Page 97 of Ringmaster
“To command death, you must first be willing to touch it. Are you? Necromancy is no spell. It’s a bond. Thedead will answer because you’ll listen. Life and death are not enemies. The living fear death because they don’t understand it. But you will.”
Mercy,Azrael calls, bursting through my thoughts.
I trudge toward him, toward his brother, toward the dais that waits like an omen. A grave look is plastered on Azrael’s face, but he stares at me with unwavering love. I’ve never seen such worry shadow him.
“My angel—my darling—my love,” he rasps. “Will you accept my gift, and agree to rule by my side forever?”
I know I should refuse. There’s no going back if I do. But I love him fiercely. I would endure anything to spend eternity by his side. He’s my savior—always—whether he wants to admit it or not.
“Always, my love,” I reply, allowing his intense stare capture me, rendering me helpless.
“Then it’s time to begin the ritual,” Beelzebub murmurs.
“I’ll be here, waiting for you to return to me. No matter what happens. I’ll never stop waiting for you. I promise.” Azrael bends down, sealing his vow with a kiss. His voice is gravelly, strained with worry.
“Careful, that’s becoming a signature move,” I breathe against his ear, just for him.
He smiles. “I know.”
Beelzebub hands Azrael an old blade carved from bone. Azrael slices his palm, spilling blood across the dais.
“Azrael, Lord Lucifer, Prince of Hell. Do you accept the offered to rule at your side, equal in power for all of eternity?”
“Yes,” he answers, eyes locked on mine.
Beelzebub turns to me. “Step forward and offer yourself to your king.”
I approach slowly, the magic of the ritual encircling me, holding me prisoner.
“Power alone won’t bind you to him. Tethered by shadow. Inked in blood. To accept his gift, you must bear the burden of death itself. He cannot reign without one who can command the space beyond the grave. Once you accept, silence will no longer be yours. Death will walk alongside you and obey your every command. You died as Mercy, mortal with a divine gift. Now, you rise as Selestina.”
A shadowy caress envelops me. These aren’t Azrael’s shadows—they’re mine. I have cheated death, earning a shadow kiss that brings memories, understanding. My soul has always belongedto Hell, a gift for Azrael, shaped by the Fates. When the serafin sinned, my soul—the fruit of his sin—became Hell’s property. Selestina: celestial princess, daughter of Archangel Michael, commander of the Seraphim army.
Beelzebub continues the ritual. “Necromancy is not only summoning the dead, but a bond between shadow and soul. It requires a tether to Lucifer’s bloodline.”
A soul votive appears on the dais. Its contents spill across the surface. Then Beelzebub takes the dagger from Azrael, slicing his own palm. Blackened blood drips onto the dais, swirling with Azrael’s. “I, Beelzebub, protector of the gift, hereby return it to its rightful owner. Selestina, I summon you, Queen of Death, to receive your artifact upon receiving our sacrifice.”
He hands me the blade. “Make your sacrifice,” he instructs.
I grasp it, dragging it against my skin. Searing pain bursts through me. I grip harder until wetness coats my hand, dripping onto the swirling vortex of blood. My blood glimmers gold in the flickering lights. I gasp as more drips down into the vortex, the spiral collapsing slowly into nothing more than a pile of sand.
Beelzebub plunges his hand into the sand, searching for something buried within. After a few seconds, he pulls out what looks like a ring and raises it like a prize. Carved from bone and set in protective metal, the band is wreathed in shadows. Where a gemstone should rest, a skull is etched, its hollow eyes replaced with two black, sparkling diamonds.
He hands the ring to Azrael, who fixes me with a burning, unwavering gaze. “Are you ready?”
I nod.
“Repeat after me, my love,” he instructs.
“I accept this artifact as a conduit to power. I agree to rule by Lucifer’s side for all eternity, returning even after destruction. I invite you to complete the bond, Selestina, Queen of Death, and wielder of the gift of necromancy.”
I repeat the vow, my voice steady, drawing on every shred of strength. Azrael slowly slides the ring onto my finger. “You truly belong to me now, and forever, my queen.”
As the band slides into place, Azrael lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against my skin. Pain sears through me as shadowy tentacles extend from the ring, burrowing into my skin, possessing me. My veins ignite—dark silver threaded with black—devouring everything I am, everything I have to offer. And then I am no longer myself. I am Selestina. The necromancer. The queen of the dead.
“Life answers to you now. Death will not refuse you,” Beelzebub says, pressing his finger to my shoulder blade. A tattoo of a red lily burns into my skin with a sizzling heat.
I hiss, teeth clenched, curling into a protective ball as the bone-white lines bubble like acid across my skin.
