Starting with Chaos to cleanse the realms.
The birthing maids shrink into the corner of the room, shushing and clutching the tempestuous infant between them as their eyes remain fixed upon the god of death. His presence consumes the room.
“Born on Ashdown.” He flashes a cold smile as he stops near the foot of the bed. He makes a soft clicking sound with his tongue, chiding me. “It’s almost like you’retryingto offer your first-born son to the old gods.”
He knows.
My blood lights with fear and I force myself to remain tight-lipped.
He has no proof.
And he shall not as long as I don’t arm him with it.
I blink and the back of my head crashes against the headboard as his hand closes around my throat.
“You will not cost me this, Celesta,” he growls, his low voicerumbling against my chest. “Yourgod,” he sneers the word, his lip curling, “will remain dormant becauseIwill it.”
Releasing me, he perches himself upon the bed, the mattress bowing under his weight. I remain frozen, barely breathing. He snaps his fingers and two flashes of hellfire reveal two towering figures. Like Netharis, they appear mortal—fae—with the exception of their folded, red leathery wings.
Archdemons.
Soulless, heartless creatures.
“Now, you must be punished,” he says softly, folding his hands in his lap. “You could have had it all, Celesta. Stood beside me, ruled the hells, raised our children.” He shakes his head in a rueful toss.
“Never.” My whisper is a wavering one.
He holds my stare as he says, “Arzak, return the nyraphim to the heavens.”
“Nalena, run, now!”I scream through the bond.
I’m met with infuriating silence.
The taller of the two archdemons makes for the door with a curling grin on his face. Panic fueling me, I reach for the glass of water beside me and hurl it toward the door.
It flies true, but the archdemon deflects the glass, batting it out of the air. It shoots to the floor, shattering, and the birthing maids wince. The screaming demon grows louder, its wailing becoming a sharp, piercing cry. A burst of energy rattles the room, knocking books from shelves and vases from the fireplace mantle.
“Kassil, kill the vessel!” Netharis shouts the order. “Arzak, find the nyraphimnow.”
The door closes behind the archdemon as the other snatches the infant from the birthing maids while they scream in terror.
Vessel?
The flash of a black blade silences the infant’s screaming. Pulling the dagger from the bundled mass, the archdemon wipes the silver-coated weapon across his pant leg. A trail of silver smears across black.
“What have you done?” I ask, wide-eyed and bewildered.
The archdemon replies in Malbolge and the hellish sound of the language of demons grates against my skin. Netharis responds inkind and nausea blooms in my stomach.
With a swift swing of the archdemon’s arm, the birthing maids’ throats split and crimson bubbles against ivory. As their gurgled cries rise, they fall, gasping and clutching at their necks. In a swirl of hellfire, the archdemon vanishes, silent infant with him.
Too many things happen at once.
Sharp, searing pain rips through my abdomen—not a contraction.
Talons.
The demon spawn is sundering me from within.
