I swallowed back my curses, the lingering scream clawing up my throat, and slumped back in my chair, defeated.
Averting my gaze to my red knuckles, I admitted, “My mom has two months to be released from her anchor or she’ll be gone forever. No peace. No afterlife. Nothing.”
“A disembodied soul,” Cato said, as if answering his own question.
“How do I release her from her anchor?” I asked, pleading for the answers that’d ease this ongoing pain.
“Children were never meant to bear the choices of their parents,” Cato remarked softly.
Did my desire to help my mom somehow garner sympathy from the normally detached angel? “And yet we still do. Now, how do I do it?” I demanded. “What is her anchor?”
“Hell’s gates, like the rest of the disembodied souls here. Once they open, they’ll release her to Limbo. But if her soul is meant for Hell, and the gates are again closed, she could become a lost soul if she lingers too long in Limbo.”
He actually told me for once, and I wished he hadn’t.
The gates not only had to open, but stay open. No one had figured out why Hell’s gates were closed or why they opened when they did—if they did. How was I supposed to figure out the answer when those who had been here longer and understood this world better couldn’t? What hope was there?
“She chose to give me all her energy, and I chose to take it to save them. I killed her. I killed my mom, and she won’t even exist after two months.” My voice cracked as the words kept tumbling out. “Maybe if she would’ve just told me everything from the beginning, we wouldn’t be here! She had all these damned secrets she wouldn’t tell me. She—she—” I flung a hand out at Cato, my thoughts a hysterical mess. “She even had secrets about you!”
I jerked my head up to the skylight, to the starless night. My chest compressed, and I remembered her revelations before she died. They poured out of me but weren’t directed at Cato. I practically screamed them at my mother, wishing she could hear me.
“Tell the grouchy old male in the library to stop being afraid and mentor you? Tell him ‘I need to start at the beginning?’ To find Miriam? Aspen’s freaking mom, who was burned alive byMarcus? That’s what you wanted? We could’ve found another way! You gave up! You didn’t even give me a chance to save you! And I let you!”
I gasped, but air wouldn’t come. I couldn’t breathe. I pressed a hand to my chest as Hell’s starless sky mocked me. My vision swam with specks. I was about to pass out until a gentle hand touched my shoulder.
Cato’s expression, although still somewhat dry, held sympathy. It wasn’t the kind strangers gave you, imagining they knew what loss felt like. No. His sympathy contained a sad understanding. The signs were subtle. But I could see it in the slight downturn of his lip, his lowered head, and I could feel it in his hand as he squeezed my shoulder. Over the last few weeks, Cato couldn’t be bothered to talk to me, and now the old, bald librarian was trying to comfort me.
He was doing what I wished Lucifer had. But I squashed whatever hope I had for having a relationship with my father. He hated me now. Probably would rather see me dead than alive.
“You have the means to see her again.”
I frowned up at him. “How?”
Grieving as I was, I figured Cato would be merciful and spell everything out in detail. But no. The time for simple answers had passed. Instead, he responded the way he had for the past two months—by luscelering away and then coming back to drop a book on my table.
The book stood out against the pile behind it. Cracks wove through the brown leather encasing the pages, and unlike the glue that bound most of the books I’d read together, this one appeared sewn. I unwrapped the leather cord holding it closed and opened to the first yellowing page.
Throne History
Recorded by High Archivist Cato
“How does this…”My voice trailed off as I glanced up at the empty spot where Cato had stood. I guess his sympathy had an expiration. Isighed, gently turning the crackling page. I was almost nervous it’d fall apart in my hands.
On the second page, in the very center, there were three sentences:
One word could shorten a lifespan.
One action could destroy a kingdom.
We observe to know, not to change.
The paragraph was a warning,but I wasn’t sure for what. It seemed a bit dramatic if it was simply warning about life itself.
I turned to the next page titledIntroduction,and in big, bold letters beneath it appeared the wordThrone, followed by a large description. I had half a mind to skip it. I already knew what a Throne was. But something nagged at me to continue reading. Cato may refrain from giving me straight information, but he usually had a good reason to give me a book to read.
The first paragraph described things I already knew about Thrones, but the last shook the entire foundation of my knowledge.
There is one name we define ourselves by, a term we hide from all others. The term carries a power too tempting for our brothers and sisters to bear. So we, the Thrones, bury it beneath falsehoods. We tell them it’s a dark power—born of demons and dark angels, sinful, punishable. We alter the truth to shield ourselves. Knowledge always exacts a price, and ours is paid in the burden of witnessing the past and present while keeping them unchanged. That is the weight we carry as dream-walkers.
