Page 21 of Each Their Own Devil (Our Lady of Fire #3)

“We need to go back,” she whispered.

“We can’t,” Nicolas said. “There are too many. All we’ve been able to do is keep them distracted, preventing them from reaching the wards and giving our armies time to prepare on the other side. Even the fucking Messenger has disappeared—ran off without a word.”

“We have to stop them. Turn around, Knowing One.” It was the most Aleja could muster, but she felt Nicolas’s breath as his chest moved against her back.

“I saw what your fire did to you,” he said.

“I’m not. My fire, it’s—it’s?—”

Though she couldn’t say it, she knew Nicolas must have understood. The black, cold fire—it had been pure death.

“You’re asking me to do something that I can’t, dove.”

“Our duty is to the Hiding Place. Get me back to the Authorities.”

“I will not let you die. Not again. Once, in our nameless kingdom by the sea, I lit a black candle and made a bargain with the Knowing One to save your life. Don’t think I’m not above such desperate measures now.”

“If you love me—” Aleja gasped. “Do it.”

She felt his breath hitch, but the Umbramare finally swerved in the opposite direction. Nicolas’s firm hand on her stomach brought a wave of strength. She needed a plan, but her brain could barely yank her thoughts out of the darkness.

“Nic, listen… There is an injured Avisai; I already told Garm. He knows where to go. And Val is still hiding in the First’s chamber.”

“Save your strength, Wrath,” Nicolas said.

And Aleja found she no longer had a choice. The cold was returning, as if the Messenger’s magic was wearing off.

There was too much she wanted to say to Nic. You’re going to be angry at me for what I’m about to do, but I love you beyond time and space. If I can, I will find you again, even if I have to wait for every star—with its secret name—to explode and for the universe to be reborn. This is a gift for both of us. And while I can’t stand the thought of you loving someone else like you love me, please don’t let yourself be alone.

The purpose of the marriage bond was clear in that moment. She knew Nic had heard her. She knew he understood. And with that understanding came a wave of grief, anger, and pain—one of the first things she had truly been able to feel since the Third had taken root inside her.

“I love you,” she whispered again, and this time, the words carried the weight of eternity.

“I love you too,” Nicolas said. His voice was choked, but steady.

The cold became comforting after a while, like sinking into an unmade bed in a room with the window open in winter. Only this time, there would be no gradual heating of the sheets.

Nicolas was calling her name, but the Third was so loud in her head that she could barely hear him anymore.

That’s it, Wrath. Let go, and we will walk together through my realm. You have been dead before, and it didn’t much bother you then, did it? There will be no difference now.

It’s not true. Aleja wanted to sob. Last time, she had chosen her fate.

You did this time too , the Third countered, as though plucking her thoughts from the bitter cold that filled her.

She tried to open her eyes and found a small sliver of light breaking through. Nicolas’s shadows must have dispersed. She was still on the Umbramare but had no sense of how long they had been riding.

“Are you still with me, dove?” Nicolas whispered.

She nodded faintly, unsure if the motion was large enough for him to feel. “Get me in front of the Authorities. I can…”

What are you doing, Wrath? the Third asked, his voice laced with cold fury.

You can take me, but you’re not taking my friends with you.

You have no magic left.

I have yours.

“Anything in front of me is going to die,” she said out loud with all the strength she could muster. “Make sure that everyone is out of the way.”

Nicolas took a sharp breath against her back. “I’ll try,” was all the Knowing One said in response.

From the corner of her eye, she caught something moving to either side of her: two splashes of red. One was Orla’s bright hair; her helmet must have been knocked off in the fight. The other was Taddeas’s magic, dimly glowing around his axe as he rode beside her.

“The mutineers flanked us. Bonnie and Merit have fallen back to the border. We’re out of Ignisium too,” Orla barked.

All Aleja could manage was a whisper. “Amicia.”

“If she’s still alive, then she’s surrounded by Authorities,” Taddeas answered grimly. “But Amicia has always been clever and quick. Maybe she had a chance to get out.”

Aleja wanted to tell them what she had seen—the way Amicia had been sprawled on the ground, waiting to die while begging her to run. “She?—”

But it wasn’t exhaustion that silenced her. She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Everyone around her knew exactly what happened to those the Authorities caught. She slipped away into the cold for a moment, and when she came back, it was to another conversation.

“—at this point, this is a suicide mission, Knowing One,” Orla said. “You should fall back to the wards. Let Taddeas and me force the Authorities to scatter so that you can lead everyone back to the palace. You’ll at least have a chance to defend yourself there, and someone is going to have to appoint new Dark Saints to take our places.”

Please , Aleja begged silently. She couldn’t take Taddeas away from Jack. She couldn’t let Orla—brilliant, sharp Orla—die as a sacrifice. “No,” she breathed.

“As of this moment, you’re a foot soldier, Wrath,” Orla snapped. “You have no say here.”

“I resign,” Taddeas barked. “Welcome back, High General. What she says goes, unless the Knowing One says otherwise.”

“Our Lady of Wrath has never led us astray before. Come on. Ride,” Nicolas ordered.

“If we survive, I want a promotion for dealing with this nonsense,” Orla muttered, but as they surged forward, Aleja caught sight of her shining armor, keeping pace.

A deep bark echoed in the distance—Garm, likely signaling he was running out of energy to keep the Authorities flying in circles. Aleja let out a high whistle of warning and prayed he would understand to get the hell out of her way.

“Get me in front of as many of them as possible. I’ll need to aim… I… Amicia.” Aleja knew she wasn’t making sense, but if she was going to channel death through herself as she had into the stiletto blade, she had to stop suppressing it. She had to embrace the cold that squeezed her heart and clogged her throat.

“Aleja, there’s no way you’ll be able to take down those Authorities by yourself, even if you were at full strength. Maybe Orla is right,” Taddeas said, his breath ragged. “You and Nic should retreat.”

“If you need to go, Taddeas, go,” Nicolas said. “You know I would never blame you. You too, Orla. If Aleja and I don’t come back, nominate yourself as the next Knowing One. Help everyone rebuild.”

“I made a promise to you long ago, and I plan to see it through to the end,” Taddeas said, at the same time Orla muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, fuck that.

“I’m faster,” Orla said, her voice cutting through the tension. “I’m going to ride ahead and do what I can to get Amicia out of range. For the love of the Second, Lady of Wrath, please wait to unleash until we’re out of there.”

Aleja forced a nod. The muscles around her neck were so frozen, the motion felt like her head might snap off.

Orla peeled away from the group. It only took a moment for them to crest a hill, unhindered by Nicolas’s shadows, and for Aleja to realize how close the Authorities were. She almost screamed at Orla to stop, though she doubted she could produce a sound.

Nicolas was as tense as the marble statues in the palace as they watched Orla dart forward on her Umbramare, weaving through the mass of Authorities. The massive creatures struggled to turn without knocking one another out of the sky with their wings.

But now the Authorities barely seemed to care about Orla.

Their focus was on Aleja.

The wind from their wings whipped against her face. From the corner of her eye, Aleja caught the red glow of Taddeas’s magic, just as she felt Nicolas shift behind her. She managed another weak, “No.”

For a moment, Aleja’s gaze locked onto a flash of movement amid the chaos—a streak of dirty-blonde hair, unmistakable even against the blood-soaked backdrop of the battlefield. Violet. She wasn’t atop an Umbramare or riding an Astraelis elk. Her movements were frantic but deliberate, weaving like a needle through a tattered fabric of enemies.

Aleja’s breath caught in her throat. Violet wasn’t running away—she was baiting them. The Authorities, with their grotesque gaping mouths, lumbered after her. There was no time to question why Violet, of all people, would risk herself like this. The sight of her was both a promise and a plea: Take the chance I’m giving you.

“Aleja.” Nicolas’s voice cut through the haze.

She swallowed, steadying her resolve. She wanted the Authorities to see what she was about to do to them.

Stop this , whispered the Third from the bitter cold inside her. You could have gone peacefully with me across the realm. Now you’re going to know what it’s like to be devoured by a monster.

She ignored him, channeling the dark, cold magic through her.

But she wasn’t fast enough; one of the Authorities had flanked them too quickly, appearing over the ridge like a predator descending on wounded prey. Taddeas’s Umbramare reared, a blur in Aleja’s peripheral vision. Nicolas shouted something unintelligible, and her eardrums rattled, the sound shooting through her brain.

Their world was bathed in red light, but Taddeas’s magic hadn’t been given enough time to build power. The crimson haze was suddenly overtaken by the gaping black void of the Authority’s open mouth. Yet it never clamped down on them. Instead, it twisted unnaturally, jaws snapping shut over its own wing with a horrible crunch and a muffled wail of pain.

It was Amicia. Aleja’s heart sang. She was still alive. Still able to use her magic.

Aleja raised her hands. She unleashed death.

For a moment, her vision sharpened, letting her see the beam of blackness erupting from her hands. It didn’t glow like her fire. No, this magic devoured light and heat, like Orla’s voids. She felt the steam of Nicolas’s cold breath against the curve of her ear and heard Taddeas gasp through his chattering teeth.

The beam only grazed one of the Authorities, but where it struck, the feathers blackened instantly. Aleja tried to blink her eyes back into focus, but what she saw was so horrific that it must have been a hallucination of her dying mind.

Like her fire, the beam burned away the Authority’s feathers and flesh, but so quickly that all that remained were charred black bones. The bones crumbled, falling apart into ash, leaving behind only fragments of what hadn’t been consumed by her magic.

You have no idea what you’re doing , the Third warned, his voice cutting through her shock. My magic is boundless. You’ll just as soon destroy both your realms if you don’t stop.

She wanted to ignore him, but then she saw the darkness around the Authority’s remains seeping into the ground. It spread like spilled ink, and for a heartbeat, the battlefield fell into an unnatural stillness. Then, if she had wanted the Authorities to retreat, she had her wish. They broke formation, scattering wildly from the growing black void, their panic stripping them of any strategy.

“What was that, Aleja?” Nicolas whispered against her hair, his voice taut with shock.

Before she could answer, the Third’s scathing voice came again: You’re lucky. That spurt of my magic should only destroy a few hundred square miles of this realm ? —

“We need to run. As fast as we can,” she managed before the Third could finish.

—but try again, and you’ll be the real Avaddon. The true world-ender.

The Umbramares lurched into motion, following the Authorities’ path of retreat while giving the spreading darkness a wide berth. Aleja didn’t have the strength to question the direction, her focus fractured as the Third’s words echoed in her mind.

She wasn’t sure when Nicolas caught up to the Authorities. She only became aware when their teeth were upon them, hot breath filling the air—the only unpleasant smell in all of the Astraelis realm.

A thousand multicolored eyes glimmered with unguarded glee. Even in their rush to escape, the Authorities could not resist the chance to take down the Knowing One and his Lady of Wrath.

Her left hand trembled as she raised it, barely strong enough to channel her magic. She felt Nicolas press her closer against him.

“I’ll find you again,” he whispered.

She waited a beat, just long enough to give Taddeas time to scramble away. His voice rose in a scream, shouting her name, but it was too late. The cold had already reached her fingertips.

She unleashed again.

The world turned a beautiful ultramarine blue.

She had seen the Third in many forms, but she wondered if this was how he saw himself. He stood so enormously tall that Aleja had to squint to look up at his blindfolded face—thin, concave, and skeletal. Atop his hood rested a golden crown, its spikes reaching impossibly high before dissolving into the surrounding darkness like needle-thin whispers of light.

When he reached for her, she wasn’t afraid. Not even the sight of his second set of arms, lifting to adjust his hood while the others settled on her shoulders, was enough to quicken her heart. Until the crushing awareness that she was alone struck her.

“Where is my husband?” she asked sharply, whirling to examine her surroundings.

She felt so light now, moving without the heavy coldness that had once filled her. But there were no rolling hills, no weeping willow trees—only the vast ultramarine void stretching endlessly in all directions.

She pushed his bony hand off her shoulder. He leaned down in response—a process so slow, it made his towering height all the more oppressive. His skull was black and threaded with fine silver vines like marbling. Two eyes were stitched into his blindfold with brilliant golden thread.

“Where is Nicolas?” she demanded, stepping back. Her movements felt sluggish, as though she were wading through water against an unrelenting current.

“You’ll see him in time,” the Third replied. “As with the other Dark Saint you sent here. Come, let us walk. The way is long.”

“The other Dark Saint?” she whispered, her voice tinged with panic. “Who?”

Aleja glanced over her shoulder. She could run. There was no clear destination, nothing in sight but emptiness, but she could try. If she could escape the Third long enough—if she could just?—

“There is only one path left for you,” the Third said, as though reading her thoughts. “Only one road leads in and out of this place, and no matter which way you run, you’ll find yourself on that road. Come. Let’s wait for the others.”

“I’m not going,” she said, defiance rising in her throat.

“You Otherlanders are exhausting,” the Third replied with a sigh. “There comes a point when you need to give in.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry if I frightened you before. It’s not my nature, but I was upset. There is no longer anything to be afraid of.”

“I want to be afraid,” Aleja whispered. “I want to be angry and tired. I want to sleep and eat. I want to not know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I want to make plans that change at the last minute. I want to get bored. I want to eat eggs for breakfast and drink coffee late at night because I want to keep reading. I want to see a painting I’ve never seen before.” Her voice broke as tears welled in her eyes, hot against the cold of this liminal world. “If I go with you, I’ll never see a new painting ever again.”

“It is the price the living all pay. Even Otherlanders, eventually.”

“But I didn’t make a bargain,” Aleja protested. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You have to pay it all the same,” the Third said simply.

When he extended his bony hand again, she hesitated. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was better to go to a place where there was no fear. No waking up scared. No worrying whether today would be the day she or her friends would die. No war.

But Nicolas was not here. Nor was Violet. Nor Italy, or Bonnie’s ridiculously fluffy pancakes, or Amicia’s playful flirting. Orla’s sharp wit wasn’t here, nor Taddeas’s steady wisdom.

“I’m sorry,” Aleja said softly. “I can’t come with you.”

She turned.

She ran.

Immediately, Aleja realized she wasn’t going anywhere. Her legs moved desperately, but she made no progress. The Third’s bony hand landed on her shoulder again.

“I’m sorry, dear one. It’s time,” he said softly.

But then warmth bloomed in her stomach, spreading like the comforting heat of tea on a winter’s day. It was sudden and inexplicable, but it melted the invisible chains holding her in place. Aleja wrenched herself away from the Third’s grip.

“Alejandra,” he said, his tone not angry but exasperated, as though dealing with a wayward child. She tore away, sprinting into the endless blue void, unsure of where she was going—or if there was even anywhere to go. A small voice deep inside her whispered that she was only delaying the inevitable, but she ignored it.

The Third’s towering figure grew smaller behind her. In the distance, a golden light flared brightly. It was the only landmark in this endless nothingness. Without hesitation, Aleja ran toward it. As she did, a sharp force pulled at her chest, as if the light had latched onto her sternum, yanking her forward with impossible gravity.

“I mean this with no malice, dear Lady of Wrath,” the Third’s voice whispered in her ear, intimate and unshakable despite the distance she’d created. “But you’ll regret what you are about to do. Life is naught but pain and loss. Once you come to my realm, you will never lose anything again.”

His words struck her with eerie tenderness, but as they echoed, she understood with perfect clarity why she had killed the First. The fear of loss meant she still had something precious to hold on to.

“I’ll see you soon!” Aleja called, breathless as she ran toward the light. “But not yet!”

And she surged forward, chasing the warmth, the change, the unknown.