“Don’t ask,” muttered Finnigan, “she killed the last person to ask her that.”
Elizabeth shut her mouth.
“Angels and demon princes create their forms from nothing. We are only spirit beings after all. Abbadon prefers the female form, as do some angels.” Finnigan said from beside her, shrugging. “Try not to talk to her, if you can avoid it.”
Abbadon was very short and skinny, with large, pointed ears and a pixie-like face. She was easily the least intimidating of the demons at the table. Elizabeth wondered why she was called the Lady of Wrath.
“Let Betsael rot for another few centuries,” Beelzebub suggested, jerking her attention back to the conversation taking place around the table. “We will get him back once the rebellion quiets.”
“Hmm, and how many resources would we expend to try and rescue him from Raziel?” Mammond asked thoughtfully.
We would have to raise a small army to siege the castle he’s being held in.
“I do not want to lose my demons and soldiers on a fool’s mission,” Abbadon spat.
Elizabeth lost track of who was speaking as the demons began to bicker.
“What do we lose if we lose Betsael?” Lucifer’s voice cut through the murmurs.
Mammond answered around a piece of steak, “We would lose his legions, the support of his household, and our guide on the surface.”
“Easy math,” Lucifer weighed in.
“Perhaps. I like Betsael, but I cannot see what the benefit would be forme, or my household,” Mammond mumbled, blood from his steak stained his lips. Nausea churned Elizabeth’s stomach as she tried masking her revulsion.
“We can elevate another.” Beelzebub shrugged. “Mucheasier than marching before we are prepared.”
“We must help him,” Asmodeus insisted. Elizabeth inwardly thanked him for asserting himself on their behalf.
“Why? There is nothing in it for us,” Mammond said.
This was met with many nods from around the table. Asmodeus remained silent. Murmurs of agreement sounded around the table.
Fear coiled in her gut.
She would never get him back.
“What would it take to get Betsael back?” she interrupted. At her words, every head in the room swivelled to her, but she didn’t let that intimidate her. “Surely, the might of all the demon princes is enough to easily snatch him back from this usurper fellow?”
“And who are you, mortal female, who asks us to go after him?” Lucifer asked.
She took a deep breath and sat up taller, raising her chin. “I’m a friend of his, as you call him. He went into the enemy castle looking for Raziel, searching for my parents’ killer. It’s my fault he was there, and I’m obligated to try and save him.”
“And? In what way will you attempt to convince us?” Lucifer sneered, his voice a deep rumble.
“I am sure he would have marched into war for any of you. You are friends, are you not?”
“He might have. He might not have; we do not know,” Belphegor said dismissively. His words came out muffled, his mouth full of roasted beaks.
“It would be the honourable thing to do, to try to rescue your friend,” she said in disbelief. She was taken aback that they needed any convincing to rescue one of their own.
“So, you are Betsael’s new pet,” crooned Abbadon.
“Er.”
“I had noticed he was on the surface more than usual of late,” she drawled, leaning forward in interest. “You, my pretty thing, are a mortal, so we will forgive your lack of understanding of our ways. Honour is anangelicvirtue. One that holds no weight with demons. We deal in obedience, fear, and power.” Impatience edged her voice. “Obedience to our household, fear to survive, and a quest for the most power we can amass for ourselves. These are the only rules we care for.”
Yes, it is fairly unheard of for a demon to go to save another when there is no benefit to us. I am tempted to leave the issue be.
