell—how he analyzed the depths of souls before deciding whether to send them to a circle or redeem them. After all, he was my father. I wanted tounderstand the male who not only made my birth possible but whose land we were stuck in.
“Did you find anything useful?”
Oliver froze. “Uh…” He dragged his finger across line after line. “Maybe. It says that Hell has a lake that acts as a portal to different dimensions, but it doesn’t state the dimensions.” He checked the previous few pages and the ones ahead. “It doesn’t elaborate on the dimensions anywhere.”
“We should ask Cato,” I suggested.
Oliver hummed. “Can we trust him not to report to your father that we’re looking into Portal Lake without asking why?”
I grimaced. “Fine. Then who else could we ask?”
“Someone who isn’t close to the king or the general.”
“And that’d be?”
Oliver ran a hand through his wild two-toned bangs, having no answer.
Right. “We’ll just have to ask him for more books on Hell.”
“Yeah, okay. What have you been reading?”
“Not much besides how the king judges souls and everything you’d never want to know about the Seven Circles of Hell.”
Saying the words aloud brought to mind another piece of Miriam’s prophecy:
There once was a daughter of seven circles, hidden, protected, avoiding the hurdles.
That part came true. But that didn’t mean the rest of her prophecy would. Clearly, the king didn’t want me dead, or else I would be.
“Like?” Oliver prompted, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I found the perfect paragraph to read for him. “Like… The Scission Circle—the sixth circle of Hell—favors slicing and maiming. The lord and his servants preside over the circle and take particular pleasure in using their sharp instruments on sinful souls—especially rapists. For males, the Scission Lord bludgeons the balls until they are pulp, then skins the pen?—”
“Yep, nope.” Oliver stole my book, slammed it shut, and handed me the third book we’d yet to touch. “Time for something lighter.”
There was nothing light about the third book—Celestial Powers, Weaponry, and Warfare.
We read late into the night, then trucked up to bed with Rune as our escort. Once snuggled under my sheets, I stared into my fireplace, ruminating on thoughts of escape and Aspen until my eyes closed.
I beheld the tall,ivy-woven arches with a sinking stomach. I didn’t want to be here. My heart still ached from Aspen’s cruel words. But I had little control over my dream-walks.
“Lucille?”
I stiffened, my pulse ratcheting. Cringing from the course field grass, I slowly turned toward his voice.
He stood beneath the oak tree. His dark uniform and cloak billowed in the breeze among the tree’s falling leaves.
“Aspen,” I said, wary. A strange urge screamed at me to go to him, but I held myself back.
He gave me a small smile. It seemed genuine, but I’d been fooled by him before. As he stepped closer, I instinctively backed away. A sharp rock stabbed the arch of my foot, and I lost my balance.
Aspen luscelered forward, catching me before I could hit the ground. He steadied me as I drank in his blue eyes—eyes that held no anger, no disgust. They were filled with concern and disbelief. As if he couldn’t believe I was real.
“See? I catch you when you fall,” he whispered. His calloused hands tingled against my bare skin. I glanced at his wrist, finding only white scars from previous inactive runes. The Hell Runes were gone.
“But—how? I don’t understand.” My head spun, trying to reconcile the Aspen before me with the one from before.
He righted me, and I winced, wishing I’d dreamt up shoes—or anything other than what I’d fallen asleep in. Barefoot in tight boyshorts and a strappy camisole, I had little protection from the goosebumps raised by the cool breeze or rough field grass beneath my toes.
