Page 69 of The River of Hatred

“Belial invoked intervention,” a younger angel whose name I do not know adds.

“And he was correct in doing so, was he not?” Eisheth purrs, inspecting her sharp talons.

I have not asked Father for anything in millennia, but I find myself nearly praying for patience. “We are losing sight of the matter again,” I chastise. “There are envoys of both Heaven and Hell waiting in the human world for orders on how to proceed regarding a threat to every unaware halfling. I would argue that they are mostly innocent and undeserving of the fate Andras has planned for them,” I continue with a grimace, “but we all know I do not care. However, my consort and son do, and they. Are. Waiting.”

“I would like to see proof of Andras’ involvement,” Agares, another of my nephew’s lieutenants, speaks into the silence.

I blow air out of my nose. It is not ideal, but it is a reasonable request, one that I would likely make myself were the tables turned. I tip my head in acknowledgment.

“We would also request proof of Asmodai’s involvement or lack thereof,” Saraqael adds quietly, but with a voice so resonant it does not need to be loud to be heard and understood.

“And how do you propose I do that?” I ask, irritated. “Shall I ask Sataniel to join us and testify my nephew is with him in the Pits?”

The archangel smiles placidly. “I am sure you will find a way, Ashtaroth. Regardless, that is a secondary goal at the moment.”

I clench my teeth so hard they squeak before I regain control of my reactions. I will not give them the pleasure.

“I will bid Aim to procure this proof you seek,” I say with a voice steeped in irony. “At least this time you cannot blame me for the casualties,” I add with a grin.

I want to leave and set things in motion so Lana can return soon, but, unfortunately, the idiots blather on for some time. By the time I return to my stronghold and find Aim in my throne room, half a day has passed since Lana’s departure and the sky above my domain lightens to a gray a nuance lighter than during the night.

“What has been decided, my lord?” Aim asks as I march toward my seat. I have no intention of waiting for Lana in our bedroom where everything smells of her, an evocative mix of basil and rainstorms.

“You are to bring proof to the Council before it is decided how we will proceed,” I grit out, annoyed once more.

Clearly agreeing with my sentiments, Aim clicks his tongue with frustration. “Andras knows we’re onto him. He’ll either quicken his plans or go into the wind to fight another day. We should act first.”

Sitting on my throne, I lean back and close my eyes. Has being with my lamb made me a smidge mortal? Why am I exhausted? “I am not arguing with you, Aim; I’m relaying what the Council demands.” I open my eyes and pin him with a stare. “Now, how shall we acquire this proof?”

The demon bites his lip, the hoop piercing glinting in the light of the chandeliers with the movement. “Not without hassle, but the most foolproof way would probably be to bring one of his accomplices to the Council chambers for a testimonial.”

I snort. “Why would a Cambion who was rejected in the original recruitment of Elioud know Andras’ plans?”

Aim shakes his head, a dark strand of hair flopping over one eye. He blows it away before speaking again. “They would at least know who their boss is and what the end goal is. It should be enough to proceed.”

Sighing, I clench my hands on the throne’s armrest. “Very well. Return to the mortal world. Get the Council their proof.” I lean forward. “Lana is powerful, but her control over her hellfire is poor at best. Make sure she does not conflagrate my son or niece.”

It is Aim’s turn to snort. “What about Kevin?” he asks with a grin. “Do we not care if she roasts him?”

“No. Yes,” I correct myself with a groan. “She would never forgive herself if she did and I would suffer more than he does.”

“Very well, Master,” Aim snickers. “I’ll take care of the youngsters.”

“Speaking of. Anything to report?” I ask. It has only been hours and I am already eager to hear how my sweetness is doing. Pathetic.

“Actually, there is. It seems that Sariel has gotten himself involved with both the angelandthe Nephilim he was paired with for this mission. They all seem enamored with each other.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “How typical,” I say. What I do not express is how glad I am that my son is seemingly returning to higher spirits and more joyful pursuits. He has not been the same since Armaros perished in his arms.

“How about Lana’s friend? Mike was his name?” I steeple my fingers and bounce my foot, the tension leaving somewhat at Aim’s good news.

“Fuck, how could I forget!” Aim exclaims and I come to a standstill.

“What is wrong?” I growl.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong, I just forgot to lead with the fact that Lana is currently in the home of – oh, you’ll never guess.”

I bare my teeth at my spy and assassin. “If you do not speak up, you will never guess anything again.”

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