With a wave of the Fiend Lord’s hand, the meeting was ended unceremoniously. Beelzebub, cursing and spitting under his breath, flew from the room on buzzing wings with a passing glare at me; Banshee sank into the floor, passing through it as though it were an open window, and was gone without a word.

  “Belial will show you to your chambers. Be gone from my sight.” Genesis’ grin, sinister and sly, remained fixed on me as the jovial creature led me by the hand from the room.

  Their grip was gentle, but insistent whenever my steps grew too slow for their liking. Once the great double doors of the throne room slammed shut behind us, Belial raised a hand and snapped their fingers. A distortion appeared, forming a gateway that revealed a new room.

  “Come, come! Let us be on our way, Fair Lady. Yours has been a long journey and the hour is late. Surely some rest would serve you well.”

  Though the creature’s offer was appreciated, I shook my head and untangled my hand from their slender fingers. “I apologize, Good Belial, but if I am to be confined to these walls, I would appreciate the opportunity to learn the lay of my prison. Would it be disagreeable if we were to walk?”

  “Not at all! Not at all!” Belial clapped their hands and giggled. “You are quite the strange one, Fair Lady. But a stranger in a strange land is already at home, wouldn’t you agree?” They bowed their head and stretched out a lanky arm. “Follow at your leisure, Lady Celeste.”

  Their limbs swung to and fro as they led me back through the hall of statues, the creature’s casual stride at odds with the expressions of horror and anguish that surrounded us. Down the hall, to the left, and up a spiral set of stairs. The shadows peeled apart as we rose, our path always lit despite the clear lack of any visible light source. I wondered if this, too, was a doing of the odd creature.

  As our journey took us through long, dark stretches of nothing but obsidian stone and echoing footsteps, my curiosity wrested control from my apprehension.

  “Good Belial, if I may, what is the nature of your Soulspark? You open gateways to distant locations, light our path, and relieved me of the Lady Banshee’s wail. An odd collection of abilities for one called the Fiend of Illusion.”

  They twisted their head backward to look at me, their arms following suit even as their feet and torso faced forward to continue their trek. “Ah! A fine question, Lady Celeste! Allow me to demonstrate.” Belial brought a hand before their chest, distorted light and shadow amalgamating within its palm. “Mine is the gift to reshape the perceived reality into one of my choosing. Sights, smells, sounds, tastes, sensations of every form at my beck and call.” They lifted their other hand. The light in the hall grew bright as midday; a song, a fiddle played with gentle passion, echoed along the empty walls; and the scent of baked apples and cinnamon wafted in the air.

  “Fascinating…” I hadn’t expected the creature would be so forthright with such a revelation, much less a demonstration so tender. My eyes drifted shut as I breathed in the sweet scent, mouth watering and tongue tingling in delight, as though I could taste it.

  Snap. The hallway reverted, dark, silent, and stale.

  “The doorways,” I said as I opened my eyes once more. “How do they relate to such an ability? Surely you don’t mean to say Sir Beelzebub and Lady Banshee were not present. Not if you intended to lead me through such a doorway as well.”

  Belial shook their head, bells jingling. “Not at all! Not at all. My bitter comrades were quite present, as you well surmised. Distance, too, is in how one perceives it. Imagine, if you will, a piece of parchment.” With a flick of their wrist, they produced a long, tea-stained scroll. At the top was a red circle; at the bottom, a blue circle.

  “You see these circles at a great distance if you observe them from this angle” they folded the scroll such that the two holes overlapped. Then, they pierced through them with a finger. “If you change your view, it’s as simple as piercing through the Dream, to create a gap between two points!” They removed their finger. The hole disappeared. Another flick of their wrist, and the scroll was gone. “Simple enough, yes?”

  I nodded. “If you are in possession of such a talent, why, then, did Lord Genesis deign to retrieve me himself? Could you not have brought me here as you did the other Fiends?”

  Belial turned around and shrugged their shoulders. “That was the plan! Then, suddenly, my Lord Master asked that I grant him the opportunity. And I must say, his methods are far more entertaining than my own!” Another cackle and the jingle of their bells.

  So Genesis long intended to take me captive, but reconsidered the method at the eleventh hour? Distressing as it would have been to be abducted without warning, part of me wished it had been so to spare Lucien and Vasco the pain of defeat and the heartache of knowing they couldn’t save me.

  “Here we are! In you go, in you go!” Belial threw open a door made of polished, sanded wood, painted pristine white and marked with golden trim. Its extravagant beauty was utterly out of place in the endless stretches of black and copper, but I supposed it would make locating my room easy enough in the future.

  I thanked the creature and stepped inside.

  The room was spacious, larger than the sitting room of our cottage. A rich floral scent hung in the air, plush verdant carpet covered the cold stone floor like a field of grass. A wardrobe carved from lacquered Serpent oak stood beside a four-poster bed with satin sheets and fluffy pillows. Past the bed was a glass doorway, leading to a balcony that overlooked the courtyard, and across from it was a fireplace, logs of burning oak crackling with fellflame.

  Not the prison I’d imagined, more a gilded cage, but one painstaking in its attempt to make me feel at ease.

  “Is it to your liking, Fair Lady?” Belial asked.

  I turned to see them looming in the doorway, their unchanging gaze piercing into me.They snapped their fingers and the color of the fellflame turned natural. Another snap and it turned the shade of the evening sky. A final snap and it returned to normal.

  “You need only say the word.”

  “No, Good Belial. This will do.” I bowed my head. “Thank you for your consideration. But, as you mentioned, the hour is late, and my trip was long. If I may?”

  “Of course! Of course! If you’ve need of anything, simply say my name. I am your humble servant.” Belial swept forward in a graceful bow, so deep its horns clinked against the floor. Then, with a distorted pop they vanished from sight, and the door slid shut with a gentle click.

  Once the creature was gone, I breathed a heavy sigh, forced from my lungs by the weight of my decision at last landing on my shoulders. Thoughts smothered by uncertainty and dread, my body moved on its own. Untying my bonnet and letting down my hair, slipping off my apron and pulling my gloves free, one finger at a time. I laid them out on a stand beside the wardrobe, taking my time to fold them. Then, I bent down and untied my boots. Finally, I shucked my dress, placing it in the empty wardrobe.

  Dressed in nothing but a paper thin, cotton chemise, I walked to the center of the room. My eyes drifted shut; my head tilted back. Breathing in the floral scent, relishing the flickering flames of the crackling fire. My toes sank into the plush carpet, imagining that it really was loamy soil and grass beneath my feet. The illusion was truly magnificent. I could almost believe I was standing in the green grass in front of our cottage, beneath the clear blue sky, basking in yellow sunlight.

  But when I opened my eyes, the magic was gone and reality set in. Through the crystal glass, a wasteland of barren gray and seeping rot, a blackened sky of clouds like tar, greeted me.

  My chest tightened, my teeth sinking into my lip to hold back the prickle of tears in my eyes. I shook my head and turned away from the window to lie down in the bed — my bed — and gaze up at the ceiling. The mattress was soft, the sheets cool and delicate to the touch, and pillows gentle beneath me. It was the most comfortable bed in which I’d ever lain.

  Sleep called to me, beckoning me to rest my tired, tearful eyes. But my racing heart and racing thoughts refused to succumb. If I dared to dream, what awaited me on the other side?

  What would I find in the reflection of such a bleak and hateful place?

  ***

  For some time — minutes, maybe hours — I tried to rest without sleeping. Tossing and turning, seeking some slight relief from my suffocating helplessness.

  What of my brother? What of my mother? What of Lucien? I left them with such short notice. Abandoned my duty, abandoned Spring Hill and Willowhaven and all the world when it needed me most. Should I have fought back? Should I have rallied together with my Heroes to stage a desperate struggle against the Fiend Lord, even knowing we might fail?

  Not content to wallow in restlessness, I rose from my bed and walked to the door. My hand hovered over the knob, fearful of what I might find beyond. But if this place was to be my prison, I would do well to learn the limits of my confinement. With a deep breath, I gripped the knob and turned. Then, I stepped into the hall.

  The floor was hot, a few scant degrees past uncomfortable against the soles of my feet. My light footsteps echoed off the empty walls, the only sound in the dark. Instead of retreading the path that led to my room, I made my way further down the hall.

  No rooms, no portraits, no statues or decorations. After several minutes of disappointment, I considered turning back, but my persistence was at last rewarded when I spied a dim glow in the distance. Breath quickened, I hurried to the entrance and peered inside.

  It was a round room with high walls that led to a clear glass ceiling. I gasped at the sight of stars and a giant, full moon shining overhead. Its light spilled into the room, in strands of blue-silver so thick I could see them dancing on my skin when I reached out my hand. All around the room were empty stone flower boxes, pots, and a wooden table not unlike the one from my garden back home.

  Making my way to the table, my head swiveled to take it all in. Atop the table lay implements with which I was familiar: an alembic, glass phials, stands, clippers, pipettes and droppers. Even a pair of magnifying glasses, far more elaborate than my own. Last, was a stack of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell.

  “Naughty thing! Sneaking off without so much as a word!”

  I gasped, turning to find myself face-to-face with Belial. They tilted their head and raised a wagging finger.

  “Had you merely asked, it would have been my honor to show you to your laboratory. Well, what say you, Fair Lady?” The Fiend stood back, taking a seat on the edge of one of the empty flower beds. It crossed one lanky leg over the other and laid its tapping fingers on its knee. “Will this be suitable for conducting your research?”

  “My research?” I looked around the room. “This is to be mine?”

  “It is! All who serve in the Fiend Lord’s court are granted two rooms.” Belial raised their hand and held up a finger. “One to rest,” it raised a second finger, “and one to pursue their darkest passion. As my Lord Master said, Lady Celeste, this is your home, not your prison.”

  “A home one can never leave is no different from a prison, Good Belial. As your Lord Master would surely agree.” But though my words were harsh, my gaze was soft. My fingers twitched as they brushed the smooth wood surface. “Might I make it into a garden?”

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  “Of course! Whatever you envision, this is a space to mold to your desires.”

  “May I trouble you for some supplies?” I turned, watching the Fiend rise to its feet and bow once more. “If I make a list, will that suffice?”

  “It shall, Fair Lady. I am your humble servant.”

  I snatched the quill and a piece of parchment, jotting down a list of seeds, soil compositions, various measuring glasses, and assorted materials that might prove useful. My pulse raced as I placed the parchment in Belial’s outstretched hand.

  They raised the list to their face, head rotating until it was upside down. Then, it snapped back into place, and they vanished through a distortion.

  I raced from the room, filled with a newfound purpose. Retraced the steps we took — scrambling down stairs and rushing through corridors, pausing only to brush the dirt from Giulio’s face — back to the courtyard. To my surprise, the doors opened as I approached. I thanked them without slowing, sprinting into the slicing, glass-like weeds until I at last reached my quarry.

  “Lady Witherlily, I hope you don’t think me too forward,” I said with a hiss as I sank to my knees beside her. The nicks and gashes from her neighbors ripped both my skin and my chemise, staining it with splatters of blood that found their way back into my body in a haze of gold and lilac smoke. “But I believe a new home would be to your benefit. If you’ll grant me this one request, I assure you that you’ll receive the admiration and affection a steadfast, noble lady such as yourself deserves.”

  My fingers broke and bled as I drove them into the charred gray ground. Like ripping up rocks with neither spade nor chisel, my work was tedious and exhausting. Thankfully, my kindly Soulspark shared my enthusiasm, mending my broken fingers in time for me to break them again. Again and again. Tears race down my flushed cheeks. My shoulders shook from heavy cries of anguish with every thrust of my fists into the dirt. But, my unrelenting frenzy was rewarded when the witherlily was at last freed from her confinement.

  I took a moment to recover, clutching her to my breast and kissing her petals.

  “Thank you, my good lady. Let us depart from this dreadful place.” Were it not for my Soulspark, I would have never escaped the angry, jealous wrath of the witherlily’s neighbors. Their petals and stems tearing my ankles, piercing my soles like rusted nails and discarded glass. Even with the rejuvenating starlight stitching me back together and replenishing my stamina like mouthfuls of ice cold water, I nearly collapsed before making it back to the stone path.

  The return to my laboratory was uneventful and slow. I hadn’t the strength of will to sprint any longer. My feet, though mended of damage and pain alike, remained tender, recalling the hell I’d put them through. Hands, cradling fair Witherlily as though she were an infant, throbbed with the memory of a thousand fractures.

  When at last we entered the moonlit room, my eyes widened at its transformation. Seed samples, organized in alphabetical order, lined the table. Soil — rich, living soil — filled the pots and beds, their moist, earthy scent a delight that brought tears to my eyes. Everything I’d asked for, in greater quantities than I’d imagined.

  I sat on the edge of the circular flower bed in the room’s center. Witherlily in one hand, I gingerly pressed my fingers into the soil and breathed an airy moan when they sank in without the brutal resistance of the gray ground. Taking a handful, I brought it to my face and breathed deep.

  “If it would please you, my good lady, I think this will be a more agreeable home.” I retrieved a scalpel from the table and set to chipping away the dead earth from the witherlily’s roots. Though I knew her hardy nature meant that I could simply sever her and she’d grow anew, I resisted the urge. My logical brain worried that she may, somehow, not survive if I were to do so; my softer side simply wished to spare her the suffering.

  Once her roots were cleared, I placed her in her new home and closed the soil around her, patting it down tight. A smile spread across my lips seeing her flourish, standing up tall and spreading her petals to drink the moonlight.

  “Oh, dearest. I envy your strength and beauty. You deserve so much better than the life you’ve been given. I hope this is some small comfort.” My fingers caressed her petals, her affection distracting me from the distortion just over my shoulder. “Good Belial. Will this turn to sunlight come morning?”

  The Fiend cackled. “It is not moonlight now, Lady Celeste. Just a fact-simile that my Lord Master thought you might find pleasing.”

  “A pity.” I frowned. The light had seemed too good to be true. But to have my suspicions confirmed hurt more than I had expected. “How, then, will my flowers grow?” I asked, turning to look at them.

  Belial shrugged their shoulders. “My apologies, Lady Celeste, but that riddle is one you must unravel on your own. Though I have been instructed to see to your needs, as a Fiend, that is one request beyond my capabilities.”

  I nodded and returned to attending to the witherlily. “So then it’s true, Fiends such as yourself are as vulnerable to the Sun as the Fellbeasts are?” My eyes narrowed. “Does that include Lord Genesis, as well?”

  The creature’s giggle sent a shiver down my spine. “We are, and it does. Those born from the dark are forever accursed by the light. But, rest assured, all who thought such knowledge would prove my Lord Master’s undoing discovered he’s not one to fall to something so simple.”

  “Why do you share such information so freely? Do you truly trust me so?”

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  Belial appeared on the flower bed’s opposite side. They tilted their head. “Because my Lord Master has asked me to see that your needs and questions are answered.”

  I frowned and pursed my lips. If that were so then, “What does Lord Genesis want with me?”

  The creature’s head snapped back to a natural position. Somewhere beneath its mask, I felt it grinning at me. “Why, yours is the most important role of all, Lady Celeste!” It brought a finger up to its mouth. “But for now, patience! You’ll understand in all due time.”

  ***

  Thus began my eternal imprisonment within the walls of Castle Dreadskull. In the week that followed, I attempted to adjust to my new life. I explored the halls to familiarize myself with the grounds, and to uncover any other secrets lying in wait. Just as it at first appeared, the castle was strangely barren. Long, twisting hallways of nothing that lead to nowhere. Windows were scarce, rooms even more so. There was a trophy room, housing artifacts and weapons of legend acquired during the Fiends’ conquests, and an enormous chamber — countless floors spiraling upward without end — that housed the statues of the Fiend Lord’s most memorable opponents.

  I found a staircase that Belial told me led to Beelzebub’s tower, though I couldn’t get close enough to confirm. The walls ran with hissing streams of rot so thick it burned to breathe. It clogged the hall such that only a parade of Rotted Fellbeasts could pass freely. And even their bulbous bodies got stuck on occasion until pried free by another.

  A doorway to the dungeon, Banshee’s domain, lay at the end of a labyrinthine series of corridors. As one drew closer, the walls rattled from the Fiend’s constant wails. I nearly opened the door, but Belial appeared to warn me against it. While they’d taken the liberty of deafening me to Banshee’s voice, they advised against being alone with her. Though, they were quick to add that if doing so was my desire, they would not stop me.

  With most of the castle’s inhabitants either avoiding me or being avoided by me, I spent those days either alone, or in Belial’s company. I grew fast accustomed to the creature’s uncanny ways, their habit of appearing unannounced, their fluid, yet unnatural movements, and their dissonant, song-like voice. True to their word, they were quick to accommodate my every need, fetching whatever I asked without a fuss or hesitation.

  When my sorrow grew so great that I couldn’t bring myself to leave bed, they revealed to me a most peculiar room that I’d missed. A library.

  Freshly dusted, with polished wood shelves and a comfortable sitting area where the high-backed chairs had plush, ornate cushions. The books were well-maintained, spines and pages pristine despite their age, meticulously organized by author’s name, then by title, written in languages I’d never seen, depicting kingdoms and countries of which I’d never heard.

  At the back of the library was a map. Though I’m sure Belial’s intentions were to brighten my mood, when they showed it to me, I felt as if the world had dropped out from beneath my feet. Journeys out of the valley were limited to the Southern Sea, past the cliffs of Sheerside. And none had ever returned to say what lay beyond the horizon. If this map was to be believed, the world was grander than our wildest imaginings.

  Massive landmasses dotted a great, sprawling ocean. My home lay at the southernmost tip of one such landmass. Castle Dreadskull lay deep within the Northern territory. Traveling from Spring Hill to the ruins of Northswain was a month by foot. The distance from Northswain to Dreadskull was no less than four times that length.

  A five-month journey, crossed in a night — no more than an hour or two — with the Fiend Lord’s wings. The truth of just how far from home I was, and how inescapable my captor was even without Belial’s doorways, sent me plummeting back into my sorrow.

  My only solace, the only reason to drag myself out of bed, was my garden. The starlight from my Soulspark proved an effective replacement for the sun. In fact, it proved even better, healing maladies and mending imperfections, which allowed my flowers to grow much faster than they would have otherwise. Though not comparable to the miraculous power of Hope’s Tears, within a week, fair Witherlily had a host of saplings to keep her company in my absence.

  It wasn’t much, but it was the one thing I could control.

  The most peculiar aspect of my captivity, though, was the absence of my captor. For a week, I neither saw nor heard from Lord Genesis. Until one night, when Belial appeared to me in my garden and informed me that his Lord Master requested I join him for dinner.

  ***

  Dinner with the Fiend Lord was an experience unto itself. The dining room was shockingly small, the table fitting only the pair of us. A candelabra made of silver sat atop an ornate white tablecloth in the middle of the table, lit with fellflame. The dishes were porcelain with golden accents shaped into a string of flowers, sparkling as if they’d never been used, and the wine glasses clear as crystal. A soft duet between a piano and a violin played from the shadows, courtesy of Belial, who was notably absent.

  At first, I was reluctant to eat, but at both his insistence, and that of my growling stomach, which had spent weeks sustained by nothing but Snakebite Plums, I threw caution to the wind.

  The dish was one with which I was unfamiliar. Browned rice tossed with peas and carrots, strips of savory beef, and sautéed onions in a thick brown sauce. It burned my mouth, but despite the lingering heat, I couldn’t resist chasing one bite with another. My eyes closed, I tried to identify the spices — a game my family often played, taking advantage of my sensitive tongue to pick apart Mother’s most ambitious culinary endeavors — but my best guess was that they weren’t native to Willowhaven.

  Across from me, my host sat stoic and silent. No plate, nor silverware. Just elbows on the table, his chin resting on threaded fingers as he stared unblinking at me. His green eyes burned, as they always did, an amused smirk on his lips. A predator’s gaze, biding his time before the kill. A look that gave me every reason to feel ill at ease, save for sensing the anguish I’d felt since arriving seemed lessened somehow.

  As if noticing the slight loosening of tension in my body, Genesis spoke suddenly. “Is your laboratory to your liking? Belial tells me you’ve grown quite the garden in such a short time.”

  “It is. Good Belial has been most accommodating.”

  “Hm.” Genesis allowed himself a sharp-toothed grin. “I do wonder what it is you intend to accomplish. Nothing can grow in this dead place beyond that room, and even within that room it is only by your hand that they persist”

  I washed down a particularly hot bite and wiped my mouth with my napkin. “I should ask you the same question. You snatch me away from my home, declare me your eternal captive, hand me a room and a garden, then disappear for a week without a word. For the life of me, I cannot imagine what you gain from this arrangement that would not be more easily accomplished by simply rending my head from my body.”

  Genesis opened his mouth to respond, but mine, fueled by frustration, was quicker and sharper. “All in due time? Soon my very important role will be made clear? Yes, Good Belial has been nothing if not consistent with that excuse. But that is all it is: an excuse. How long must I toil in ignorance before you make your intent clear, Lord Genesis?”

  His eyes flared.

  My body broke into a cold sweat, instincts screaming that I’d overstepped my boundaries. But instead of anger, I was met with a short bark of laughter.

  “My intent is already made clear, Little Flower. As I was quick to tell you, I desire for you to remain here, forevermore, to do as you please.” He sat up and leered down his nose at me; he’d yet to blink since our conversation began. “Need I remind you, it was you who first challenged me. What did you hope to gain with such foolishness? You knew who you were addressing that night in the Dream, did you not?”

  It was I who broke first, lowering my eyes to my half-emptied plate. He spoke true, though I’d spent the days after convincing myself of my ignorance. That night when we met in the reflection of my garden, his malevolent gaze revealed him to me. And still I confronted him, with none of the tactical fear I now hid behind.

  My words were foolhardy, but spoken from the heart.

  “You are…correct, Lord Genesis.” I pushed the food around my plate with my fork. The metal scraping the porcelain caused my ears to twitch, as did his, I saw briefly when I lifted my head to meet his persistent glare. “If I am, as my people believe, the Promised Healer of prophecy, then our meeting was inevitable. And if our collision was an end that could not be averted, I wished to meet it in person, rather than hidden behind a reflection.”

  Something flashed across his face. A grin that almost reached his eyes. Then, his sneering dominance returned, fangs gleaming as he spoke. “A Hero’s Party has set foot in the Dreadlands.”

  My blood ran cold.

  “What?”

  “They make their way North with great haste toward Castle Dreadskull. Though, their arrival is yet months away. Provided they do not meet an abrupt and ignoble end.” He sat back and growled. “How far do you think they’ll make it without a Healer?”

  Hands shaking, I pushed my seat back. Knees weak, I climbed to my feet, holding myself up with the edge of the table. “Wh-Why would you tell me this?”

  Genesis grinned. “I thought it knowledge you’d be grateful to receive. What you do with it, I leave to you, Little Flower.”

  My vision blurred. My breath quickened, short and shallow. Lightheaded, I tore away from the table, tripping over my chair. “Please, excuse me, Lord Genesis!” I wasted no time waiting for his response as I tore from the room. Sprinting down the halls and up the stairs until I reached my room. Once there, I slammed the door shut behind me as the first gasping tears fell down my cheeks.

  It couldn’t be. They wouldn’t. But of course they would.

  “What can I do? What can I do? What can I do?” I paced the length of the room, hands dug into my hair, scraping at my scalp in an effort to spur my ingenuity. There was no escaping the castle, nor reaching them in time if I did.

  My eyes fell on the bed. It had gone unused all this time. Heart racing, I tossed aside my fear, climbed into bed, and laid my head upon the pillows.

  Then, I closed my eyes.

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