The kettle of my irritation had begun to whistle. I saw the shift in her expression as she watched my internal scream, no matter how level I kept my tone. “The implication that I, as Hell’s Prince, would report to an unknown imp on the most important day of our legacy is an insult I hadn’t expected. Did my sister send you?”
“Your father,” she said, still a mask of indifference. “He believes in my impartial delivery, even if he isn’t privy to this particular council.”
“Thanks for the vote of no confidence, Father,” I mumbled.
Her black-painted lips twitched. “This is a ‘lose to use’ ratio, Your Highness. I have a gift we can both use, and nothing I care about can be taken, should you retaliate. Strip me of my title, should I fail, I have none. Should I provoke you, would you murder my partner and children? My singleness precedes you. Kill my parents? My family? I was an orphan on the glass-shattered sidewalk of an infernal orphanage. Kill me? I’m an imp in a kingdom that claims to stand against Heaven, yet who is the highest in power?”
My entire body clenched, tensed, readied, against the insult.
“The King of Hell is a fallen angel. Half of the demons with a royal title are fallen angels. Heaven still has a vice grip down here. You were born in Hell, and spared from Heaven’s stink, Your Highness. So, listen to me, or don’t. We’ll both die if I’m wrong. And I’m not interested in dying today.”
I felt my brows knit. My shoulders moved. My lips flattened. My fingers twitched at my cuffs.
“Say your piece, then leave.”
“Before you roll your eyes—” She was right. I’d begun to cuff my jacket as she caught my expression. She continued, “We’re sure you love your kingdom. But the lasting, respectful, loyal, deeply-felt love you have for Hell is at risk against the erratic, passionate, dangerously irrational love for your human.
“You hate the politics and strategy of it all—no, don’t bother denying it. You’re an unwilling participant. So, don’t do the political song and dance for you. Do it for me. Because I’m about to help you get what you want, while appeasing a room of vultures from dozens of pantheons calling for your head.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Or don’t. Let them kill the Prince of Hell. Let them murder your human. Never see her again. See her, but only in secret, and watch as they catch you. Ignore your human, and see which gods are willing to risk their wellbeing if it means drawing you out of Hell. Be with her, love her, and see how they use it against you. We can fix that here and now.”
I don’t think I’d had a staring contest before this moment.
The imp relished the unblinking challenge. Her moxie won me over. I relented. “You think you’ve solved it?”
Tzipporah exhaled. She lifted her tablet. “There are four things I need you to do.”
She awaited a second wave of obstinance. Instead, I gestured for her to continue.
“First, you offer no apologies. Not at any point. Not to any god. Not to any other members of the Infernal Court. Not even to your father. They want you to feel like you’re on trial. We can’t let them have that.”
A strong start, I had to admit. I headed to the desk and motioned for her to take a seat. She gave the chair the same bored look she’d given me earlier. I perched on the wooden ledge and nodded for her to continue.
“Second, you’ll acknowledge the prophecy. It doesn’t matter how you say it. Tell them you’ve heard the legends. Tell them you understand the lore. Explain that you’re on the same page, conceptually. Find those most affected by this new religion and its spread: the Phoenicians and their usurped land, the Romans and their smashed temples. The Gauls, Franks, and Bretonshave been watching this monotheistic faith spread. Everywhere it goes, it tears down temples, builds houses of worship, leaves robed monks, and erases centuries of power and tradition from the regional deities. Look them in the eye and tell them you understand their outrage. They’ve watched pantheons fall and they’re afraid.”
I looked toward my chamber door as if staring into the stadium.
“Who’s out there?”
“All of them,” she said. “The angry. The fallen. The usurped.”
I drummed my fingers against the desk. “So…eight, nine pantheons?”
“Allof them,” she repeated. “A representative from the Shinto pantheon, an ambassador from the Orisha, a spokesperson for the Mayans. I even believe Nanook is in the audience, should you spot an enormous bear.”
She continued to list gods and names, the likes of which I’d never heard. Those personally impacted by the new religion’s spread, like our friends in Canaan and the enraged Grecians, had come for their pound of flesh. Deities from other corners of the world, or at least the appointed fae spokesperson from their pantheon, were a surprise.
“What’s the third thing?”
She looked down at her scroll, then turned it around for me to see.
Five blocky words took up the entire page.
Tzipporah anticipated my visceral response. She took a casual step out of the way as I pushed off from the desk.
I had one low, growling, argumentative syllable out before she lifted a finger.
