Page 1 of No Greater Sorrow (Our Lady of Fire #2)

“The origins of the Dark Saints remain unknown, though some scholars speculate they were once humans favored by the Knowing One for their wicked deeds. Though this remains a mere theory, the magic required to undergo such a transmutation is so dangerous that, to the best of this author’s knowledge, not even the boldest of occultists have endeavored to try it.”

—Excerpt from Ten Myths of the Otherlanders by Emiel Nasir.

The day began in red, as dawn light shot through their curtains like bloodied spears. Aleja felt Nicolas leave their bed as the sun rose. When he returned, he breathed unevenly against her hair, as if something was lodged in his throat. She lay with her eyes open, listening for the click of a dog’s nails on the marble floors.

But only silence greeted her.

Time to get up. This is going to be a breeze. There’s nothing to it but surviving , said her inner voice, who’d been quiet since their visit to the Second’s cave beneath the mountains.

Easy for you to say , Aleja grumbled internally.

“Remember, don’t take any chances,” Nicolas said, his breath hot against the back of her neck. He spoke as if they’d already been in a conversation that’d been briefly interrupted. “Be aware of your surroundings at all times, but don’t trust anything you see. Take your weapon of choice and nothing else from the Second.”

“When do we start?” she asked in a voice muffled by the bedsheets. The scent of vanilla, woodsmoke, and sweat from her nightmares lingered on them.

“At nightfall, in the Second’s cave. You and Violet are to go together.”

Aleja rolled over and stared at the elaborately molded ceiling. Wooden serpents coiled above her; since spending time in the Hiding Place, she found herself at home in a den of vipers. “What will you do?” she asked.

“Wait for you. I’ll always wait for you.”

“That’s not what I meant, Nic. The Astraelis…”

“Taddeas is rallying our troops. He’ll reach the border by noon.”

“You can’t let him—you know he doesn’t want to?—”

“He always knew this was a possibility.” Nicolas touched her chin, moving her head so they made eye contact. “Focus on the Trials. The best thing you can do for Taddeas is to survive them.”

Aleja quieted. There were no words that could capture the dread moving through her, and not simply because of the Trials. Part of her wanted to rip the tunic from Nicolas’s chest to see what he’d been hiding after every breathless declaration of trust.

But she said and did nothing. Instead, she donned the leather armor Bonnie had brought from one of the storage sheds, then hooked the opalescent sickle to her belt. It was all Aleja carried, aside from a small gold box for which she did not have the key.

* * *

Bonnie and Violet were already at the table when Aleja walked into the dining room that had appeared in the palace sometime after Violet’s arrival. It was this room that had been instrumental in coaxing Bonnie from the isolation of her cabin; when the Dark Saint of Bounty saw an empty table, she was compelled to fill it.

Today brought an impressive spread: soft-boiled eggs, pancakes stuffed with wild blackberries, thick strips of bacon, and a pot of coffee next to a pitcher of cream so dense it resembled yogurt.

The walls were carved to look like oak trunks, meeting overhead in a tangle of branches curving like gothic arches. Small golden stars were inlaid into the ceiling between them. The effect reminded Aleja of a forest gradually overtaking a ruined cathedral.

Violet nodded to her before dipping a strip of toast into her egg and half-heartedly picking at the crust. They’d barely spoken since Aleja let loose on the Astraelis convoy after… after Garm’s death. It was because of this, they no longer had one year to train. Instead, they had only until the end of the day.

I must say, I’m proud of you. In less than twenty-four hours, you’ve managed to piss off almost everyone in the Hiding Place , said Aleja’s inner voice. She shoved a slice of bacon in her mouth. Unlike Violet, food was the one thing that helped when she was nervous.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Bonnie said, so brightly that Aleja knew she must have sensed the tension between the others in the room. “Taddeas wanted me to tell you?—”

A loud clatter came from the hall. As if summoned, Taddeas entered first, wearing two axes strapped across his back and a chest plate bearing the Hiding Place’s snake crest. Lines deepened around the corners of his mouth as he frowned. One of his braids, normally tied together at the base of his skull, hung limp against his face.

“I thought you were headed to the border,” Nicolas said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. Aleja caught the way his silver eyes narrowed.

“I was, until?—”

A woman pushed past him. Her freckled face moved from Bonnie to Violet as she raised an eyebrow. Like Aleja, she had red hair, but it was bright as sunlit copper with a bleached strand near her face. She was petite, barely reaching Taddeas’s chest. The gold bangles around her wrist jangled as she waved a finger at Nicolas.

“This better be worth my time, Knowing One. I was working on my tan in Greece when a black snake slithered up to me on a beach, hissing for me to come home. Gave the locals a fright.”

“Hello, Orla. Would you like some breakfast?” Nicolas said.

Orla. Aleja remembered that name—it belonged to the Dark Saint of Envy.

“I’d like an explanation ,” she said, in a melodious accent Aleja thought might be Irish. “The snake said…”

“Orla, sit. It’s nice to have you back. You remember Our Lady of Wrath, don’t you?” Bonnie told her, moving aside to make space for another chair.

Orla sighed. The small hoops in her ears caught the light as she looked at Aleja. “I always figured you’d claw your way back eventually. Did the Second agree to this?” she asked, sounding less frantic than a moment ago. Her eyes lingered on Aleja’s scarred throat.

“He’s about to put me and my friend through the Trials with no training,” Aleja said dryly. She mostly forgot about the scars she’d received while rescuing Violet, though they still itched like her skin was perpetually dry. She’d once been horribly self-conscious about the mottled skin crawling up her neck. But when Nicolas had seen them for the first time, his gaze had lingered on the pink tissue with reverence. Aleja had understood something then, though the words had gone unspoken. Scars were proof she had survived.

“Sounds about right. I’m still hellishly mad at all of you—well, not you, Bonnie, this bacon is very good—so if you plan on convincing me to stay longer than it takes to eat, you better start talking.”

Aleja shrugged. “I’m the wrong person to ask. My memories of the war are missing.”

“Ah, wonderful. What else have I missed?” Orla said.

Aleja’s scalp tingled and she turned to see a woman in a silk dressing gown approaching from the hall that meandered toward the upper wings. Amicia, the Dark Saint of Lust, had cropped blonde hair that was growing out, with feathery tufts brushing against her pointed ears.

“Oh, good, at least you’re still around,” Orla said, scooting aside to make space at the table. Amicia was obviously dampening her power for although the texture of the tablecloth beneath Aleja’s hand was suddenly more intense, she merely felt the urge to shift in her chair. Nicolas also took a seat, gesturing for Taddeas to join them. Neither of the men seemed interested in the array of food, but Orla poured herself a mug of coffee and topped it off with a dollop of cream that sat atop the surface like a cloud.

“Nice to see you, Orla. The last time you stormed out, I recall you saying you’d never step foot in this palace again,” Amicia said. Her plate was piled so high with blackberry pancakes that Aleja was certain it would fall over when she added an enormous spoonful of whipped butter to the top.

Orla shrugged. “I missed Bonnie’s cooking.”

“Shame on me for thinking you were pining away for my presence,” Amicia replied before turning to Violet. “Is this the friend you were looking for, Aleja? I knew you’d work it all out in the end.”

It was Violet’s first time being addressed by anyone but Bonnie, but instead of sinking into her chair, she sat up straighter. Even so, the steaming mug of tea she held under her chin looked too heavy for her fragile wrists.

“Violet is my nominee for Pride,” Nicolas said.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of the tablecloth rustling as Orla reached for another sugar cube. She shuddered as she dropped it into her coffee. “Poor Roland. His death felt like ripples of darkness and light, as if a star had exploded. He was always such a complicated boy.”

It was Aleja that had ended Roland, with a sickle enchanted by Otherland magic. She wished Garm was here; he would have broken the tension by stealing one of the plump venison sausages. “Complicated is one word for it. He protected his brother until the end—a murderer who sacrificed witches to keep a Remnant alive.”

Orla gave Aleja a pointed glance. “The snake told me. Roland wasn’t the only Dark Saint who left destruction in his wake. That’s the reason I’m here, isn’t it? Because you and Nicolas could never help but kick the hornet’s nest.”

“Orla,” Nicolas warned, but Aleja refused to let him defend her.

“You’re here because the Astraelis sent a convoy into our territory after we killed one of their Authorities in self-defense. If anyone is to blame, it’s them. If you’ve come to help defend the Hiding Place, then thank you. If not, I’d appreciate it if you’d shut up and eat your breakfast,” she said shoving another piece of bacon into her mouth.

“And here, I’d been led to believe Our Lady of Wrath had returned as a mortal girl with no memories of the destroyer she’d been,” Orla said, sounding almost appreciative of Aleja’s sharp tone. “Yes, I’ve come to help—for Bonnie and Amicia’s sake. This Taddeas fellow seems nice too.”

“Thanks,” Taddeas mumbled from across the table.

“Good. We understand each other,” Aleja muttered, trying hard not to shrink back from the intensity of eye contact with a Dark Saint.

“By the Second, that was awkward. We’re only missing Merit now. Any word on him, Nic?” Bonnie asked, slapping her palms on the table.

The Knowing One frowned while spinning a hard-boiled egg on his side of the table. “No one has seen him, but our scouts will keep trying.”

They ate in silence, aside from Violet, who managed her toast but seemed uninterested in anything else but tea that smelled of night-blooming jasmine. Aleja’s magic boiled at her fingertips, but she tried to summon a smile when she caught Nicolas’s worried glance. Soon, there would be seven Dark Saints instead of five. Soon, they would be able to fight back against whatever was coming for them.

“Any news from the border, Tad?” Bonnie said quietly, as if hesitant to break the temporary peace.

Taddeas sagged in his chair when every set of eyes at the table turned to stare at him. He’d only agreed to serve as the Knowing One’s High General because he’d assumed war would not come during his tenure. “No. That’s the strange thing. The Astraelis must be aware that their convoy has not returned. They’re aware Roland is dead, and that Aleja has yet to take the Trials. If they wanted to mount a retaliation, now would be the time.”

“Another reason to fortify our borders while we have the chance,” Nicolas said.

Violet stood first, dropping her napkin next to a half-finished cup of tea. “Thanks for breakfast, Bonnie. Very nice to meet you all,” she said, retreating before anyone could answer.

“She’s undergoing the Trials? That girl is so weak she could hardly tuck her chair in. Whatever were you thinking, Nicolas?” Orla asked.

Violet had no training, and she’d spent the last few months sick and cold, while the villagers waited for the Remnant in the well to beg in hunger. While staying in the Hiding Place might have slowed the progression of Violet’s cancer, it did not cure her.

Aleja followed the thud of Violet’s sneakers down the marble floors without waiting for Nicolas’s response. She found Violet in the rose gardens, which were just beginning to recover from Aleja’s fiery outburst a few weeks ago. The flowers now grew in shades of gold and reddish orange, as if they had absorbed some of her magic.

“I’m going to die after all, aren’t I?” Violet said. She dropped onto a bench and covered her face with her hands.

“You’re not going to die. Neither am I,” Aleja said, but the words felt hollow. Her hands grew hot—the flames barely suppressed. This place reminded her of Garm digging up soil while the gardeners shouted in dismay. Aleja couldn’t think of him without a glow emanating from her palms.

“Have you thought about what weapon you’re going to choose?” she said, sitting in the grass at Violet’s feet.

“No. Have you?”

“Nic said to ask for my old sword back, but…”

You should be with him. This might be the last time?—”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Violet raised her head. The imprint of her fingers had left red splotches on her face. “I should never have gone to the well, and you should never have lit the black candle.”

“We’re not going to die,” Aleja said for the second time, as if it was a prayer—though all the beings she could be praying to were still bickering over their breakfast table.

* * *

After Violet declared she needed a nap, Aleja found Nicolas again. He was exactly where she’d predicted, in the office with the stained glass rose in the door’s window. She wasn’t jealous when she walked in on the Knowing One consulting with two beautiful women at his round table, including the Dark Saint of Lust. Aleja knew with certainty that Nicolas only had eyes for her.

“Come on, Orla,” Amicia said, smoothing down her silk robe as she stood. “We have our orders.”

Orla brushed past with a nod, but Amicia took Aleja’s hand. Even with her power suppressed, a shiver raced down Aleja’s spine. Amicia smelled of rose oil as she leaned in and said, “You’re going to be fine. We all know it. Be smart. Be safe. Be vicious.”

As Amicia left, the room’s atmosphere darkened.

“Take your shirt off,” Aleja said as soon as she clicked the lock shut.

“Now, dove?” Nicolas asked, leaning back in his chair. A map of the Hiding Place was spread before him. Aleja recognized the forest where she’d once hunted Remnants, as well as the ridge of the Second’s mountains, where she’d be meeting her fate in a matter of hours.

The undercurrent of darkness in his voice had been present last night too, as he’d pressed kisses down the length of her spine.

“Yes, now. No more lies, Nicolas.”

He hesitated. The fading taste of syrup and honey coated the roof of Aleja’s mouth as she swallowed, watching him unfasten the first few buttons of his tunic.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I—” he began. His fingers hovered over his collar.

“ Show me.”

He dragged the shirt off his shoulders. Nicolas’s wings had been glamoured away, so there was no distraction from the black tattoo across his chest. It spread from the place where his heart would be, flowing over his scars, and gently moving with each breath as if it too were alive.

A snake entangled in thorny vines.

Unlike the other serpent motifs in the palace, this one did not project a sense of silence and secrecy or the hidden knowledge of the Otherlanders. Mouth open, tongue lashing, it twisted in pain as thorns burrowed into its scales. Black ink seeped into Nicolas’s veins, turning them dark, like a map of poisoned rivers.

And in return, you’ll give me the heart of the next person to fall in love with you .

“Shit. I thought you said you’d find a way around the bargain. That the wording was vague,” Aleja whispered.

“It was, and I will. Other pressing matters have arisen. I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

She looked from the tattoo to his face. It was as stoic as ever, and the sight of it made Aleja’s palms heat with magic again. “What happened to ‘no more lies?’ You said I was the only one you could trust,” she snapped.

Nicolas’s jaw tightened. “You are the only one I can trust. This is my burden to bear. I told you, I’ll figure it out.”

“And what will the Second do then? Do you think he’ll forgive you for giving me power, and then ignoring the price I was supposed to pay for it? You said it yourself, there are rules . Rules you keep breaking.”

Aleja couldn’t decide what she was more upset about: that Nicolas had hidden the truth from her or that he was flaunting the Second’s laws again, so soon after Aleja had gotten him back. All her life, everything she’d loved had felt as fleeting as a pretty bird that’d briefly landed on her outstretched hand before being frightened away.

“I won’t make excuses. We had a moment of happiness. I wasn’t ready to let it go.” The snake on his chest writhed as he spoke.

“Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Answer the question, Nicolas.”

“Yes.”

“Will you die if the bargain goes unfulfilled?”

“I think so.”

“Then, fix it , Knowing One. I didn’t come here to take the Trials and go to war, only to have you die because of a stupid bargain with a witchling in a Satanist’s basement.”

“I—”

“No. We’re not speaking about this again until you find a solution. Fall out of love with me if that’s what it takes.”

She hesitated before touching his chest. Would a mere graze from her fingers make him wince? Aleja waited for a sign that she should stop, but Nicolas gazed at her so fiercely that she almost needed to squint to block his eyes’ silver light.

His skin burned against her palms. Aleja could nearly feel the snake squirming as it tried to twist away from the thorns—and perhaps she imagined that it stilled for a moment as she ran her fingertips along its body. Nicolas watched her with an intense, unreadable expression. Though she might still be no more than a witchling, she had the Knowing One completely in her thrall.

The most powerful of Otherlanders trembled beneath her touch. It should have brought her a dark joy, but right now it merely made her angry.

“I’ll fix it,” he said again, unprompted, as if he could read her thoughts.

Reminding herself of her anger, she forced herself to turn away.

She hadn’t understood the word desperation until the first time they’d kissed like two animals trying to devour one another in a hungered frenzy. Since then, her desire for him never stopped gnawing at her stomach, but she’d always been good at self-control—good at pushing everything she didn’t want to feel into that locked room inside her mind.

But Nicolas made her slip too often. Especially now, that he must have interpreted her closeness as permission to touch her. One of his hands tangled into the hair at the base of her skull, tightening just enough to make her eyes narrow. “What are you doing, Knowing One?”

“Trying not to fall apart.”

His voice was so rough that it hit her like a physical thing. If she let this continue, she was going to be the first to break. She pushed her way from the room before Nicolas could say anything else, trying not to look at the painting outside the door of Persephone with blood-red pomegranate juice on her hands and mouth.

Aleja struggled up the stairs to her grandmother’s tower, but Catalina wasn’t there. She sat in the ruins anyway, watching blue dragonflies dodge frogs near a puddle, until she could barely remember that the smell of salt came from an ocean that only existed in dreams.

And when Aleja finally forced herself back down the spiral staircase, the palace rearranged its hallways for her again and again, until she had no other choice but to exit into the rose garden and learn it was time to return to the Second’s cave beneath the mountain.

* * *

In silence, the Knowing One led them toward the cave mouth. With his wings in view and the sun at his back, his shadow stretched across the mountains, resembling another row of jagged peaks. His sword reflected the last violet streaks of twilight.

Aleja forced her gaze away from the place where Garm’s limp body had fallen. She carried her backpack, filled with a flask of water and the small ring box that refused to open for her, along with the sickle on her belt loop. It all felt heavier than usual.

“You can do this,” Nicolas said, looking between the two of them. “The first Trial usually tests your mind, but the Second designs them differently for everyone. Choose your weapon with care.”

Aleja noticed the way his jaw flexed, the twitch of his fingers. She was beginning to think that only she could understand the subtle language of Nicolas’s body. Remembering the tattoo seeping into his veins, she resisted the urge to fall into his arms one last time.

By the Second, you’re being dramatic. Get through these Trials and then you can either fuck him or tell him to fuck off , said her little voice.

“Let’s get this over with,” Violet said. After all, she’d been the one to stand firm in the Second’s chamber, while Aleja’s legs had nearly given out beneath her.

“I’m going to the border to assist Taddeas. I’ll be back as soon as your Trial is complete,” Nicolas said.

All Aleja could bring herself to say in return was, “See you soon, Nic.”

She and Violet moved into the cave without speaking. Aleja’s pulse filled the gaps that the dripping water missed, and it felt like they were surrounded by a drumbeat so fast it had melted into one continuous drone.

“Are you scared?” Violet asked as they passed the corridor of eroded statues and ducked under a swathe of moss hanging in the last place the sunlight reached.

“Fucking terrified. How about you?”

“I didn’t drink water all day because I figured I would pee the moment the Second started talking.”

“That was the smart choice. The palace led me back to the breakfast table. It was empty, so I stress-ate like twelve pancakes.”

Violet reached for Aleja’s wrist. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for looking for me. For saving me. This whole situation is fucked up, but I’m glad we’re in it together.”

“Thank me by surviving the Trials.”

“Oh, stop. Everyone else around here might think of you as the Lady of Wrath, but I’m the one who had to make every doctor’s appointment for you for a whole year. Do you have any idea how weird it was to explain to your optometrist that I wasn’t actually your mom?”

“Sure, rub it in. I’ll remember that the next time you’re kidnapped by an angel cult,” Aleja said with a smile she hoped Violet could see in the cave’s deep blue shadows.

“My point is, whatever happens, I love you, Al. I’m glad to be here with you and your weird Otherlander boyfriend. Come on. Let’s not keep the Second waiting.”

The Second’s chamber was lit by the dim reddish glow from the pool beneath which he slept. A sound like the wind beating against a closed window echoed around the chamber. Aleja wanted to pull her jacket more tightly around her shoulders, but she remembered Garm’s grim warning as they’d approached yesterday. The Second hates weakness .

A bundle of linen sat atop a small pillar. Violet glanced at her from the corner of her eye, and Aleja shrugged, unsure if they were supposed to address the Second. But before she could announce their presence, a deep voice rumbled through her.

I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU, LADY OF WRATH. TAKE IT.

Nicolas had warned her specifically against this, but the Second must have sensed her hesitation because he continued, YOU LEFT IT HERE YOURSELF, LONG AGO.

Aleja took a few steps toward the pillar and lifted the linen. Beneath it, a red snake was the only bit of color on otherwise dark metal. She’d seen this armor before while scrying with the Unholy Relics. This breastplate and gloves—or ones exactly like it—had adorned the High General of the Knowing One’s armies before she’d come to this cave and begged the Second to let her take her husband’s punishment in his place.

The breastplate was undented and almost weightless, which was certainly the result of Otherlander forging, but the gloves were in decidedly worse shape. The pinkie finger of the left hand looked like it’d been burned off. Surely, Our Lady of Fire would have worn leathers that could withstand the heat of her magic.

“Here. This looks like it will fit you. I already have my fire. It puts me at an advantage,” she told Violet, holding the chest plate toward her.

“I can’t?—”

“Wear it for me. I had to do a lot of terrible things to find you. It will all have been for nothing if you don’t survive this.”

You’re starting to talk like an Otherlander , said Aleja’s inner voice.

Violet sighed but accepted the chest plate, examining the leather bands attached to the sides before pulling it over her head and turning so Aleja could buckle the clasps.

“Not sure if I’m doing this right,” she muttered, pulling at the straps to check if they were secure. Her knuckles brushed the ridges of Violet’s ribs, which slid beneath her skin as if they were detached from the rest of her skeleton. Aleja stopped herself from wincing. How long had Violet hidden her illness without anyone noticing?

The gloves smelled of burned flesh, but Aleja pulled them on as well. With leather covering most of her hands, her left pinkie finger seemed to float by itself in the darkness.

COME TO THE EDGE OF MY POOL , said the Second. ASK FOR YOUR WEAPON.

Aleja and Violet looked at one another and moved forward. Aside from the ripple on the water’s surface, all was still.

Are you really going to ask for a sword you have no idea how to use ? said her inner voice.

I don’t know what else I’ll need , she snapped back.

Think. A weapon can be anything and anything can be a weapon. You can’t fight and you’d get lost on your own block if you didn’t have GPS on your phone. What could help you?

I don’t know! It’s not like I can ask for a fucking hellhound!

Why can’t you ?

Aleja sucked in a breath. Perhaps the Second had failed to define the word ‘weapon’ intentionally. “I…” she began, preparing herself for the request to be shot down. “I want a hellhound.”

The Second laughed in Aleja’s head—a sound that made her feel unstable, like the floor was shaking beneath her. “The Knowing Ones have used them as weapons,” she went on, hoping this was true enough to convince him.

HELLHOUNDS CANNOT BE SUMMONED FROM NOTHING, ALEJA. THEY ARE CREATED WHEN IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR A HUMAN TO FULFILL THEIR BARGAIN TO THE KNOWING ONE.

She’d thought the hellhounds were fixtures of the Hiding Place, just like the Dark Saints and the ever-shifting palace. Another wave of grief for Garm passed through her; it was hard to breathe, as if the weight of her sadness was pinching her lungs shut. But before she could speak, the Second continued. GARM’S DEATH IS FRESH AND HELLHOUNDS CANNOT PASS THROUGH THE THIRD’S REALM. HE LINGERS, WAITING TO EITHER DISSOLVE OR ROAM THE MOUNTAINS LIKE A GHOST.

“Garm?” she asked softly.

HE’LL BE FULLY REBORN—YOUNGER AND MORE INEXPERIENCED NOW. ARE YOU CERTAIN THIS IS THE WEAPON YOU WANT, ALEJA?

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “As my weapon, I choose Garm the hellhound.”

AND YOU, VIOLET?

“I want a vial of water from your well,” Violet said.

Aleja’s eyes widened. She wanted to argue with Violet—the Astraelis’s well water had brought them nothing but harm, and the Second was not just some dying Remnant, begging for the lives of witches to sustain itself.

Don’t be mad you didn’t think of it first , laughed her inner voice.

VERY WELL, VIOLET TIMMONS. USE IT SPARINGLY.

A slab of rock at the room’s far end rumbled and rolled aside as if pushed by invisible hands. The corridor beyond was narrow and pitch-black.

YOUR WEAPONS WILL BE WAITING IN THE NEXT CHAMBER. YOUR FIRST TRIAL BEGINS NOW.

* * *