Page 10 of Each Their Own Devil (Our Lady of Fire #3)

There was a long silence. Even the birds that had returned to the field to pick insects from the grass disturbed by the Umbramares’ hooves stopped chirping. Orla’s low scoff broke the quiet, but Nicolas spoke over it.

“Interesting,” he said. His tone carried no emotion other than the soft tilt of curiosity; the same tone Aleja had heard when she once offered him the heart of the next person to fall in love with her in exchange for Otherlander magic.

“Interesting?” Merivus rumbled back.

“I don’t need to inform you that Val is the Messenger’s son, and therefore, a valuable prisoner. What could you possibly offer that would make us want to kill him in exchange?”

“The Third,” Merivus said. “That is all I will say until we have your agreement, Knowing One. Nor will I enter into a formal bargain with you. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

For the first time, Merivus turned away from Nicolas to look at his fellow soldiers. If Aleja had suspected division in their ranks about simply coming here to negotiate, this seemed to confirm it. Her thoughts flickered to Val, locked in his cell beneath the palace. Nicolas wouldn’t allow him to die, no matter what the mutineers offered. Val was too useful, and he had never?—

Aleja forced herself to stop. Sympathy for Val was dangerous. He had betrayed the Otherlanders to his mother, which was why he now sat in a bare cell.

“That last part is going to be a problem,” Nicolas replied. “The only thing I trust the Astraelis to do is fertilize the soil of the Hiding Place with their fallen bodies. If we can agree on anything before one of my Saints decides they’re done entertaining you, it is going to be sealed by magic.”

Aleja tugged on the marriage bond, an unspoken question flowing through it. Nicolas could not seriously be considering this bargain, could he? The Otherlanders did not execute war prisoners, no matter what they might tell the Astraelis. And Nicolas could not fail to fulfill a bargain for a second time. Aleja had only been able to bring him back by entering into a deal with the Second—a deal she had yet to pay for. She had to be the one to kill the Messenger. Nicolas knew that.

He returned an answer, but the response was a mess of sensations—something dark, conflicted. If we have the Third, then we stand a chance of stopping the Avaddon ourselves, assuming it’s real , he said.

It doesn’t matter if we don’t have Val or if they don’t let us into the Astraelis realm to destroy the First , she shot back.

I have no intention of losing Val, Aleja, but we still need to consider the fact that the Messenger is…

Lying, she finished, feeling ill for having to think the words.

“I will think about it,” Merivus said after a long moment.

“Good,” Nicolas replied. “But we have terms as well. I will not deal with you blindly. Why do you want Val dead? He’s a useful bargaining chip for you too.”

Merivus’s shoulders straightened, but he was nearly as inscrutable as the Messenger behind his mask. “The Messenger is weak. We want to weaken her further.”

Nicolas raised a dark eyebrow. “Your only interest in killing him is to upset her? Perhaps I should let you open a void beneath their feet, Orla,” he said as he turned to the Dark Saint of Envy. “I was prepared to entertain these mutineers until they revealed their war strategy.”

No , Aleja thought wildly, as two memories clicked together in her head—separate warnings, from both Violet and the Messenger, each given in secret from the other. There were Astraelis that welcomed the Avaddon, the end of all things. If Val was dead, there was no hope of killing the First. The next yank she gave on the marriage bond was violent enough that Nicolas’s eyes flickered to her for a moment.

We can’t do this. The Messenger believes that there are Authorities who want the Avaddon to happen. They want Val out of the way. He’s the only one who can stop it, she sent.

Half the Dark Saints don’t believe that. These mutineers are offering peace. If we turn them down, and you’re wrong…

I…I don’t know why I believe it, but I do. Please trust me.

I do. But by stopping this, I may lose Orla and Bonnie’s support, and we’ll need them for the fight to come. Not to mention Merit, who will follow Orla’s lead.

Then I’ll do it.

Aleja—

You know it’s the only way. I’ll take the fall. You keep the Saints united.

“You don’t know the Messenger like we do. With Val dead, she will attempt retaliation on the Hiding Place. With her focus turned away from the mutineers, we can organize and strike her down,” Merivus explained, unaware of their silent conversation.

Aleja could no longer stop herself from speaking, desperate to derail this without betraying the others. “You just gave us the perfect reason to walk away from this meeting. Knowing One, as your High General in waiting, I can’t recommend that we go through with this plan. Why would we open ourselves to the Messenger’s retaliation?”

“It won’t come to that. Our movement will take her down before she can gather her forces,” Merivus said. His mask turned to her, though his voice sharpened as he addressed the Lady of Wrath.

“And then what?” she snapped. “I fail to see how any of this in your interests or ours. We’ve fought against the Messenger for centuries. We understand her psychology and her tactics. Why would we want her replaced by a group of unknown Astraelis whose motivations aren’t clear? And for that matter, why would you offer us the Third? The Third is your best—and maybe only—hope of wiping us out completely. So, explain to me, Merivus, why I shouldn’t burn you where you stand?”

Below his mask, Merivus’s mouth widened into a grim smile. “We do not consider the Knowing One nor the Lady of Wrath to be fools. I am happy to elaborate on our motivations.”

One of the Astraelis behind him took a small step forward—whether in support or protest—but Merivus lifted a hand, halting the soldier in his tracks. “We grow as tired of this conflict as you do, Lady of Wrath. How long should this cycle continue? Our peoples fight, then return to their side of the wards to lick their wounds for a few centuries before a leader bold or stupid enough comes along and throws a volley across the realms, beginning the process all over again. What we offer is an agreement—permanent and sealed by magic. There will be no more war between the Otherlanders and the Astraelis. Future disputes will be resolved through diplomacy alone. The Knowing One and I will work together to phrase the bargain ourselves, ensuring neither of us can insert a loophole.”

Behind her, Amicia made a low noise. The Messenger had made no such promises of a permanent ceasefire; if anything, she had all but assured they would return to war once the First was dead.

“Why give us the Third when the Messenger’s head on a platter would do?” Nicolas asked.

“Consider him a peace offering. We expect your plan is to release him. With both the Third and Val out of the picture, we can assure that neither side has the capability to strike a blow that will mean total destruction of the other. Of course, we could just release him ourselves, Lady of Wrath, but would you truly ever trust that we had? He is a gift for you to do with as you will.”

Orla asked a question, but Aleja’s mind was in such disarray that she did not understand the words. She had felt inner conflict keenly during the second Trial, when the choice had been to betray Violet and pass or face failure and miss the chance to ascend to Dark Sainthood, and she had felt conflict many times since.

But never had she faced two such stark paths ahead of her. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t choose. She would let Nicolas and the others make their call, and whatever happened next, whether it be peace or incomprehensible violence, would not be Aleja’s fault.

“Dark Saint of Wrath?” Nicolas’s silver eyes were locked on hers, but she could barely remember turning her head to glance up at him. “Let’s confer. If these traitors are as eager to strike a deal with us as they seem, I’m certain that they’ll be willing to wait to hear our answer.”

“If the deal is to be made, it must be done now. The longer the Messenger has to root us out, the less our plan is likely to work,” Merivus said.

“You’re asking us to make a decision that will nullify our only bargaining chip with the Messenger,” Aleja said, finding her voice again. An out. She needed an out to truly consider what she was prepared to do. “We need more time to discuss this with the other Dark Saints.”

“We do not have time,” Merivus snapped. His mask ruffled around his face, as if the feathers were being hit by a sudden burst of wind. “The Messenger grows increasingly paranoid, hunting her army for dissenters. It’s only a matter of time before she realizes that we are among their leaders, and when that happens, you can forget any chance of a deal for peace.”

“There is still a chance to walk away,” said the Astraelis to Merivus’s left, who had already once attempted to interject. This time, Merivus spun to him. The movement was so quick that a choked sound barely left Aleja’s throat before there was a sword plunged through the Astraelis’s chest.

Aleja’s right hand flew to the stiletto dagger in the folds of her sash. Her left erupted with fire, but she kept the flames low and close to her skin, flickering with dangerous shades of twilight blue.

The Astraelis with a sword through his chest took a staggering step before Merivus could yank the blade out with a few difficult tugs.

Merivus wiped the blade on his robes before returning it to its sheath as the wounded Astraelis fell to his side on the patchy grass. Blood poured from his mouth, staining the peach-colored feathers of his mask. There was something even more grim about the semicircle of an audience that watched him clutch at the hole in his chest.

It was not enough to kill an Astraelis outright, but Merivus was a mage. Golden threads of magic flooded toward the wound. For a moment, the Astraelis’s body was a field of tiny golden stars—a moment of celestial beauty.

Then, the body exploded.

Even Nicolas stepped back in surprise, the hand that wasn’t holding his sword raised to keep Garm back. Something wet and warm hit Aleja’s face. She took a step back, nearly slipping on a—a tube, a strip—something that she had no desire to look down upon and see.

“I apologize,” Merivus said. “But I saw no better chance to show you how serious I am about this opportunity for peace.”

“You’ve made a terrible mess,” Nicolas said calmly, brushing what looked like a chunk of brain from his lapel. “If this is how you plan to rule the Astraelis, perhaps we are better off with the Messenger after all.”

“How you and I keep the peace in our separate realms is our own business. Now, let’s make a deal, Knowing One.”

“This is the Hiding Place. You will give me a chance to confer with my Dark Saints first,” Nicolas said, before addressing Aleja through the marriage bond. I’m trying to buy you time, dove, but if you’re going to act ?—

Aleja could hardly stop her eyes from darting between him and Merivus, as if she were following the ball in a tennis match. Her right hand had supercharged the hilt of the stiletto in her hand; it blistered the skin of her palm, but she barely noticed the sensation. Desperate, her eyes ran over Merivus. It’s just like a painting , she told herself. Everyone and everything speaks, whether or not they intend to.

“If you don’t agree to give us a few minutes, then walk away,” Nicolas was saying.

Merivus, to her surprise, glanced back to his remaining convoy, but it was obvious there would be no other questioning of his strategy. The Messenger might have been conniving and cruel, but she could have forced Val to return with her, and she hadn’t. She could have let Aleja be executed in her last life before allowing Nicolas to save her. The Messenger knew when to seek help. She knew when to admit she was wrong. And, dammit, Aleja trusted that the Messenger actually believed in the Avaddon.

Merivus spoke again. “Fine. But hurry.”

“No,” Aleja snapped. “We don’t need time to confer. Knowing One, we can’t make this deal.”

Merivus’s mask turned to her, twitching in irritation. His was not the only set of eyes Aleja could feel on her. Garm’s panting briefly stopped. Even Amicia, who was still lingering by Garm’s torso, took in a small breath.

“I should have known it was you who would stand in the way of peace,” Merivus said.

“I’m standing in the way of total destruction,” she said. “I know about the Avaddon, just like I know that you and your allies will do anything to see it come to pass. Killing Val will only speed things up. As for the Third, you’d rather he be as far away from the Messenger as possible.”

Merivus tutted. “I see she has gotten to you, Lady of Wrath. The Messenger is a consummate liar and always has been. We suspected she had contacted one of the Otherlanders—that she had an insider here who was coordinating with Val to spread misinformation. I must admit, I’m surprised it was you.”

“Al?” someone whispered. It was Amicia, who had stepped a few feet closer.

Aleja ignored her as Merivus turned his mask back to Nicolas. “Are you really going to let your wife ruin this historic agreement between our peoples?”

Aleja knew what Nicolas would say before he opened his mouth—that she was his High General in waiting, whose counsel he considered above all else. The words would sour his relationship with the other Dark Saints. They would sour his relationship with his soldiers, many of whom had already been prepared to execute Val. She had to be the one to be blamed for this.

Fire roared to life around both her hands, engulfing them in a torrent of red and orange.

“Lady of Wrath,” Nicolas growled. This time, his voice was devoid of the tenderness he always saved for her. He spoke to her as he would any soldier who had disobeyed a direct order from the Knowing One. “Lower your hands.”

Aleja’s flames reflected off a blade to her left—it was not Nicolas’s, but Orla’s, who had stepped around the Knowing One with her sword drawn. “You heard the Knowing One, Wrath. Step down.”

Aleja’s chest hurt, as if her fire was burning her up from the inside. She let herself take one fleeting glance at Nicolas and Orla, standing side by side. Garm took a step forward, coming between them with a low growl in Orla’s direction.

“My, Knowing One,” Merivus said, sounding pleased. “It seems the Dark Saints are ready to tear themselves apart without any intervention from us. Are you going to rein in your wife or is our deal null?”

“Speak of her that way again and I’ll make what you did to your comrade seem like a mercy killing,” Nicolas snapped.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you need to stand down,” Amicia said, low and close to Aleja’s ear. “Nicolas and Orla are right. The Messenger can’t be trusted, Al.”

“The deal is on,” Nicolas said. “My Lady of Wrath is merely expressing what we’re all thinking—that if this is a ploy, you will regret living to experience our revenge.”

A question with no answer burned through the marriage bond: Are you sure about this ?

Trust me. Please , she thought back desperately, unable to put anything else into words.

I will do what I can to slow the others down, but I can’t just let you go. You’ll have to run.

Aleja pictured Bonnie’s face brightening as she stepped into her garden. She pictured Taddeas taking on a role that he had wanted to avoid at all costs because he knew in his heart that Aleja was not ready. She pictured Amicia’s flirting, and Merit’s curious stares, and even Orla, handing over her sword for Aleja’s last Trial.

Merivus looked between them. “Knowing One, are you really going to extend this pointless war over her for a second time? I beg you to remember that you are only in this position because of your senseless slaughter those centuries ago. The Lady of Wrath was a war criminal then, just as she is an obstructionist now.”

“She is not obstructing anything. The deal will go through whether the Lady of Wrath desires it or not,” Nicolas said. “Wrath, I’m not going to ask you again. Fall back now or find yourself occupying Val’s empty cell.”

Garm looked between them, his helmet shining red in the firelight. He was promised to protect her—an oath she knew he would take seriously, even if it meant betraying the Knowing One.

The fire flared around her hands before anyone could gasp in surprise, and then she was pouring it out of the depths of her as she hadn’t done since she had faced her first Astraelis convoy—back when she was still a human girl in love with the Knowing One.

Merivus did not scream. He didn’t even get the chance to raise his hands.

Behind him, the other Astraelis only managed to retreat a half step before her fire found them. While Merivus had been silent, these men were not. The howls from their burning throats were twisted and ghoulish.

Go , Nicolas urged, as her fire sputtered.

Aleja did. Mindlessly. Wildly. With Garm at her side.

She heard Orla’s shouts behind her, but after a moment, they were overtaken by the wind as she reached the hilltop where the Umbramares waited.

“Garm! Lead us to the camp,” Aleja shouted. Or, at least, she tried to shout. The words were raw and painful, as if the fire had crawled up her throat as well.

“What are you doing?” the enormous hellhound barked. “You won’t be able to outrun them!”

“I know. That’s why I need an Avisai,” she said, as the Umbramare took off and the air in her lungs seemed to be dragged out of her. “Most of the Astraelis are still alive. That will hold the other Dark Saints back for a moment.”

“Why did you do that?” Garm barked, running beside her. It wasn’t the first time she had heard him sound angry, but it was the first time that it had been directed at her. “Even the Knowing One agreed it was our best shot at averting this war.”

“I’ll explain everything, I promise, but right now, we need to get to the palace and free Val.”

Garm’s only response was a deep grunt of disbelief. Aleja expected him to fall back, to return to the Knowing One and reveal her traitorous plans to both him and the Dark Saints. But when Garm picked up his pace, pulling a few yards ahead to guide the Umbramare to the field were the Avisai waited, Aleja’s relief was so keen that tears sprang to her eyes.

As they hit her cheeks, they seemed to boil.