Page 15 of No Greater Sorrow (Our Lady of Fire #2)

“Wake up. Put your boots and armor on. We need to go.”

“What?” Aleja asked, blinking her eyes open; she was disoriented, even as the shimmering vials and herbal vapor of the medic’s tent sharpened into focus. Nicolas hovered over her, fully dressed, with a silver snake wrapped around his shirt collar like a heavy necklace.

A commotion erupted from somewhere in the camp and her heart kickstarted, jumping from the slow pulse of sleep to an uncomfortable race in less than a second.

“What’s going on? Are we under attack?”

Nicolas shook his head. “It’s just a drill. But one of our scouts has reported that the Astraelis troops nearest our border are more active than usual. We need to go.”

She pushed herself up, legs tangling in the sheets. Aleja kicked them off the bed and rose to search for her shoes. Garm was in the tent, but unusually quiet, watching them with his ears hanging limply to either side of his face.

“Go?” she asked, glad she’d slept in her socks as her clumsy fingers struggled to lace her boots. “What do you mean go ?”

“Someone has lit the black candle—someone on the verge of death. We need to answer them.”

Aleja rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was still half-asleep. She searched wildly for the gleam of her armor, before spotting it tucked beneath the blankets she’d kicked off the bed.

“But—”

“I’m the only one who can go to this person, and I might need your help. It takes a tremendous amount of magic to seal a bargain. The others can manage without us.”

She noticed the waver in his voice, and pressed again, “I can fight, Nic. Haven’t I proven that already?”

“Yes, but I need you to trust me now. This is our chance to warn the Third. If we don’t take advantage of it, it won’t matter whether we’re unable to stand against the Astraelis here. According to Val, they’re close to finishing the chains. This is our last chance.”

His words rang with reason, but her mind shot back to Taddeas—Taddeas, who had always insisted he didn’t want to be High General by the time the war arrived on their doorstep. Taddeas, who despised bloodshed and never wanted to be the cause of it. She’d been such a fool to promise him she would be ready to take his place.

Someone shot by the tent flap with enough speed to disturb the heavy linen. Outside, Aleja glimpsed the reddened sky as a heavy waft of smoke drifted into the tent.

“They still have time to prepare. And we have plenty of tricks up our sleeves. Here, take hold,” Nicolas said.

She looked at his outstretched hand, ending in black nails. “I need to make sure Violet is okay.”

“She’s with Bonnie and trust me, the Dark Saint of Bounty is not as helpless as she makes herself out to be. We need to go— now . Come, hellhound. Follow us.”

Aleja’s hand fell into Nicolas’s. A horrible tug wrenched at her sternum, like she’d been crossing the street without paying attention and collided with a truck.

“What the hell was that?” she muttered, leaning over her knees as the colors around her coalesced into mottled shades of dark green. The air tasted of pine and damp soil.

“We had to travel some distance, but we’re back in the city,” Nicolas said. “Sorry. It can be incredibly uncomfortable the first few times.”

“I liked it!” Garm said brightly, but his voice did nothing to alleviate the swirling feeling in Aleja’s gut.

They were in a park. Maybe. The air had a subtle harshness to it despite the tall trees surrounding them—a hint of car fumes and distant industry. She’d lost track of how much time she’d spent in the Hiding Place, but it seemed to be on the verge of spring here. Tulip buds rose from the ground in shades of violet and yellow, bright enough to resemble garden lights in the darkness.

“You’re going to make a bargain in those pants?” she asked, her gaze sweeping over Nicolas’ attire.

Nicolas spread his arms and glanced down at himself. “What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re kind of tight , Nic. Is the Hiding Place rationing fabric because of the war?”

“No one has ever complained about these pants,” he muttered.

“If that’s the case, it’s because Amicia has told them not to.” Aleja waved her hand. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late to change now. Let’s just hope whoever is lighting the candle doesn’t get distracted by your generous—never mind. Garm, make sure to stand in front of the Knowing One’s hips at all times.”

“Okay!” Garm barked.

“This way. We shouldn’t waste a moment,” Nicolas said.

“You can feel it when someone lights the black candle?” Aleja said, struggling to keep up with his longer stride, especially with Garm circling her feet.

“I have an awareness of it, yes. But some people are louder than others, and this one… Well, she might as well be screaming,” Nicolas told her.

“Nic, wait,” Aleja said, reaching for his arm. Ahead of them, a figure hunched over a lit candle in a clearing that may have doubled as a softball diamond in the summer months.

She brushed his wavy hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ears, and straightened the silver snake around his neck so that it hung evenly. As she smoothed the rest of his shirt, she took care to avoid his chest.

“There you go. Summon your wings and do that thing with your eyes where you make them all narrow and shiny. How is it you look like you’ve just stepped off the cover of some painfully hip experimental album while I look like I passed out in my Renaissance Faire outfit? You woke up like three minutes before me.”

“It’s all about the attitude, dove. Besides, I like you disheveled. It brings other activities to mind.”

“Ah, yes. I’ll make a very intimidating companion for the Knowing One looking like I just got screwed in some sort of tavern wench costume.”

“As long as it’s implied that I’m the one who did the screwing, I’m at peace with that.”

Droplets glistened on Garm’s fur as he nudged himself between them. “Come on. There’s not much time.”

“When did you become the sensible one?” she muttered, patting the back of his neck before they followed Nicolas to where the candle flame was rapidly dwindling. Aleja remembered her own moment of weakness—the way her hands had shaken as she moved a matchstick toward the wick.

It was late and the park was deserted aside from a few sleepy ducks making slow circles in the pond. Despite this, the woman was neatly dressed, wearing knee-high boots over her leggings, paired with a naval pea coat that made Aleja jealous in this damp cold. Her hair, cut in a fashionable chin-length bob, looked colorless beneath the harsh glare of the streetlamp. With every breath she took, puffs of mist hung in the air.

“Wait. I know you,” Aleja whispered when the woman looked up from her candle and fell back to her elbows in the wet grass. “You were at the doctor’s—James Thomson’s—party. You were sick. You needed his well water.”

The woman looked up. Her doe-like eyes were surrounded by smudgy makeup, as if she’d been crying.

“Louisa,” Nicolas said.

“Yes.” She trembled and pulled her wool coat more tightly around her shoulders. A tiny pentagram brooch over her chest pocket shone like the Knowing One’s eyes. Louisa had looked sick when they’d met at James’s party, but she was far worse now. Makeup could not hide the gauntness of her face. Louisa’s hair sat askew atop her head before she adjusted it, and Aleja realized it was a wig.

“Why did you wait so long?” Nicolas snapped. Both Louisa and Aleja drew back, surprised by the force of his voice. “I told you to light the candle with time to spare.”

“I tried to fix it myself. I tried to replicate the well water. But every time I thought I had a breakthrough, something…” Louisa trailed off. To her credit, she seemed to have no qualms making eye contact with the Knowing One, even after he’d raised his voice.

Aleja thought back to Violet, who’d perked up for a few hours when she took a sip of the water one of the Hiding Place’s alchemists had crafted for her—an effect that had been temporary at best. Even the Second’s water, while powerful, did not last forever.

“This is what we needed, Nic,” Aleja said softly, hating that this woman’s suffering could benefit them. She called out to her inner voice, begging her to chime in. Tell me not to care. Tell me to be the villain so that I can save those I love , Aleja asked.

Nothing came in return.

“What do you mean?” Louisa asked.

Aleja and Nicolas looked at each other, a silent conversation bouncing between them.

“I’m going to save your life. But first, you have to offer me something in exchange,” he finally told Louisa.

Louisa hesitated, her eyes moving to Aleja’s face. “Is she… your assistant?”

“She’s my—yes. She’s shadowing me today,” Nicolas said, apparently having decided it wasn’t worth going into the details of why he’d arrived with both a young woman and a hellhound in tow. “What is your offer, Louisa?”

Louisa reached for her purse lying discarded on the grass a few inches away. A tube of Chapstick and a tampon tumbled out as she righted it. “Shadowing, huh? This is the career you want to get into?” Louisa muttered as she searched the bag.

“I was an art history major. The job market sucks, and I have student loans up to my ears,” Aleja replied.

“This guy pays well?”

“Not really, but I get free meals.”

One of Nicolas’s wings nudged her side. Aleja shrugged in response.

“Ah, here it is,” Louisa said, pulling a small velour bag from her purse. “This has been in my family for centuries. Honestly, I find it creepy as hell.”

“It has to be something you don’t want to give me,” Nicolas chided.

“Oh, that’s not a problem. Just because I find it creepy doesn’t mean I want to give it away. It’s always been a failsafe if you wouldn’t come to me.”

Aleja leaned in as Louisa opened the satchel and shook a small object into her palm.

A fig.

Beside her, Nicolas sucked in a breath. Aleja had no idea why the Knowing One would be so excited by a piece of fruit, but she’d spent enough time in the Hiding Place to know that few things regarding Otherlanders were as they appeared.

“Wherever did you get that?” he asked.

“It was gifted to one of my ancient relatives. He belonged to the Order of Six Wings.”

Aleja’s confusion must have been obvious, because Nicolas muttered, “Devotees of the Astraelis—like if the Diabolus Society had my blessing. The Six Wings disbanded a long time ago. Why did none of your ancestors ever eat it?”

Aleja raised her hand. “I need to ask a question since I’m shadowing the Knowing One. What exactly does that fig do?”

“The Astraelis don’t turn humans into Otherlanders, as we do through the Trials, but they sometimes grant gifts to their favored devotees—like how they turned a blind eye to the Remnant kept in an Unholy Well when it suited them. Their figs grant humans immortality,” Nicolas answered.

Aleja’s gaze snapped to Louisa, who was still quietly considering the fruit. “Are you trying to tell me no one in your family ever ate it? That you won’t eat it? You’re sick, Louisa. You didn’t need to pursue the doctor’s well water. You didn’t even need to light the black candle.”

But the ember of rage in Aleja’s stomach was not directed at the young woman sitting on the damp grass before them. If one of her great-great-grandfathers had come into possession of an immorality-granting fig, they would have eaten it without question.

“It’s not immortality as you might imagine it,” Louisa said. “It comes with the price of servitude to the Astraelis. When my ancestors left the order and turned to the Silent Arts, they vowed never to touch the fig, even under the threat of death.”

“But if you strike a bargain with the Knowing One, you’ll still be indebted to something even if it’s not the Astraelis,” said Aleja.

“Indebted is better than enslaved,” Louisa told her harshly. “It’s my understanding that the Knowing One does not take servants.”

“I don’t,” Nicolas said. “I accept your offer, Louisa Bardet. Your illness will be cured, your lifespan will be extended to that of a healthy human, and in exchange, you will give me your family’s fig.”

He held out his hand. Beside him, Garm rose to his feet. Gone was the friendly Doberman that trailed Aleja like a shadow; the light of a distant streetlamp hit his eyes, and they glowed. Aleja’s heart sputtered in her chest. She knew Nicolas now—knew that he might delight in the wicked getting their due, but he was never purposefully cruel to the innocent. Yet the sight of him with his hand out awakened something dark and primal within her. This moment was filled with magic, ancient and wild.

Her past self might have begged Louisa to run. To accept her fate or take her chances with the fig. But the Aleja of now felt a deep wave of relief as Louisa scrambled to her feet and took the Knowing One’s hand. It was then Aleja realized why Nicolas had wanted her to come. She felt the strain on their bond and realized he was drawing from her magic, just like he’d done in the world of the dead.

Aleja had expected Louisa to undergo an instant transformation, like an orphaned girl in a fairy tale whose rags became the clothing of royalty in a flourish. But Louisa only smoothed a crease in her coat and wiped stray mascara out from under her eyes. “Thank you. With the bargain fulfilled on both our ends, can I assume I’ll never see you again?” she said, dropping the fig into Nicolas’s palm as if they’d just finished an entirely normal business transaction.

“If you’re lucky,” Nicolas said grimly.

“Can I go?” Louisa asked.

Aleja had the same question. She was used to trusting Nicolas about the stranger aspects of the Hiding Place, such as the intricacies of Otherlander culture and magic that never made it into human books—but he hesitated for a moment before saying, “Yes. You can go.”

Louisa nodded and met Aleja’s eyes. “Well, that was easy. Good luck with your job training. It’s nice to see a young witch doing what has historically been a male position.”

Aleja furrowed her brow. She could have sworn Nicolas had mentioned female Knowing Ones in the past, but she’d only ever seen people resembling him depicted in the paintings and sculptures. “Thanks,” she said.

Louisa looked as though she was going to simply walk away and disappear into the night, as calm as she had been when the house of the person who’d tried to kill her was on fire. But when the clouds shifted and moonlight trickled into the clearing, it illuminated the dampness in her eyes. Her fingers bunched around the hem of her coat, as if she was desperate to hold on to something .

Aleja felt a sudden pang of sympathy. When the acute grief of her grandmother’s death had dulled, and Aleja realized she wouldn’t be dying as young as she’d assumed, the freedom had been disorientating. She’d felt like a housecat that had only ever seen the world through a window and was suddenly dropped alone on the streets of a bustling city.

“What do you want to do, most of all, out of everything in the world?” Aleja asked, earning a side-eyed glance from Nicolas.

“I don’t know,” Louisa said, wringing her coat in her hands again. “My parents were too poor to help me with pharmacy school, so I needed to work all the time to support myself. Then, came the diagnosis and I couldn’t go anywhere—not between my treatments, and… I like fashion. I guess I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”

The answer was so familiar it hurt. Beside Aleja, both Garm and Nicolas were still, sharp-eyed, and intimidating. Aleja supposed she should do the same. But Louisa might not get the chance to go to Paris, just as Aleja would never make it to Florence, not if they didn’t win the war.

“Then, you should go,” she said. “As soon as possible. Borrow the money if you have to. Don’t waste this chance.”

Louisa hesitated before nodding. “I will. You’re very encouraging for an Otherlander.” She turned to Nicolas. “You should give her a raise. This experience was very satisfactory.”

And with that, Louisa turned and walked away, never looking back.

“Here, take this,” Nicolas said, holding out the fig to Aleja. “It’s useless to us Otherlanders, but maybe someday, you’ll want to barter with it.”

“Why would I condemn someone to servitude to the Astraelis?”

Nicolas shrugged. “You never know when it’ll come in useful. Consider it a reward for your first successful bargain.”

Aleja sighed and dropped the fruit into the small compartment in her bag where she also kept the locked ring box.

“What do we do now?” Garm asked.

“We hope that was enough to draw the Third’s attention,” Nicolas said.

They waited for a long time. Aleja peered at the swaying treetops, wondering if somewhere there were any missing person’s posters with her face on them tacked to the electricity posts—or if any true crime podcasters had taken up the case of two best friends who’d gone missing within six months of each other. She wondered if Paola was searching for her. Maybe her cousin had found the black candle in Aleja’s abandoned apartment and figured she’d been taken by the Knowing One after all.

The guilt would have crushed Aleja if she allowed herself to feel it.

“He’s not coming,” Garm finally said. “Should we go back to the Hiding Place?”

Nicolas looked hesitant. It was safer to encounter the Third here, far from the Astraelis’s reach. “Did you speak to Merit? Did he claim the chains weren’t done?”

“He wasn’t sure. But Val said he thought they were only on the cusp of it,” Aleja told him.