Page 88 of Monsters in Love

No, no, no.

She went limp in Jaston’s hold as the iron door set in the square’s cobblestones, right front of the Chastry entrance was pulled aside—so heavy it took four men to move it. The rest of the crowd moved back, afraid to get close as the guards shoved all the prisoners to the opening.

There was nothing Isabelle could do. She had no weapons, no resources. Nothing that would save them.

“If you truly repent your sins,” the Bishop intoned. “You will be spared.”

Then Thomas, his father, and their friends were cast into the depths beneath the Chastry—where the demons lived. Haunting screams filled the night. Sounds that had nothing to do with repentance.

In all her seventeen years, not one sinner had ever returned from the depths.

“Let this be a lesson to you all,” the bishop cried, voice resonant, as if on the brink of breaking into song. “Vigilance. Piety. Demons hunt for your weakness. You must deny them at every turn, lest you become their pawn. The Golden Dragons will return, if only we have strength to endure.”

They were supposed to want the return of the dragons above all else, but Belle couldn’t care.

Couldn’t feel anything past the screaming in her heart.

Frozen from the inside out, she said nothing as Emmi led her home and up to her room—she didn’t have the will to brush away her sister’s tears. Too numb to even cry, all she could do was curl onto her bed and pretend to be asleep. She lay there for hours, until her mother went to bed and the house was still.

Then she rose.

Creeping into the attic, she opened the box full of her father’s belongings—ink, parchment, candles and maps, a cartographer’s arsenal. There were some half-drawn sketches of Windhaven, and scrolls showing lands beyond their borders. All the things her father had spent his life crafting. He’d had a plan. Had known of other places, other ways.

Was that the truth of why he’d disappeared?

She yanked out a map, held it tight.

Gods forsake her, she’d done nothing while the love of her life was thrown to the demons. Hadn’t been able to save him—or offer anything useful. All she’d done was stand there.

Her gaze lifted to the attic window.

The small circular pane was set right beneath the eaves, yet Belle could just see the belfry glowing bright against the night sky.

Her eyes narrowed.

The map crumpled in her grip.

Damn the bishop and his guards to the spreading dark. She was done with their lies. Their cruelty. Thomas and his father were no more sinners than she was—and they wouldn’t be the last good people to fall under cries of ‘sin.’ The bishop wouldn’t stop with them.

Well, neither would she.

The next time the bishop turned his gaze on a loved one, she would be ready.

One year later

Fallen 1:10

Fall Harvest

The sun had barely crested the mountains and the lamps were still burning when Isabelle DuNorde took measured steps along the twisting alley that ran from the back of the Chastry through rows of cottages to the town’s lesser well. She meticulously counted each step and marked each turn on her piece of folded parchment. Each line adding detail to her map of the town—and what lay beneath.

Walking softly, she kept an ear out for the guards.

And, more importantly, for the scratching beneath the cobblestones.

The demons were quiet this morning, with only a faint scrape of claws to guide her, yet the town remained silent enough to confirm her suspicions: another tunnel lay beneath this alley. It stretched all the way from the Chastry to the well, yet more proof their Bishop lied.

Not that she had anyone to tell.

---