The Lost Book of the White by Cassandra Clare
Epilogue
IN A PLACE BEYOND PLACE,the Princes of Hell gathered.
A request had come, making the veils of the worlds reverberate with the sound of their brother’s voice. That it was a request, and not a command, was itself surprising.
Some came out of loyalty. Some out of curiosity. Some came because if the others were coming, they were certainly coming as well.
“I know we don’t talk much,” Sammael began.
They settled down and gave him their attention. They were a motley sort of crew, he had to admit, from Belial—appearing, as he most often did, as a beautiful pale-haired man—to Leviathan, who was more of a dark green serpent, with sleek scales and arms that could be charitably described as tentacle-adjacent.
“I know we mostly go our own ways,” Sammael went on. “We only see one another to fight, over territory, over power. That’s how it’s been, since the beginning.”
That was how it was at present, as well. Belphegor and Belial had ignored each other completely since they arrived, each refusing to acknowledge the other’s existence. Leviathan and Mammon had decided to sit in the same chair, each arguing that it was the only cosmically large chair present and as the most sizable of the princes he deserved it more.
Sammael considered explaining to them that the chair was only a metaphysical construct and there could just as easily be two chairs as one, since they were in a place beyond place and all that. But he didn’t like to get involved.
Asmodeus, obviously the strongest of them by most measures, still maintained his loyalty to Sammael. Luckily for Sammael. When he bowed his head in acknowledgment of Sammael’s superiority, the others took note, and Sammael didn’t think he would have too much trouble with them.
“If that’s the way it’s always been, then that’s the way it’s supposed to be,” said Astaroth. There was nodding from the others.
“Recently,” Sammael said, “as some of you surely know, the love of my life, the great Mother of Demons, Lilith, was killed by humans on Earth. It has destroyed me,” he went on sharply. “I grieve with a grief to make stars collapse.”
Azazel rolled his eyes.
“I see that, Azazel!” Sammael snapped. “None of you perhaps understand, as you believe love is incompatible with the goals of the demonic realms. But I am here to tell you that you are wrong,” he said. “Lilith was the greatest of my strength,” he said, choking up a little. “And only now that she is gone do I feel a part missing from me.”
There was a silence. Belial said, “Sammael, have you brought us all here, disturbing our activities across the entire universe, in order to tell us that love is real?”
“No,” said Sammael. “Well, okay. Love is real, so if you’re capable of taking any insight from that, there it is. But no, I have a more concrete reason for gathering you.
“Recently,” he went on, “I had a series of strange encounters with humans—with warlocks and Nephilim—in the broken courts of the realm of Diyu.”
“Diyu?” rumbled Mammon. “Yanluo’s old place? We had some parties there.”
“Yes,” said Sammael, “and you should see the state it’s in now. Not. Good.” He gave them a significant look. “But that’s important to my point. All my plans there came to ruin.”
“You have brought us here,” said Belial, his diction as elegant as always, “to tell us that love is real and that you are terrible at your job?”
Sammael ignored this. “I failed not because I lacked power, and not because the realm of Diyu was unable to serve me. I failed because I did not account for the power that a group can have, working together and having each other’s back.”
The other Princes of Hell exchanged puzzled glances.
“I really found it quite inspiring,” Sammael said. “And so I come to you with a proposal, dear brothers.
“Too long have we gone it alone. If we are ever to truly achieve our larger goals, we must recognize that we are more alike than we are different. We must put aside our old grievances, forget them, and work together.”
Asmodeus looked astonished. “You mean—”
“Yes,”said Sammael. “I want to talk about Lucifer.”