Page 69 of The Fearless Witch

Chapter 28

Celeste

“Do you really think you’re going to find something Beleth missed after reading those a hundred times?” Nym asked from across the bed while I turned the pages of one of the five books in the room. Two of them were in languages I couldn’t even name, but the other three had been a source of unending information, at least, once I combed through centuries’ worth of memories to remember how to interpret them.

The truth was, I didn’t, but they kept my hands and mind busy. I had no idea how longBeleth would need to retrieve Roman, and being stuck in the small, quiet room was not helping my mental state. Especially when I sat in full view of the table where not long ago Beleth had forced his touch on me. Again. Feelings of anger, disgust, and absolute loathing still swirled in my chest, but once he was gone and I had calmed down, other emotions snuck in.

Curiosity. Suspicion. Confusion.

The more I tried to figure out what made him tick, the more lost I felt. It was so infuriating! How was I supposed to decide how to deal with him when he made no fucking sense? And why did he touch me? This was definitely not for his pleasure and I didn’t believe for a second his bullshit reason that he did it to ‘get my head in the game’. Because, for all his violence and threats, there was something in the way he held me the last time that wasn’t… all hate.

I knew how the brunt of his brutality felt, and the way he responded to me, to my reactions... that wasn’t the same person who bound me and fucked me like I was a piece of meat. And the fact that I couldn’t understand why unnerved me more than anything. I might have been high on lust and not in my right mind, but he wasn’t. So why was he…

“Celeste?” Nym called my name, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to get rid of those thoughts. It didn’t matter why he did it, because this wasn’t about him. And if he crossed the line one more time… well, if I couldn’t beat him, I’d make sure he never won either.

“Well, he’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the box, is he?” I said pointedly, turning the page again, this time with a little more force than I should have. The edge tore from the ancient paper and I winced. “If he was, he would have asked for my help from the start.”

When Nym didn’t reply, I glanced at him. He was making a face that was between a cringe and a very eager smile. I hadn’t seen him for the past few days, which got me worried enough to pester Beleth, even though I knew my familiar could take care of himself. Beleth had caved in at the end, confessing he had sent Nym to collect several souls for him as a punishment for assisting my attempted escape. Part of me was pissed that he felt entitled to do whatever he wanted with my familiar, but I let it slide when he called Nym back.

“Sharpest? Perhaps not,” Nym spoke, and I focused my attention back on him. “Prideful and destructive? Definitely.”

We scoffed at the same time, sharing a knowing smile. Something in my chest fluttered, both bitter and sweet, and I quickly lowered my gaze to the book. I was glad to have some of the normalcy return between us, but every time I caught him looking at me with guilty eyes, I was reminded of what had happened. So I avoided looking.

“I’ve been wondering about something,” I said, trying not to grimace at the drawing of a creature that met me on the next page. It looked like the lovechild of a snake and a spider—if that lovechild was born in Hell and liked to swim in one of the fire lakes that seemed to be the most popular local attraction. Nym cleared his throat, and I tore my eyes away from the beast. “Beleth said something about not being able to use Hell’s creatures, but, of course, he couldn’t be bothered to explain. What did he mean?”

Nym’s whiskers twitched, but it was hard to discern if it was irritation or something else.

“That’s true. And he did try once… with me,” he finally said. “It didn’t go well.”

“How so?” I asked, leaning my elbow on my crossed legs and giving him my full attention. “You two weren’t strong enough?”

“No.” Nym’s tongue swiped out, licking over his lips. “The prince who creates the trials can use anything in Hell for the test. Anything made or dragged down here,” he said pointedly, but I just shrugged to show I had no idea what he was talking about. “I was made in Hell, Celeste.”

My mouth formed a soundless O.

“You turned against him?” I gasped, straightening my back impatiently. “What… what happened?”

“I heard a voice in my head that ordered me to attack him,” Nym replied with a low growl. “I couldn’t resist the order, no matter how much I tried. I destroyed Beleth’s vessel that day. That’s how we found out that he cannot use Hell’s creatures to assist him.”

I winced. “That’s… brutal. Did he punish you after that?”

Nym lay down on his paws. “No. He understood I had no choice.”

“Like he cares about choices…” I muttered, going back to my book. A few pages later, I stopped when I reached the section that spoke of the seven princes of Hell. I had already read it once, combing through each paragraph, but aside from a few clues about their appearance and their powers—which, surprisingly, matched a great deal with what I have read in some human scriptures—I had found nothing useful. The drawing in question was of Alastair, the Prince of Hate.

“So Alastair must be the weakest, right?” I changed the subject, flicking the face of the man standing surrounded by fire and chains, for some odd reason. His long hair floated around him like snakes and his skin was covered in something like a rash. I grimaced.

“No. If anything, he might be the most difficult to deal with,” Nym replied, and I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Beleth has passed his trials only once and almost got his soul shattered when he lost. If it wasn’t for Belphegor stopping Alastair, he wouldn’t have shown mercy.”

“Huh,” I murmured, turning a few pages back to look at the drawing of Belphegor. She was depicted as a beautiful female with long, fair hair, half-sitting, half lying on a long settee. On the opposite page was Asmodeus, poised on a throne made of naked bodies, with a dark-haired woman hiding his genitals deep inside her throat.

“The others take pity on the challengers and let them crawl back to lick their wounds, but not Alastair,” Nym droned on while I studied the two princes. “He knows what it’s like to be a lower demon, so he would never let someone take away his power. Also, he has a few witches tied to him with contracts, even though he doesn’t need to make any more deals. Hate is one of the strongest motivators to sell one’s soul.”

“So you’re saying that it’s better to face a fucking angel rather than him?” I scoffed.

“Fallen angel,” Nym corrected me with an admonishing tone. “They lost most of their divine powers when they fell. And yes, I’d say he is more dangerous than all of them. Not because he’s stronger, but because he’s more desperate. He would do anything to win, no matter the cost to him or others.”

I nodded, tapping absently on Belphegor’s page.

---