They both glance at Beliel. He’s swatting at the hellions who are squabbling near his shoulder. They fly away from him to hang on to the bars and stare at us. No, not at us. At my sword. The Pit hellions want to go home. However bad it was there, it had to have been better than being caged, waiting to be killed. Home. “What if we could go into the Pit and get the Watchers?” I ask. It’s an insane thought, one I wouldn’t consider if the entire human race didn’t depend on it. If Raffe could dethrone Uriel, then no more war, right?
