A month of diligent study had begun to bear fruit. My persistent study of the journals had helped me piece together most of the ancient language in which they were written. But knowing the words was not the same as comprehending their meaning.

  The scope of their ideas, and the rapid rate at which they bounced between them, grew in proportion to their penmanship. Though the words were more easily read, more of them were crammed together, written from margin to margin with scarcely any room between them. Still, despite the challenges, I was getting a clearer picture of the Fellbeasts.

  There were more than just the three species I’d seen. Hundreds, in fact, though most of them were noted to have been wiped out over the years. Fascinating as it was to see the various shapes and sizes — from colossal and grotesque to minuscule and strangely beautiful — I found myself most interested in their more absurd quirks.

  Dreadtusks, it was written, had a taste for alcohol and would often get drunk when raiding taverns. They became quite docile, almost playful, when intoxicated, and there were records of them wallowing for hours in beds of flowers until sobered up.

  Rotflies were naturally quite lazy, but could be trained to perform simple tasks with treats or rot baths. In colder temperatures, they grew sleepy and would bury themselves in any thick, viscous liquid, preferring those with a stronger scent — both pleasant and foul — over more neutral ones.

  And foolwyrms, they were more than menacing tricksters. The journal spoke of their fondness for children, providing them not with illusory traps or trauma, but with delightful entertainment. One such incident involved a foolwyrm that became something of a pet for a small village in a lost nation called Uni’staaht, never harming a soul until it was discovered by a passing Hero.

  “What purpose do such quirks serve?” That question left me befuddled. Lord Genesis had told me himself that he was the source of all Fellbeasts. Given his self-confessed destructive nature, what reason was there for his minions to be more than mindless beasts?

  I flipped through the pages, finding one that painstakingly cataloged each breed’s fur or hide, organizing them not just by resilience, but also by texture. Another listed tens of breeds of apples and which ones the various Fellbeasts found most appetizing. “Is there a purpose?”

  My goal had been to discover any vulnerabilities in the Fellbeasts that might translate to the Fiends themselves, but all I’d come away with was a newfound appreciation for the beasts. Unless we planned to offer the next pack of dreadtusks we happened upon a flagon of ale and a bed of Silverbelle blossoms to roll around in, I had my doubts it would prove vital to our survival.

  “Though…” I pursed my lips, fighting against a smile. “That would be quite a sight to see…”

  After flipping through a few more pages, I closed the journal and pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “Good Belial.”

  Pop.

  “Yes, Fair Lady? How might I be of assistance? Tell me, does the lexicon meet your needs? Does it? Does it?”

  My sour mood could not survive hearing the creature’s jovial voice, nor seeing the rather delightful way in which they twisted their head. I smiled in spite of my frustration.

  “It does, Good Belial. Thank you again for the time spent crafting it. Your work is appreciated.” I sighed and glanced down at the journal. “However, I fear it is not the words themselves that trouble me at this juncture. Might I trouble Lord Beelzebub to inquire about his writing?”

  Belial cackled. “Oh, that won’t be necessary, Lady Celeste! Oh no, oh no! Lord Beelzebub is not the author of these records. I’m afraid he would be quite unhelpful in deciphering their meaning.”

  “He’s not?”

  “Not at all! Not at all…no, twas my Lord Master’s hand that penned these reports.”

  “He did?” Why I had not considered that to be a possibility, I did not know. Lord Genesis was well read and quite clever, but I suppose I never took him for a scientist. “Might I speak with him?”

  Belial tapped their chin and gazed into the distance. “I suppose so! I suppose so. Lord Genesis was quite clear that he wished to provide you with anything needed, so if you’ve need of him, I’m certain he’ll be most accommodating.” Belial lifted a hand, creating a distorted doorway. “Would you like me to take you to him?”

  “No, Good Belial. I wish to stretch my legs and clear my thoughts before speaking with him. Where might I find him?” I rose from my seat and started toward the exit.

  Belial slid along beside me, folding their hands behind their back.

  “In the throne room. Have you need of anything else, Fair Lady?”

  “No, thank you. You’ve been most helpful, as always, Good Belial. Take care.” I raised my hand to wave, but when I turned, they were already gone. Still, I waved nonetheless, then hurried from the library.

  ***

  When I reached the throne room, I found the door shut tight and refusing to grant me entry. As with all the impossible-sized doors of the castle, it operated with some kind of proximity activation. Merely walking close was enough to trigger it to open.

  “Am I not wanted this time?” I pressed my ear against the door and closed my eyes. Inside, I could hear muffled voices: one low and rumbling, Lord Genesis, and another, pompous and hissing, Lord Beelzebub.

  “I suppose it can’t be helped.” There was no use returning to the library, and it was still too early to head to the garden. No, if I wanted to speak with the castle’s master, I would just have to wait for an audience.

  My feet carried me down the hall, already knowing where to go. A sad smile came to my face.

  “Greetings, Father…” I wiped the dirt from Giulio’s face, licking my thumb to get rid of a particularly nasty bit of soot from the nearby torch. “You don’t mind that I call you that, do you? I know it’s quite presumptuous of me — you were gone long before I was born — but had you lived, would you not see me as a daughter?”

  My hands traveled from his face, brushing off the rest of him. “I wish I could have known you, as they knew you. Vasco was so young, but I assure you that he remembers that year with absolute clarity.” I frowned. “As if he refused to let it go…clutching each memory as though it were coal until it became a diamond. He may not mention you by name, but I know he often asks himself if he’s becoming the man you’d want him to be.”

  I kneeled down, cleaning the base of the statue. Then, I sat next to him. “I know you’d be proud. He’s become a mighty Hero, willing to give his life to save anyone he can, but with the strength to ensure he lives to save another.” A smile came to my lips. “Mother, as well. Did you ever see her on the hunt? Time has been cruel to her, but it’s not dulled her senses in the slightest. She was the one who led them. Did you know that? Without a fear in the world…she charged headfirst into the dark to save me.”

  Giulio said nothing, but I took comfort in his stoic silence. “I hope I can be half as strong as either of them. That I can uphold my end of our agreement and get them out of this alive.” I looked up at him. “I know I’ve no right to ask this of you, but…will you look after them when I cannot? And…will you give me some of your strength, too, Father?”

  “The dead do not speak, girl.” A sneering voice tore through our moment, and a bitter sensation raced through my veins, numbing my fingers.

  I rose to my feet, coming face-to-face with Lord Beelzebub. His six wings buzzed at lightning speed, the wind they produced prickling my skin with hundreds of little cuts. Giant red eyes stared into mine, my grimace reflected in their crystalline depths.

  One of his scythe-like arms crashed into the wall next to my head, drawing a gasp from my lips and a trickle of blood from my cheek. The other reached up to wipe it away, while his second set of clawed hands fidgeted and rubbed together.

  “You meddle with the blood. Why?” Beelzebub hovered closer. The rot oozing from the pustules on his hide sizzled, burning my nose with its stench.

  “To find an answer, good sir.”

  His stinger appeared at the edge of my vision. I felt it press against my abdomen.

  “An answer to what, you blathering incompetent? To your predicament? Why, the answer is simple. Give into what the Fiend Lord wants, or hand yourself over to me that I might find out what about you interests him so.”

  My stomach clenched. I felt the stinger pierce, just beside my navel. Blood pooled in my dress; the scent of burned incense wafted into the air, mingling with the putrid rot. I flinched — how could I not with his disease-ridden blade buried in me — as Beelzebub sliced my cheek again.

  He brought his free scythe up to my face, bringing its blade within a hair’s breadth of my eye.

  “That look on your face…it’s quite hideous. I should remove it.”

  Jaw set and eyes narrowed, I ignored the trembling in my knees and clenched my fists. “If you’re quite finished, good sir. I’ve a meeting with your Lord Master. Perhaps you would care to explain my tardiness to him yourself?”

  Beelzebub pulled away from me. His head swiveled toward the throne room, then back to me. Mandibles clacked. Claws scraped. Then, with a growl, he flew away. Only once the buzzing was gone did I allow myself to drop to my hands and knees, gasping to catch my breath.

  Any question about the Fiend of Rot’s feelings toward me was gone. I would find no ally in the castle’s tallest tower, and now I worried what may happen when next our paths crossed.

  ***

  My trek to the throne room was a solemn affair. The feel of Lord Beelzebub’s scythe still stung on my skin, his fetid odor still burning my nostrils. Worse than either, was the hatred in his eyes, gazing into me from a hundred different directions. How I’d inspired such a response from a creature I’d scarcely spoken with before today eluded me.

  All I knew was it had something to do with the Fiend Lord’s purpose for me. ‘His latest fixation.’ A frown tugged at my lips. Perhaps today he would be more forthcoming with just what that entailed?

  The grinding of stone against stone, and the blanket of heat that followed, drew my attention from my shuffling feet to the path ahead. This time, the throne room received me with open arms. I quietly thanked the castle for its cooperation, and I stepped inside.

  At the far end of the room, seated on his throne, Lord Genesis held a hand aloft, fingers spread. Then with the other, he carved a slit across the length of his palm. Fellblood spilled onto the floor, in such volume that would be fatal for a mortal man. It formed a puddle that grew wider and deeper until it resembled a moat between us.

  A strip of copper smoke sealed the wound on the Fiend Lord’s hand. The churning sea of fellblood congealed into a single shape. Four legs, cloven hooves, a hideous face with four goring tusks and pointed ears, surrounded by a mane of razors. Then, as it became more defined, six writhing tendrils, covered in serrated spikes, burst from its back. The final touch, a pair of tails twice the length of its body, each with scythes bigger than me.

  Genesis rose from his throne and approached the creature. It turned to him, quiet as a domesticated cat, and sat back on its haunches. When he held its massive head in his hands, the creature emitted a sound somewhere between a purr and a snarl. He pressed his forehead against the beast’s and closed his eyes.

  For a moment, the room was silent. Then, Genesis pulled back and scratched the beast’s chin.

  “Go. Grow strong.” He raised his voice. “Belial.” A distorted doorway appeared behind the Fellbeast. It brushed its head against his hand, then it turned and walked through the distortion. Only once it was gone, did Lord Genesis finally acknowledge my presence. “You wanted to speak with me, Little Moth?”

  I did, desperately — but a far more pressing matter took hold of my senses. My body moving on its own, I rushed close to him, staring at the space through which the beast had vanished. My stomach knotted and my throat tightened until I struggled to breathe.

  “Where did you send it?” My voice was a choked whisper.

  “A newborn must be fed. It goes to nourish itself on a birthing feast of violence and carnage. An encampment of those you call the Valeguard.” Genesis chuckled. “Not to fret though, Little Moth, it is not yet your Mother’s time to die.”

  What small comfort that last statement gave me paled in the agony of knowing. They were going to suffer and die. The beast was nearly the size of the one that attacked Spring Hill. Even with two or three Heroes in their midst, it was unlikely they could rally a defense before the newborn Fellbeast slaughtered them. And with the fall of Sanctuary still so recent, there would be no reinforcements to save them.

  I turned, grasping his hand with my own so tight his claws ripped my fingers open. “Allow me to aid them! I — I mean — I shall not aid them in destroying your creature, but I cannot sit idly by and allow them to suffer and die knowing they could be saved!”

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  Genesis looked down at my hands. A smile spread across his lips. His eyes narrowed.

  “What of our agreement?”

  “I’ll go in the Dream! Allow Belial to lead me to them so that I might save their lives!”

  His eyes gleamed.

  “What if their deaths are what I desire?” His quiet voice rumbled low in his throat. Dangerous. Taunting. His claws wrapped around my hand, slicing my fingers to the bone. “What if your suffering, knowing that you could do nothing for them, is what I desire?”

  “Then you’d have stopped me already!” My grip on his hand tightened; his eyes widened ever-so-slightly. “Torment me at your leisure, Lord Genesis, but stand not between me and my calling. It was by your decree that I be given whatever I asked. So, please, grant me this courtesy, good sir!”

  We held one another’s gaze, neither blinking, neither breathing. My blood coated our clasped hands in a looping fountain of sweet-smelling smoke. It was Lord Genesis who ultimately turned away.

  “Kneel and close your eyes.” He returned to his throne. Then, laid his chin on his fist and closed his eyes.

  “Thank you, Lord Genesis!” Without a moment to lose, I slid to my knees and shut my eyes.

  ***

  I rose from my body. Lord Genesis and Belial were waiting for me, the latter bowing and presenting a doorway — one made to resemble a tall wooden door of lacquered oak with a polished bronze doorknob — to the pair of us.

  “Right this way, Fair Lady. Right this way, Lord Master.”

  In an act so brazen I would later wonder if my intention was to be slain on the spot, I pushed past Lord Genesis and tore through the doorway.

  On the other end was a Valeguard encampment. Or rather, the remnants of one. The banner reduced to strips of silver and green, tents strewn across the blood-soaked dirt, and bodies…so many bodies, more than I had ever seen gathered in one location, littered the ground.

  “No…no, no, no.” The foggy haze of the Dream was tainted black and red, but deathly still. At the edge of my vision was something more. Not sinister, nor malicious. It was something more ancient than either.

  She was close. So close that her great, frigid wings turned my breath to steam. Close, but not yet here. The silence was a blessing, a promise that there was still time. The cold was another boon. As Oblivion drew closer, their pain — the pain of no fewer than thirty men and women — which would have otherwise been blinding, was made bearable by the dying numb that gripped my every nerve.

  “Such a work of art…” Lord Genesis’s voice caused the Dream to recoil and quiver. “Not even a minute, yet already they all lie dead and gone.”

  “Not dead.” I shook my head and pulled away from him, wings carrying me to the first fallen soldier. “Not gone.” I drew in a long, deep breath, breathing in air, and breathing out starlight. My hands plunged into their broken body, reconstructing their broken bones, realigning their spine, and knitting their flesh. Then, their body mended, I massaged their heart until it, too, beat once more.

  But it wasn’t enough. Though Oblivion’s chill had retreated, the pain beneath remained. With nothing more to dull it, it slammed into me, knocking the wind from my lungs. But I refused to be deterred. It wasn’t enough to save their lives. I had to end their pain.

  Another burst of starlight, and the first was saved. But so many more remained, and the silence was starting to tremble. In the distance, I could hear the first notes of a toneless song. That indescribable knowing was drawing closer.

  “Not dead. Not gone.” I repeated and disappeared in a flutter of wings.

  From one body to the next, I moved as a woman possessed. With every body warmed, another blistering acknowledgment of the pain beneath.

  Splintered ribs. Eviscerated organs.

  Melted flesh. Shattered teeth.

  The Fellbeast’s fury had been insurmountable. Though they’d surely fought bravely, they were as meat in a grinder. Cheap toys to a destructive child.

  “Not dead.”

  Eight. Nine.

  Tears spilled down my cheeks, my teeth ripping into my lip to hold back a sob as my left arm hung limp at my side. My right hand held a bloodied stump, starlight forging new bone, sewing new nerves and muscle, before wrapping it in a fresh coat of unblemished skin.

  “Not gone.”

  Twelve. Thirteen.

  Sweat soaked my body. My muscles ached, a pain all my own, made worse by the creeping death drawing nearer every moment. Her song was close now, vibrating the very realm through which I moved. I moved not by sight, but by following my queer sixth sense, chasing pulses of hurt to their source. A small price to pay to craft a new pair of eyes for an unfortunate gentleman.

  “Not…dead…”

  Fifteen. Sixteen.

  The entirety of Spring Hill, each of them dealt blows more severe than the one that had nearly ended my brother’s life. She was so close now, I could feel her breath on my neck. My soul froze while my body burned.

  Blood. Flesh. Bone. Sinew.

  It all blurred together. Mine was no longer a body, but a vessel that carried a dwindling flicker of starlight. Every expulsion of my power was akin to gripping my fingernails, then ripping them back the length of my arms.

  “Not…g…”

  Eighteen.

  It was after the eighteenth life saved that my soul at last gave into the truth my body had been screaming for it to acknowledge. There was no strength left in me, no magic left to mend myself, let alone to save another dozen, or perhaps even more.

  I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear. There were no smells or tastes to tether me.

  No Dream.

  No Reality.

  Just pain. Unending, hellish pain from which there was no escape.

  I’d pushed as far as I could. Given everything I had. But, it just wasn’t enough.

  Oblivion’s song rattled my formless shape. Her cold wings passed over me, reaching for those who remained. Their time had run out. Eighteen lives saved…eighteen…

  No.

  Broken fingers clenched. Bloodied knuckles pressed against a ground that wasn’t there.

  No.

  Screaming. Voice distant, throat raw and heavy with tears, blood seeping from my lips.

  “No!”

  Her song thundered in my deaf ears. My blood and tears turned to ice in the embrace of her wings. They weren’t dead yet. They weren’t gone yet.

  It wasn’t enough to fail while trying.

  If everything I had to give wasn’t enough, then I would give more. And more. And more, rending my flesh and soul until they bled starlight.

  “Belial! Bring them…to me!” I hadn’t the strength to say more. All I had was hope.

  Hope that they would know what to do.

  Hope that Lord Genesis would not stay their hand.

  I felt the Dream shifting, light and shadow bending into a new shape around and in front of me. When it stopped, I felt a trickle of something wet and sticky on my hands. Sucking air through clenched teeth, breathing in until my lungs felt ready to burst through my ribs, I plunged my hands into the blood and gave them more.

  In the first flash, the cold wings were blown back. So much pain, so much hurt. All of it with nowhere to go, reflecting between us in a reverberating echo. With no skin left to flay, no muscles left to tear, nor bones left to break, I drew all of it into my empty vessel.

  Screaming without a voice.

  Wailing without tears.

  Pressure unfathomable, but refusing to bend.

  Cracks forming, but refusing to break.

  I found my lips somewhere in depths of the sea of suffering and pressed them together. Then I unleashed the breath I’d been holding with one final spark.

  ***

  When next my eyes opened, I was no longer in the Dream. The first thing I noticed was the heat. After spending what seemed like an eternity in the chill of Oblivion’s wings, the heat of Castle Dreadskull was wonderful. It took several seconds for my vision to focus, only for me to realize I was staring into the abyssal ceiling of the throne room. Body aching, I forced myself into a seated position.

  “At last, you awaken.”

  I turned toward his voice to find Lord Genesis sitting at the dining table. Rather than ponder why he might have moved it, I was instead swept away by the rich aroma of food. It stirred my weary limbs to action, pushing me to my feet and drawing me to the table one shaky step at a time.

  “T-Thank you…Good Belial.” I said as the creature appeared to pull my seat out for me. They held my hand as I sat, then pushed me closer.

  “I must say, I must say! You certainly know how to put on a spectacular performance, Fair Lady! Please, enjoy this victor’s meal, I’ve prepared!” A giggle and they were gone, leaving us alone.

  Baked bread. Roast chicken. Seared salmon. A savory vegetable stew with thick chunks of carrots, potatoes, and onion. And, to my utter relief, a bottle of Snakebite Ale next to a wine glass. Mouth watering, stomach growling, I resisted the temptation and looked at my host.

  Lord Genesis was silent as ever in his usual manner: elbows on the table and fingers threaded, peering over them with glowing eyes and an unreadable smile.

  “What of…the Valeguard?”

  “Forty-seven. There were forty-seven humans in that encampment. Torn asunder by my masterpiece, a Fellbeast with the fire and fury to step out of the shadow of the one slain by your machinations.” Genesis chuckled. His mask slipped, and I glimpsed a sparkle of wonder in his gaze. “They should have all died. She was there to claim them. But you…you drove her back.”

  “Then…”

  “You saved all of them.” Genesis sat back in his seat and shook his head. “What madness possessed you to do such a thing? They were nothing. Nameless actors whose only purpose in this life was to serve as nourishment for my beast.”

  “If I hadn’t…they would have died.”

  A flash of something — was it anger? — burned in his eyes. “Yours is a life more valuable than any number of theirs.”

  “If someone suffers and I’ve the means to spare them the pain, then my life is a cost I’ll pay gladly.” My stomach growled, but I ignored it to meet his fiery glare. “I would suffer a thousand deaths to save but a single life.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I can, then it must be me.” Again my stomach protested my continued fast.

  The flames in Genesis’s eyes burned dimmer, and he turned away. “Eat, Celeste. Your reward for such a brazen display.”

  My fingers twitched, longing to reach for the silverware. But, perhaps fueled by my fatigue, I made a request of my own.

  “It would be my honor if you would join me, Lord Genesis. Good Belial has prepared such a feast that I dare not do it a disservice by leaving it only half eaten.” I felt the beginning of a smile, seeing the way his eyes widened and his mask of aloof malice wavered.

  “I’ve — What? I’ve no need of such things.”

  My smile bloomed in full, and with it came a weary giggle. Nor do I, Lord Genesis. For some reason I’ve never needed food to nourish my body, but I do so love the way it nourishes my soul. Especially when shared with another.” My stomach interrupted me with yet another impatient grumble, and this time I yielded to its complaints. I poured a glass of ale, broke off a piece of bread — Titania above, the buttery smell alone nearly brought me to tears — and took a bite. Warm, flaky crust; fluffy center. It was like a small piece of Elysium in the palm of my hand.

  Then, after two more bites, I played the card I’d held close to my chest.

  “I was rather moved by the chapter in The Wishing Rod where the Princess and Lizard King dined on a pastry she baked to win his trust.” The stew was just as wonderful. So rich, it brought me to tears from the strain to not turn the dish upright and drink it in a single gulp. “I thought it a clever ploy. Though her efforts failed to win her freedom, it did help her to see the Lizard King as more than just a monster.”

  A pause. Then, “Is that your desire as well, Little Moth?”

  “No, Genesis.” I laughed and raised my eyes to meet his. “I only wish to enjoy a meal with you.” My piece spoken, I surrendered myself to my hunger. While it was true, I needed no nourishment to survive, the magic spent saving the encampment, far beyond my limits, had left me ravenous in a way I’d never felt before. Yes, I would recover if I chose not to eat, but I would recover far happier if I did.

  For several minutes, the clinking of my silverware was the only sound that broke the stillness. Then, I heard movement across from me. Keeping my eyes low to avoid scaring him off, I focused on picking apart the flavors in the stew. Good Belial had outdone themselves. It was exactly as Auntie Janie used to make.

  A spoon clinked. Genesis growled.

  I chanced a glance across the table. My host’s place was set identical to mine, save the ale and modest spillage. The spoon looked comically tiny in his massive hand, held between two fingers to avoid crushing it. His eyes flicked in my direction, watching carefully as I ate.

  The Fiend Lord’s eyes twitched, but, with a strenuous tenderness, he managed his first taste with but a sprinkle of mess. The dim glow in his eyes crackled — again the vision of a campfire flashed in my mind — and he followed it with another. Messier, but more confident.

  I picked up my bread.

  He followed, watching rapt as I slathered a thin strip of butter onto the bite before downing it. Again, he followed. His eyes fluttered shut; a satisfied growl rumbled in his throat.

  Our meal continued in a far more comfortable silence. Despite his protests, my companion’s appetite proved most formidable. In less than half the time it would have taken me alone, we made short work of Good Belial’s meal.

  “What…did you think of the rest of the book?” Genesis asked, a shredded napkin in his claws, attempting to dab away the stains on his mouth.

  “Mm…” I polished off my third glass of ale, feeling a strange buzzing in my head. Unsure if it was my exhaustion, or something concocted by Belial to loosen my tongue, I paused before answering. Dinner had been truly enjoyable for the first time, and I had no desire to sour the mood with an answer he wasn’t hoping to hear. “I found it an enjoyable read.”

  “But?”

  My lips pursed. “My apologies, Lord Genesis, but the ending was not to my tastes.” That was my answer, meant to stand on its own. But as I nursed another glass of ale, I felt my lips continue without me, “Why must every tale end with the monster’s death, my good sir?” I met his gaze with a frown and a tilted head. “Does that not sadden you?”

  “Are you not a Hero meant to save the world from monsters?”

  I shook my head, thoughts sloshing between sips. “Not at all, Lord Genesis, as I believe I have been quite clear. I am — well, I would appear to be, I should be clear — the Promised Healer. My duty is to mend wounds, not cause them.” My eyes narrowed, and I found myself leaning to the side, propping my elbow on the arm of the chair to rest my chin upon my palm.

  A mirror image of my companion.

  “Why do you prolong this fight, my good sir? With might such as yours it would be a simple thing to march into Willowhaven and uproot the Mother Willow herself. What do you gain from this constant bloodshed?”

  “I’ve no desire for this to end, Little Moth. My only wish is to stoke the flames of violence forevermore.”

  As he spoke, the anguish within him flared into view. Like ten thousand cuts — a whip’s lash or a knife’s edge — burning with animal fat and oil. In the strange lag between my thoughts and my body, I could feel it for a moment without being stunned.

  “If that is true, why does saying so hurt you?”

  His eyes blazed; teeth pulled back in a snarl.

  “It does not. It feeds me. It is what I am.”

  I took another drink, my glass filled again as soon as it left my lips. “You have been honest with me in all our dealings, my good sir, save this one.” Before he could interrupt, I rose from my seat and walked around the table on unsteady legs to look him in the eye, glass dangling from my fingers. “I know when others hurt, Lord Genesis. Every nick, every scab, every itch and burn. No matter how mild, no matter how excruciating, I feel everything.”

  My finger poked his chest. “Because that is what I am. And you…you my good, good sir.” I lowered my voice. “Yours is a pain greater than the sum of all I have ever known, even now. Great enough to fill the world seven times over.” I took a long drink, then poked his chest again. “Tell me the truth. Why else would you bring me here if not to mend the wound you so desperately hide?”

  What happened next I cannot say with any certainty. When my blurred vision cleared, the table and chairs were splinters in the side of the throne room door, the silverware, shrapnel, and the dishes, dust. My throat ached, air cut off by a brutal grip. Shards of glass pierced my hand; shards of stone pierced my back. A haze of gold and lilac smoke filled the air around me, mirroring the fog in my head.

  Genesis held me at eye level, my feet dangling off the ground. Lacerations and burns covered my arms and chest, courtesy of his brutal claws and the dark flames pouring from his mouth with every heaving breath. The fire in his eyes burned darker, fiercer than ever before, his bestial visage obscured by shadow.

  But the damage he’d done was a mote in the incinerating storm within his chest.

  Unable to speak, unable to breathe, I placed my hand on his chest. My fingers flickered with starlight.

  Just as quickly, he released me and stormed away. I fell to the ground, coughing and gasping for air. But through tear-stained eyes, I reached for him again.

  He paused at the open doorway, seething and snarling.

  “The Beast I made today met your family an hour ago.” He spoke slowly, as if forcing the words. Genesis shook his head and dug one set of claws into the door, the other into his face. “It is already dead.”

  With no further explanation, he left.

  My own wounds healed before I could make it to my feet. I scrambled to the doorway. His retreating form to the right; the path back to my room to the left. I wanted to follow — every instinct in my body yearned to follow him, to chase after him as a moth chases a dying star — but his final words lingered in my mind.

  Tearing my focus from him, I hurried to my room. To my family’s side.

  Thank you so much for reading!

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