Page 13 of No Greater Sorrow (Our Lady of Fire #2)

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THE CURSED

“The magic of a bargain is perhaps one of the oldest and deepest that exists in our world. It is inadvisable to light a black candle and summon the Knowing One. It is even more inadvisable to offer him something you know you cannot give.”

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

“You did good,” Orla said. “You saved us more than once.”

“So did you. So did Val and Violet. I just wish it hadn’t gone to such shit,” Aleja said.

She wasn't sure if she had been able to get rid of the smell of herbs and astringent from her hair since her last visit to the medical tent. A bundle of lavender hung from one of the supporting beams to hide the vapors emanating from the dark green bottles on makeshift shelves. Taddeas had greeted their bruised, exhausted group at the camp’s edge, and after a pointed glance from Aleja, shuffled the others away to debrief them.

“What it is?” Bonnie asked, moving aside Nicolas’s torn shirt to show more of the tattoo spreading across his chest.

Gods, it was worse now. Aleja was almost too afraid to cut his shirt off with the scissors one of the medics had left on the bedside table. The snake stretched down to his stomach. The bramble of thorns had not only spread to his shoulders but also begun to bloom blood-red roses the same shade as Aleja’s hair—the only hint of color among otherwise black ink.

“When he met me again, we made a bargain. I offered the heart of the next person to fall in love with me in exchange for Otherlander power,” Aleja said. She knew she was meant to keep it secret, but Nicolas could no longer hide this from them. Soon the poison would climb up his throat and down his arms for all to see.

“Why the hell would he do that?” Bonnie whispered.

“He thought it would keep him from trying to see me again,” Aleja said.

Orla and Bonnie scoffed.

“Can he undo it?” Orla asked.

“In all my time here, I’ve never seen what happens when a bargain goes unfulfilled on the Knowing One’s end,” Bonnie said quietly. “There must be some way to get around it.”

“He’s been trying, but?—”

The tent flap opened and Silmiya’s head poked in. “Merit would like to see you, Orla.”

Orla gave a tight smile, her eyes softening at Merit’s name. “I’ll be there in a moment,” she said, nodding at Bonnie and Aleja as she gave Nicolas’s chest one last sharp look. “I’ll tell the soldiers he’s here because of some heroic bullshit. This doesn’t leave the circle of Saints, understand?”

“I should go too. I’ve been working on our defenses, and the Astraelis are sure to retaliate now. When you’re ready, come join the other Saints. I’m sure everyone will be interested in what Merit has to say.” Bonnie squeezed Nicolas’s limp hand before smoothing her dress. Aleja had seen the massive trees growing around the camp as they’d ridden in, but with Nicolas slumped against her back, she hadn’t questioned them.

“I’ll be right there.”

After one more glimpse of Bonnie’s rye and wheat crown as she left, Aleja was alone with Nicolas’s sleeping form. She leaned in close, breathing in vanilla and woodsmoke, this time mixed with sweat, mud, and the tang of adrenaline.

“Bonnie is right. You are an idiot.” She breathed against his dark hair. Dirt hid the silver streak by his left temple. “But you’re my idiot, I guess, so you’re going to need to wake up now.”

Nothing happened. Nicolas’s breathing was steady, but his eyes didn’t flutter, even as she leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Come back to me. Come back and stay with me. We’ve been through too fucking much to lose each other now. I refuse to lose you. Do you understand? I refuse .”

She kissed him again, this time more fiercely, as if she could wake him with her anger alone. When he didn’t stir, she pulled the bedsheets high to cover the black marks on his chest and left the healer’s tent to join the others.

* * *

“How is he?” Violet whispered, standing outside the flaps of the tent where the other Dark Saints were gathered. A part of Aleja knew this was an olive branch—that Violet wanted to be forgiven. Not to mention that Violet had volunteered for the most dangerous job in the raid; it was possible she’d saved not only Nicolas, but all of them.

“He’s fine,” Aleja said, unable to muster more than a half-smile.

“Can I talk to you for a second… in private?”

Aleja hesitated, trying to peer into the tent. She caught the gleam of Taddeas’s axes and Val’s winged mask. For the first time, he was no longer in chains.

“It’s important,” Violet pressed.

She let Violet lead her into the trees Bonnie had grown around the camp. Up close, they were incredible—with trunks so thick it looked as though they’d been there for decades if not centuries, and canopies so wide, they almost hid the silhouettes of three Avisai circling overhead.

Leaning against one of the trees, Violet blurted out, “I wasn’t just able to rile the Authorities up. I was able to plant thoughts in their head.”

Aleja crossed her arms. The idea had already occurred to her, but she hoped it was something—anything—else. Violet’s connection with the Astraelis already made Aleja queasy. We could use this , said her inner voice, but there was an unspoken second half to that statement. Violet’s connection to the Astraelis had consequences and as of yet, no one knew what they were.

“I could help with the war. I can turn them against each other. You saw what I did,” Violet continued, her voice low and urgent. Aleja hadn’t realized Violet was clutching her arm until her nails dug in. When Aleja tried to pull away, Violet held her firm.

“We need to talk to Nicolas before we do anything else,” Aleja said, searching Violet’s face. She looked nothing like the bubbly young influencer Aleja had once lit the black candle for. A tremor in her left eyelid wouldn’t stop, even when Violet tore her hand away from Aleja’s arm and took a few steps back. Perhaps the Second’s well water was still alive in her veins.

“You’re afraid of me,” Violet muttered, looking at the network of roots weaving beneath their feet.

“Of course not. We just need to be careful. They know what you can do now. Don’t you think they’re going to be prepared next time? Don’t you think they’re going to try to influence you ? One of them was already able to.”

Aleja didn’t expect the fury in Violet’s eyes when she turned, and they faced each other again. “I’m sorry I’m not Our Lady of Wrath, but I can do this. I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to you anymore. I’m trying to be honest, Al.”

Aleja bit the inside of her cheek to keep from speaking. If Violet was right, it might turn the odds in their favor, but Aleja remembered the strange way Violet had appeared to sleepwalk while she was possessed—the way the Remnant had lodged in her head so that even after she tried to run, Violet had willingly returned to the village. A lamb wandering to the sacrificial altar all on its own.

“I know,” Aleja finally muttered. “Look, it was a shitty Trial, but we did what we had to do, and we’re still here. But if you can connect to the Authorities’ hive mind from a distance, what makes you think they won’t try to exploit that? That they won’t spy on us through your eyes or command you to slit the Knowing One’s throat while he sleeps?”

Violet stared open-mouthed, as if she couldn’t believe what Aleja was saying. “You think I would do something like that?”

“I don’t think you would do it. But I think the Messenger might.”

Violet threw her hands in the air. “I saw the Authorities’ orders. They weren’t to kill you or Nic, just the other Dark Saints.”

“Just the other Saints? What the hell is wrong with?—”

“Al, there’s something else I need to tell you.”

“What?” Aleja snapped.

Violet’s eyes quivered, but Aleja could no longer tell if Violet’s expression was genuine or if she was trying to manipulate her.

“What if the Astraelis aren’t what we think they are?—”

“Fuck, Violet. This is what Nicolas was afraid of. This is why you aren’t allowed into the meetings. You let them get in your head— again . Remember what happened the last time you listened to what one of them whispered to you.”

For a moment, Aleja wondered if Violet was going to punch her again. Her hands curled into fists, before flexing open.

“I’m sorry,” Violet said, her voice soft once more. She looked at her hands, confusion on her face, as if she’d been holding something that’d vanished. “I didn’t mean to yell. I need to get some rest.”

When Violet stalked off into the brand-new forest, Aleja neither called nor followed. There came the soft patter of paws against the ground, and Garm licked her hand before she turned to face him. “Are you coming? They’ve already started.”

“Yeah.”

Even with Violet absent, the tent was packed. Bonnie, in a green dress and her crown; Amicia and Orla in matching black armor, with coiled red snakes over their chests; Taddeas, absently scratching the scar that cut diagonally across his face; and Merit, whom Aleja had only laid eyes on for a few minutes.

Trying not to stare, Aleja’s mind flew to her unfinished art history thesis, somewhere on a dusty hard drive in the human world. With Merit’s large eyes and creamy skin, he resembled one of Botticelli’s angels. His right hand curled around the back of Orla’s chair. Like her, Merit had left the Hiding Place after the last war. Aleja hadn’t been the one to slaughter the Astraelis’ high command and destroy the chance for peace, but perhaps in Merit’s eyes, she was complicit.

Bonnie leaned toward Aleja and whispered, “The Messenger was forcing Merit to build chains for the Third, but he can’t say how they planned to trap them. Merit tried to sabotage the project as much as he could, but?—”

“They’re on the right track regardless,” Val said. His winged mask sagged. “I could tell by the sort of magic the camp was rife with. That’s why there were so many Principalities there. They might try to take him back to finish the work.”

Merit snorted. “I’d rather die.”

“Our troops are on high alert,” Taddeas said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Will they mount an all-out attack, or do you think they’ll try to come in quietly, the way we did to them?”

“I told you, I’m not a military thinker,” Val said, sounding apologetic. “My mother must have had her reasons for not attacking before now. Even her response to our presence seemed lackluster. Merit, how close do you think they were to completing the project?”

“I can’t be certain. They made me work in bits and pieces. Sometimes, it was weapons. Sometimes, it was… components. A chain link. A gear. I had no idea if I was working on a single thing or many.”

“We can speculate, or we can be prepared,” Orla grumbled. “Come find me when Nic wakes up. Until then, I’ll be laying traps at our perimeter. Bonnie, your forest was an excellent idea—think you can get something denser to grow? Brambles, maybe?”

“Sure,” Bonnie said, squeezing Aleja’s shoulder before following Orla from the tent.

At least Amicia and Taddeas were there to counter the venomous look Merit sent in Aleja’s direction. But as the others quietly conferred among themselves, Aleja wondered if the intense stare Merit had locked onto her with was not of anger, but… interest.

“Do you have your memories?” he asked, as the others began shuffling away to their duties.

“No, but I’m undergoing the Trials again. Just one more,” she said. It was easy to keep from sounding intimidated when she was this exhausted, but she didn’t exactly sound confident either.

“Thank you for coming to rescue me anyway.”

“We need you,” Aleja told him. If Merit was offended by her words, he didn’t show it. His index finger traced the woodgrain on the table. Despite their delicacy, his hands were very callused.

“Indeed.”

They watched each other in silence for a moment. Aleja wondered how many things stood unresolved between them from her other life. Did he resent her? Did he understand why Nicolas had done the things he had? Had Merit forgiven her in the long centuries after the last war?

He stood, watching the tent flap, and Aleja realized he was waiting until the others had put enough distance between them so they could not overhear. “I have a question,” he asked.

She nodded, hoping whatever he asked wouldn’t take more than the meager amount of brainpower she had left.

“You asked me for a favor before you left. To craft you a small, locked box so strong that nothing could open it but its key. The mystery has been tormenting me endlessly. Do you still have it?”

Her heart pounded, lifting the veil of exhaustion. Garm grunted as she moved his head from her lap so she could reach into her satchel. Despite the abuse her pack had been put through, the box was unmarred, gleaming in her hand, as if she’d polished it mere moments ago.

“One of my finer creations,” Merit said, bending to examine the box without taking it from her hand. He gave a long exhale.

“I don’t have the key,” she said in a voice trembling with excitement. Finally.

“That’s the strange thing. You wouldn’t tell me what the box was for, and you forbade me from crafting a key for it.”

Well, fuck , said Aleja’s voice, sounding disappointed herself.

“You must have some idea how to open?—”

“I’m afraid not. I imbue my creations with magic, yes, but once they leave my hands and go to their rightful owners, that magic no longer belongs to me. Although you said something I found odd. You said that you didn’t need a key from me because you already had one. Does that mean anything?”

Aleja sighed. “No. Sounds like Otherlander nonsense.”

“Mm.”

“You don’t think you could craft someone a false heart, could you?” Aleja asked, forcing herself to hold back another sigh.

“For the Knowing One? No.”

Great. So, all the Dark Saints knew.

“However, that sickle interests me. May I see it?”

Hesitating, Aleja unhooked the weapon from her belt and handed it to him hilt first.

Merit gave another low hum but said nothing as he analyzed the bands of pink, gold, and blue that swept across the curved blade like the northern lights. “The weapon is clearly attuned to you, but most of the enchantments have left it. Only a remnant of Astraelis magic remains. I presume that it was imbued with Val’s power when he broke my chains. Is this the blade that killed Roland?”

“Yes.” Aleja shifted in her chair. Merit, Orla, and Roland had been united in their condemnations of Nicolas at the last war.

“A pity. He was a good soldier before… everything.”

“I thought you might have made it.”

“The sickle is older than me, but my ancestors have been crafting weapons for Otherlanders since the Second taught my ancient relatives the craft. One of them may have forged it.”

“The first of your line created the Knowing One’s sword.” Aleja could remember some of the story, but it had been a long time since she’d stood in the throne room listening to Nicolas tell her the history of the Otherlanders and the Astraelis.

“Correct. Are you satisfied with your sickle, or shall I recreate your old weapon when I get a chance?”

Aleja leaned back in her chair, uncertain of what to say. Perhaps this was some sort of peace offering, though Merit’s voice remained flat and perfunctory. “Maybe later,” she said, thinking that this is what her old self would have done. “Make sure our soldiers are well-armed first.”

Self-sacrifice, just like the Second had forced her to learn.

“Very well, Wrath. If I recall anything else about the box, I’ll send word.”

Merit disappeared, leaving her alone with Garm. The fact that the Dark Saint of Sloth was here should have felt like a victory. Despite nothing going as planned, they’d managed to break him out without anyone dying. She closed her eyes and listened to Garm’s deep breathing, willing herself to stand and find a bed. With the final Trial only days away and all the Dark Saints back, there were people far more competent than her running the camp. In the distance, she could hear the scattered shouts of joy at Merit’s return, the clank of metal, boot fall muffled by dirt, and the great wing beats of black dragons circling overhead.

Aleja wished she could see her grandmother, but asking one of the Avisai to carry her back to the palace wouldn’t go unnoticed. She’d talked her way onto the mission to prove herself, not just to Nicolas, but to the other Saints. None of them had the chance to run back to their families whenever they felt like it.

Garm’s hot breath moved over her knuckles, but for once, he too was silent. A tear slipped down Aleja’s cheek, followed by another—scorching hot, as if her fire was boiling them from the inside. Perhaps her family were right in treating her as a temporary person, someone who was doomed to die young and undeserving of the affections her cousins received. She’d never had a real friend until Violet, nor a proper lover until Nic, and it felt as though both had pierced her heart with needles— thin needles, sharp needles, easy to forget until someone drove them in deeper.

“You’re crying,” Garm said.

“Just for a moment. I’ll be fine.”

“The cooks are roasting pheasants. I can smell them from here. Should I steal us one?”

Aleja laughed softly, scratching Garm behind the ears. “You’re a good boy. Would you go watch over Nicolas? I need to be alone for a minute.”

Garm looked stern, as if he was about to protest, but the crease between his light brown eyebrows relaxed and he nodded before leaving Aleja behind. She set the small golden ring box on the table and watched it, wondering what her old self would say to see her crying alone at an empty war table. Hello ? she asked her inner voice. Are you there? You’ve been so quiet today .

Silence was the only response.

* * *