Page 10 of No Greater Sorrow (Our Lady of Fire #2)

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THE INVADERS

“Though the Astraelis and the Otherlanders share a common ancestry, they have been separated for long enough to have developed their own magics, cultures, and physical characteristics. Yet, much like evolutionary cousins in the animal world of our realm, many similarities remain.”

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

“Violet, Val would like you to accompany us to the edge of the camp. He claims you can keep the Authorities distracted while in minimal danger. It would make our job a hell of a lot easier. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you more about the plan than that,” Taddeas said.

“The Astraelis realm? But why? I scried from here last time,” Violet asked, apparently in as much of a daze as Aleja. Nicolas had never seen his wife look so distracted in the war room, not in this life or the previous one. It wasn’t the first time Nicolas wished he could hurt the Second, but the urge was keener than usual.

“You’re going to be spending a lot more time in their heads. If you’re near the camp, there’s a chance they’ll assume you’re a newly absorbed enemy. It might only buy us a few minutes, but that could be enough to save lives,” Nicolas said.

He didn’t like this plan. It was rushed and impulsive, but if they acted quickly, his party would have two advantages on that side of the wards: mobility and the element of surprise. If they could draw the Authorities away and strike quickly, it should be possible to get Merit out without being noticed until they were back behind their defenses in the Hiding Place.

“I don’t know if I should—” Violet began, but her voice was so quiet that Amicia spoke over her without seeming to realize she’d interrupted.

“Who’s to say that Val isn’t sending us into a trap? If the Messenger knows we’re coming, it would be the perfect opportunity for her to wipe out the Knowing One and a few of his Dark Saints in one swoop,” Amicia said.

To her side, Orla nodded in agreement. “I know you’ve already shot it down, Nicolas, but if Val is the Messenger’s son, she might agree to exchange prisoners.”

“Both Val and Merit have something the Messenger wants,” Nicolas told them. “I’m not sure we’d be any better off either way. What do you think, Aleja?”

In the silence that followed his words, all eyes turned to her. Taddeas and Bonnie with barely noticeable smiles, Orla with complete indifference, and Amicia with a distant expression, as if she too was contemplating the answer. Only Violet refused to look up from the knotted wooden table in the war room.

Go on , Nicolas urged her silently. If the Trials are going to break you, make up for it by wielding every ounce of power you’ve been given .

“If the Astraelis force Merit to imprison the Third, then we’re fucked, right? I don’t think we have a choice about trying to rescue him.”

“They’ll certainly be eager to get Merit back if their plans hinge on him. Just because they haven’t brought troops to our borders yet doesn’t mean they won’t if they want him back,” Orla pointed out.

“We still have to try. They might be torturing him. We can’t just leave Merit there,” Bonnie said. She was the oldest Dark Saint in the room, and Nicolas wasn’t sure how many others she’d seen come and go as the centuries rolled by.

Aleja bit her lower lip and Nicolas let himself be distracted by the sight for a single, glorious second. “What if we make it look like he escaped? If we plant a false trail, the Astraelis might waste time and soldiers following it, even if just for a few days,” she said.

Nicolas kept his face blank but internally gave a brief smile. His Lady of Wrath had always functioned best when the odds were stacked against them.

“They’ll have Merit imprisoned securely,” Orla began. “I doubt they’ll believe he escaped without help. Unless…” Her eyes widened. “If it all goes to hell, we let them get a glimpse of Val. We let them know one of their own is acting against them and that he has allies. It won’t do shit to keep the Messenger from attacking us, but it might cause some disturbance among her high-ranking officers.”

“Assuming Val agrees to that. He doesn’t seem like the sort to voluntarily put himself in more danger than necessary,” Amicia pointed out.

“I’ll talk to him. You should come with me, Ami,” Taddeas said.

Amicia laughed softly. “The Astraelis are very resistant to my particular charms, but I’ll back you up.”

As the Dark Saints trickled from the room—Orla with a begrudging nod in Aleja’s direction—no one seemed to notice that Violet hadn’t said a word since her weak protest.

“I’ll do it. I’ll go,” Violet told Aleja as she left. Her voice was very quiet, as if she was speaking but didn’t want anyone to hear, like the words of an unsent letter. It was all Violet said before she too slipped from the room, leaving Nicolas and Aleja alone.

“You did well,” he said and meant it. There were dark circles beneath Aleja’s eyes. Her hair was pulled back into a messy braid with loose strands sticking wildly in all directions, but gods, she was the most beautiful thing in this world or any other. He caught a hint of her scent—citrus, cloves, and an herbal salve courtesy of the healers. His heart felt like it was in a vice that had nothing to do with the curse emanating from the center of his chest.

“Is war always about finding the path that will get the least people killed?”

“Most of the time. Forgive me for being curious, but you and Violet don’t seem particularly happy with each other.”

Aleja sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. A new habit, not an old one. “The Second wanted us to betray each other. He got his wish. It’s just that… she was the first one to fold. And in the end, all I got was this charming little poem. You don’t have any idea what it means, do you?”

Nicolas gave a low hum. He’d already seen the slip of paper. “Sadly, no. I suspect it’ll come into play during the final Trial. But it was a test. You both passed. The Second’s illusions are deadly, but in the end, they’re still illusions.”

“Why the hell won’t he help us win the war, then?” Aleja asked bitterly.

“I can’t say. Maybe after years of lending his power to the Knowing One, it’s been depleted. Maybe it takes all his effort to keep the Hiding Place intact. Maybe he just doesn’t want to help because giving us magic and a home is enough, and the rest we must figure out on our own.”

“Still think it’s bullshit,” Aleja said, her eyes darting to a dusty tapestry depicting some Knowing One—not Nicolas—standing atop a hill with their flaming sword held over their heads.

“Do you think I’ll die if I drink this?” she asked as she pulled a bottle from within the cupboard beneath it. The liquid sloshing inside was more of a murky brown than red; in truth, Nicolas wasn’t entirely sure it was wine.

“I think I’d die if I drank that. If alcohol is what you’re after, we can steal it from Amicia. I doubt she’d come without a few cases of the good stuff.”

“Stealing from a Dark Saint. Sounds risky.”

The words were an invitation—a foolish invitation, and one Nicolas should decline. Taddeas would surely want to speak with him again, and though the fighting had not reached the Hiding Place yet, the world felt strange, like the birds had stopped singing or all the motes of dust in the sunbeams were suddenly gone. But Aleja looked at him like she could see all the secret places where he kept his grief and fear, growing like a neglected garden that’d sprouted full of weeds.

“Not with the Knowing One at your side,” Nicolas said, hoping that the hangover would be penance enough.

* * *

As it turned out, stealing from a Dark Saint was easy when they weren’t in the building. Aleja followed Nicolas back to the wing Amicia used when visiting the palace, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu. The two of them had been here before, and she’d trailed him just like this, trying to sneak glances at the dancing satyrs and water nymphs—an eternal bacchanal captured in pink marble. Amicia’s devotees, along with the other gardeners and caretakers that normally wandered the grounds, had presumably been sent to safety elsewhere.

“It’s pretty here. How is it that we’re not all falling into each other’s laps now that Amicia is around anyway?” she said, as Nicolas found the door he wanted and began fiddling with the lock. Apparently, a Dark Saint’s wards were not as simple for him to get through as a human’s.

“Amicia usually channels the sexual aspects of her nature. As you can imagine, it’s more pleasant for her and her devotees. But, as we’ve already discussed, there are many types of lust.”

“Bloodlust,” Aleja said, remembering. “Does that mean that if she hangs around for too long, all the soldiers in the camp going to have a rumble or something?”

“Hopefully not. Amicia usually channels her power with a constant but gradual release. Right now, she’s bottling it up, letting it build much as you do with your fire. It’s unpleasant for her, but it will be even worse for those she decides to unleash it on.”

With that, the door popped open, and Aleja and Nicolas stepped into a dark room dominated by an empty four-poster bed. An earthy muskiness hung in the air. Apparently, Amicia was still keen to enjoy herself even while suppressing her power.

“Oh, fairy wine,” Nicolas said. He opened a drawer containing a few pale green bottles that couldn’t mask the color of the vibrant lavender liquid inside. “May the Second give his blessings to whoever started recruiting the fey to be Dark Saints.”

“Something tells me that’s a bad idea. Let’s find something I won’t regret drinking. Something with bubbles.”

“Here we go. The favorite of rich occultists trying to goad me into a toast after a bargain,” he said, pulling out a dark bottle somewhat inelegantly hidden behind another tapestry.

“Who’s out there collecting what you’re owed while all this is going on?”

She accepted the bottle when Nicolas handed it to her. Aleja only recognized one or two of the French words on the label, but it felt heavy and expensive.

“Some people are going to think they’re extremely lucky for getting out of their bargains. I’ll send a few of the Dark Saints to help wrap everything up eventually. You could give it a shot when this is over. It’s fun.”

“Villain,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “Come on, help me drink this.”

“I thought you might want to be alone,” he said, sounding both nonchalant and hesitant at the same time. Aleja knew she was the only one able to catch the second emotion hiding under the flatness of his voice.

“It’s a drink, not a marriage proposal, Nicolas. At least, not another one. Come on. The palace seems to be in a good mood tonight. Take me back to the room with your painting. I want to look at it again, now that I know who made it.”

“Of course,” he said, after another brief hesitation.

Perhaps Aleja had been wrong about the palace, or perhaps Nicolas simply decided to take a meandering route. The conversation came so easily as they walked that for the first time in hours, Aleja felt the knot of dread in her chest loosening. She nearly forgot about the wine, and by the time they neared the room with the enormous painting of Orpheus and Eurydice emerging from the world of the dead, only a quarter of the bottle had been emptied between them.

“I prefer Masaccio’s early work,” Nicolas said with a shrug, gesturing to a triptych at the center of which was a woman in blue robes holding a baby atop her lap.

“You are absolutely wrong about that. I don’t care that taste in art is subjective. In this case, I am deeming myself the arbiter of truth, and your opinion is not just bad, but false.”

“Are you serious? Look at that baby. It’s terrifyingly muscular. It looks like he’s getting ready to punch one of those cherubs.”

“We delight in punching cherubs now, Nicolas? And I was starting to think the Otherlanders had the moral authority in this conflict.”

“I’m very certain the cherub did something to deserve it.”

It was almost a shame to let this champagne go flat and undrunk, but Aleja realized she didn’t want her memories of this moment to be murky—her and Nicolas wandering the hallways as they’d done both in this life and the one before.

“Here we are,” he said, sounding almost embarrassed beneath the bored tone of his voice.

Aleja set the bottle on the floor and took a seat on a small bench at the center of the room. It was Otherlander furniture, the wooden frame twisting around itself like two tangled vines, but the cushion was comfortable. Nicolas paused before taking a seat next to her, but she nodded and then turned away to hide her frown—by the Second, she wasn’t nearly drunk enough to consider crawling into his lap.

“When did you paint it?” she asked, deciding to kick her shoes off. Their soles squeaked against the marble as she wiggled her feet out of them.

“Shortly after you left. I—I did not cope with it very well. It was years before Bonnie could convince me to leave the Hiding Place and seek out a bargain, and I only did it because the first hints of decay were beginning to show.”

Should I make another bet on how long it takes for you to break your promise about touching him ? her voice asked.

Quiet , she thought back. Besides, where the hell were you when I decided to look for wine ?

Aleja dropped her hand over Nicolas’s out of spite. His body heat sunk into her sore muscles, wrapping around the ache in her left wrist. But when his eyes moved to her face, she didn’t return his gaze. In a way, they echoed the painting on the wall before them; Orpheus looking at Eurydice with hope and horror.

“You make me feel so—” It was one of the few times Aleja had seen Nicolas flustered. He glanced at his hands, as if buying himself time to think of a way to finish the sentence he’d already started. “You make me feel so hungry .”

“What?” Aleja said, unable to stop from laughing. The swig she took from the champagne bottle to briefly hide her face was almost entirely for Nicolas’s sake—he looked stricken, as if he’d confessed his darkest secret and she’d nothing to offer in return but a giggle.

“We can raid Bonnie’s cabin next if you like,” she finished and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

He snatched the bottle from her hand and took a deep pull himself. “When you’re around, I want to devour things. You, for one, but not just that. Wine. Art. The sensation of magic. I wasn’t surprised when the Second gave you the gift of fire. It seemed so right . You’ve always sharpened the world for me. Illuminated the details. When you’re not around, I don’t want anything, and when you are, I want too much.”

“That’s not a very healthy way to think,” Aleja said. “Or at least, that’s what the self-help books I read while trying to fix my terrible dating life would have said.”

“Oh. Would you want to be loved less than that?”

“No.”

“I’m leading the party to the Astraelis camp,” Nicolas said, obviously and deliberately changing the subject. Aleja tried not to feel disappointed. “We leave the day after tomorrow, under cover of night. If it goes well, I’ll be back in time for the last Trial.”

“I’m going,” Aleja said, wondering if she was sealing her fate. She’d fought , sure, but she wasn’t a warrior. In this life, Aleja had cracked more books about Caravaggio than she had about military strategy. Even if she could feel the first glimmer of Sainthood inside her, that didn’t mean she was going to be any use on the battlefield—she might even be a hindrance. But something inside her begged her to go. Perhaps it was her old self, straining against that locked door in her mind.

Aleja half-expected Nicolas to tell her no, but he asked, “Why? You did well in the Third’s realm, but we were caught by surprise. This isn’t something your training with Taddeas will have prepared you for.”

“Because…” Aleja searched for the words to describe what she felt. “Because the Messenger doesn’t want me dead. Not yet. It might save the rest of us.”

“ What ?” Nicolas said, raising an eyebrow.

“You weren’t there. She could have killed me. Easily. But she just… let me walk away.”

“Aleja, if you think that I would?—”

“Nicolas, stop. I don’t mean that we should offer me up as bait, but if my presence causes her to hesitate, it might buy us a few minutes to get everyone else to safety.”

Nicolas ran a hand through his hair, disturbing the gray streak. “We’ll talk to Taddeas about it.”

“You’re not shooting the idea down?”

“I can’t pretend to like it, Aleja. It’s not as if you—” He paused, searching for words.

“It’s okay, you can say it. I don’t have her memories. I don’t have her experience or her training. I’m a college dropout with an unfinished art history degree.” She held up a hand to stop Nicolas from interrupting. “Don’t. It’s the truth and I’m fine with it. But the war isn’t going to wait for me to be ready. Our goal is to go unnoticed, right? If all goes well, then the danger will be minimal.”

“Minimal is a relative term.”

“I know you love semantics but stop. I want to do this. And if Violet can go, then I can too. Let’s not forget that you need me, Nic. I’ve felt the way your magic tugs on mine more than once now. You’re stronger when we’re together.”

“All right, soldier, but my agreement is conditional on what Taddeas has to say. Besides, it wouldn’t be bad to have you around to…” Nicolas’s brow furrowed, as if he knew what he was about to say was not going to be well received. “I need you to keep an eye on Violet and report to me if any of her behavior seems unusual.”

“You think her connection to the Astraelis is effecting her?”

“I don’t know her well enough to notice if it did. But you would, especially now. Before she went missing, you knew she’d been acting differently, and you ignored it. You won’t let that happen again.”

“Fine,” Aleja sighed, feeling something inside her deflate. She shouldn’t feel relieved about the prospect of going on a potentially fatal raid in enemy territory, but sitting around in the Hiding Place wondering if Violet and Nicolas were injured or dead would be worse.

Nicolas exhaled and looked at their joined hands. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed. “All right. If Taddeas agrees, it’ll be you, me, Orla, and Violet. Val, too. We’ll find another piece of armor for Violet—take yours back.”

Aleja nodded and looked back to the painting. She wasn’t as tipsy as she’d planned to get, but the taste of champagne sparkled on her tongue. “I’m so tired of being lied to, Nic,” she said, knowing this was a conversation better had with Bonnie, who would inevitably be in her cabin preparing more supplies to take back to the outpost. But if this mission was really happening, she and Nicolas might not get another chance.

“I know,” he replied, equally quiet.

She moved away so she could bury her face in her hands. It felt like the warmth had been sucked out of her. Even the ever-present feeling of a fire in her stomach was extinguished. She needed it back. She needed her anger—if she didn’t have that, she was empty. “Get on your knees, Nicolas. Show me how sorry you are,” she said as she lifted her head.

Aleja held his eyes when he looked at her in shock. They reflected the painting, nearly reaching the ultramarine blue of the Third’s realm. “Aleja?”

“You heard me, Knowing One. On your knees. Don’t make me say it again.”

She caught a glimpse of his dark grin as he sank to the marble floor in front of her. “Tell me what to do. I’ll beg, I’ll grovel,” he said.

“You’re going to use your mouth for something else.”

Aleja didn’t know what she wanted until his eyes widened in anticipation. As she undid the button of her pants, she used her bare left foot to push Nicolas down until his back hit the cold floor.

“This isn’t much of a punishment, dove,” Nicolas asked as she straddled him and scooted forward until her center was over his mouth. The wave of arousal was so instant that the sensation of his hair against her inner thighs was enough to make her tremble.

“Shut up and make me come, Knowing One.”

She sank lower, suddenly self-conscious. Aleja had never ridden a man like this before, but any concern she had about suffocating him was chased away when he gave a pleased moan and wrapped his hands around her hips to pull her closer.

Nicolas used his mouth like he was starved for her; the pressure of his tongue was maddening. With his hands gripping her in encouragement, she began moving like she was truly fucking his face, and he gave another groan. Aleja almost slipped, then. She almost pulled away from his mouth to position herself over the bulge in his trousers, but a whisper of her inner voice reminded her that Nicolas was supposed to be groveling.

“Does this make you hard, Knowing One?” she hissed, trying to force herself back from the edge of an orgasm.

“Yes,” he gasped, pulling away from her clit.

“Does it make you want to fuck me?”

“More than anything, dear Lady of Wrath. You’re all I see. You’re all I dream about. I ache when I’m not inside of you.”

“Too much talking.”

He took this to heart, burying his face between her legs again. It was only a few minutes before Aleja came, her thighs clenched around Nicolas’s head. A deep pulse throbbed inside her core, and she threw her head back as dizziness overtook her. Nicolas gave a heavy sigh, as if her climax affected him just as much.

When she sat back, she could feel his erection firm against her, and it took all the willpower she had to slide off his lap. Nicolas gave a frustrated huff but did not protest or try to stop her from leaving. He sat on the marble floor for a moment, lips glistening.

“Satisfied?”

“For now,” she said. There were more words left in her mouth—about penance, about forgiveness, about how she was angry with him, yes, because he had lied, but more so because he had the gall to do something that would take him away from her again. Fucking again . Every time he tried to protect her from himself, it tore them apart.

“Aleja?” He sat up. His hardness was still obvious, but the flush on his lips was fading.

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Nicolas opened his mouth and closed it again, thinking for a second before he spoke. “I’ll fix this, dove. I swear to you. Just give me time.”

“Goodnight, Nic,” she muttered, snatching up the mostly full bottle of champagne before she left the room. And unlike Orpheus, she made it out without glancing back. But she could picture Nicolas’s face as he watched her go, his silver eyes swimming with emotion, and behind him, an ultramarine backdrop resembling the world of the dead.

* * *