Page 58 of A Match Made in Hell
Fuck that. ‘No,’ I say again. ‘If something’s happened, I want to help. I’m not going to hide –’
‘Will you listen to me, for once?’ Sath prowls towards me.
I dodge out of the way before he can press me against something. I’m not sure what he’s getting so antsy about. I’m always doing what I’m told.
Until now, that is. Because if Asphodel is falling apart right this second, there’s no point cowering under my covers and hoping Sath will save the day.
‘Why don’tyoutry listening tome?’ I say, prodding his chest as hard as I can. He’s like granite, but it makes me feel better to pretend it might hurt. ‘As long as I’m stuck here, whateverhappens to Asphodel happens to me. I can’t finish these tasks if I’m captured by a demon in the meantime. If I can help, I will. And if I can’t, then . . . well. At least it’ll be over quickly.’
His stare bores into mine, like he expects to discover my pupils dilated, still under the effects of the wine. He won’t. My head is clear; my thoughts and terrible decisions all my own. And I am not leaving him to face this alone.
‘We’re wasting time,’ I remind him. ‘If they’re open, don’t you want to get them shut again?’
Sath rolls his eyes and mutters something which I presume is a curse. I offer him a bland smile in return. He stalks away without another word, but I take his silence to meanit’s your funeral. I refrain from reminding him I must’ve already had one.
I’d quite like another one of Sath’s magic-flame knives, but he’s either forgotten to make one for me, or thinks me following is so stupid he’s refusing to give me one out of pettiness. I’m going to assume the latter. For the Devil, he issucha child sometimes.
I stick close to him as we turn down the corridor that leads to the gates. It’s darker than usual, or maybe that’s my imagination seeing shadows in every corner. Candles on the walls flicker as we pass.
When the gates finally come into view, Sath’s shoulders sink, and we both release a relieved sigh in unison. They’re shut. But the shaking continues, rhythmic and pounding. Every bash of the door sends steam gusting out from between the hinges, buffeting my hair like a strong wind. A green substance leaks through the crevice where the two doors meet.
‘Sath?’ I say tentatively. ‘Can it . . . Will it . . . Will anything get out? What’s happening? Why are they . . . ?’
‘Something’s called to them,’ Sath replies in a low voice. The gates rattle again. In an even lower voice, one that promises death, he adds, ‘Orsomeone.’
A shiver ripples down my spine. We’re at a dead end, the doors nestled between a great chunk of rock. There’s nowhere to go but back the way we came, which means if someone was here, they’re not here now.
Sath closes his eyes. Black tendrils ripple from him, not quite flames, not quite shadows. They spear out across the ground, the walls, like an ink spill, and –there.Those tendrils latch on to a shape, sketching an outline around it, and two pairs of yellow eyes meet mine. Demons. Devoid of horns or scales, they’d be fairly human-looking if it weren’t for the way their skin changes colour like a chameleon’s. Caught in the act, they step forward, abandoning all pretence and turning a garish shade of red.
‘Kora. Ash. What is the meaning of this?’ Sath asks. They remain silent, and his knuckles tighten around the sword. ‘Get on the floor.’
They kneel without argument, trembling from their heads to their feet. Good. If they’d succeeded in what they’d come here to do . . . Now it’s my turn to tremble, because the thought of what would happen to me, to everyone here, has my legs turning to butter. Being dead is bad enough. Being dead and tortured would be, well, worse. Obviously.
‘Speak,’ Sath says. ‘What were you doing? Whose orders were you enacting?’
They exchange glances before answering.
‘No orders, my king,’ the taller of the two – Ash – says. I make a conscious effort not to scoff.My king, my ass. If they were loyal to Sath they wouldn’t have done this. ‘You were –’ his gaze slides to me – ‘occupied. We thought we’d take the opportunity to turn Asphodel into what it should be.’
‘Asphodeliswhat it should be.’ Sath’s arm sets alight, the flames burning brighter than the heat emanating from the doors. ‘Perhaps I should remind you of my feelings on the matter.’
Flames coat his sword, flames that will send them to Tartarus the moment he unleashes the weapon. They bow their heads, ready to lose them, but Sath’s words have me thinking. Maybe theydoneed a reminder. Maybe they all do.
‘Wait!’
Sath’s arm freezes mid-swing. He glances at me, looking slightly incredulous. ‘Don’t tell me you want to spare them.’
‘Absolutely not.’ I place a hand on his arm, wincing at how hot he is to the touch, and jerk my head, indicating he should follow me out of earshot. The demons remain where they are, knees in the dirt. They’re afraid of what Sath can do, but not afraid enough, in my opinion.
‘You can’t kill them yet,’ I say. ‘If it was a human misbehaving, the demons would want you to make an example of them. Why not do the same to a demon, if it’s threatening the rules you’ve put in place? Why should they be treated any differently?’
Sath’s eyes glitter. ‘You want me to kill them in public?’
‘Yes.’ I fire the word like a bullet. ‘You’re their king. They defied you. The other demons need to experience what that means. They need to see you look them in the eye as you spill their traitors’ blood. You’re so scared of losing control; you’ve let them forget who you are. What you can do. You need to remind them of that. You need to show them who’s in charge here.’ I step towards him. ‘And you need to make it hurt.’
His throat bobs. An expression I can’t decipher crosses his face, but then his jaw goes hard, his gaze unyielding. ‘Well, all right, then.’ There’s a deadly undercurrent beneath the softness of his tone, one that has my flesh erupting in goosebumps.
He grabs both demons by the scruffs of their necks – he makes it look effortless – and hauls them upright before dragging them down the corridor.
