Page 21 of No Greater Sorrow (Our Lady of Fire #2)

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THE SCHISMATIC

“Similar to human religions, the concept of an apocalypse is found in various myths of the Otherlanders. However, it is typically depicted not as an event to be dreaded but as a natural cycle of the universe, maintaining balance among all things.”

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

There was little to do in the Hiding Place, now that the army camp had disbanded, and its soldiers scattered among the ever-growing forest, patrolling more like bands of guerillas than an organized army. Aleja patrolled with them sometimes, Garm at her side. Despite Taddeas’s insistence, she mostly stayed quiet at meetings between the Dark Saints, feeling unable to contribute to discussions when the most she could offer was academic theory on Renaissance artwork. Something that may have been useful in the palace, should someone have a question about one of the paintings, but meant nothing in their grim reality.

The Astraelis had the Third, and despite Val’s continued insistence that Messenger was in the right , the Otherlanders would have to act soon. To let this act of war go unanswered would only make them look weak in the eyes of their enemies.

“Hey,” Taddeas said while the others shuffled out of their last meeting. It had been sullen, despite Nicolas’s return. “I’m sorry about before. I’ve already told the others I’m not abandoning my post yet. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. We youngsters have to stick together, right? Here, I had Jack bring you something from the Green Country.”

Taddeas set a large pile of books in front of her. “Military theory,” he said with a huff. “Some history and psychology too. I’ve requested a few of my favorite books from the human realm, but we’ll have to wait for those. You were self-taught before, but intuition and talent can only take you so far. You need to learn from the mistakes and triumphs others have made in the past—understand why certain tactics worked and not others.”

He indicated a yellow cloth-bound book at the top of the stack entitled Dissension: A Scholarly Exploration of Otherlander Warfare . “Start with this one. It was the first book I read when I came to the Hiding Place and will give you a good overview of typical Otherlander strategies. Once you’re done, go down the stack in this order. Take notes. We’ll be talking about every book once you’re finished.”

“Thank you,” Aleja whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet. Books are good, but there’s not much you can learn without first-hand experience. I think this is about to get ugly, Al. I can’t say why, but I don’t think Val is telling the whole truth, and I…” His expression became distant.

Aleja didn’t miss the flicker of betrayal that passed across his features. Somewhere along the way, Taddeas had begun trusting their prisoner. “Well, whatever happens, two minds are better than one, right? Study up. I have the feeling we have a few long years ahead of us.”

Years . Wars in the human world lasted that long—longer, even—but to be confronted with it shook her. It was a thought she pondered endlessly while wandering Bonnie’s impressive forest, listening for the snap of twigs beneath boots that weren’t hers. The Throne’s corpse was still where it had fallen, starting to show the first signs of bloat. In this state, the creature looked sad—as though it were starving and could no longer muster the strength to look for food.

Aleja settled into a grove between two large roots perfectly shaped to accommodate her body. The golden box glittered in her hands when she pulled it from the satchel she always wore. Its inside smelled of figs, now that she’d also taken the carrying the small piece of immortality-granting fruit Louisa had bargained away.

“How do I open you?” she asked the box.

Wind moved through the trees, rustling the leaves so that they sounded like the whispers of a congregation. Garm had wandered off to relieve himself, but so many tuft-eared squirrels had taken up residence in the forest that Aleja wasn’t surprised he’d yet to return.

She stared into the small keyhole and tried to remember, but it was useless. Her past self would have been clever. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone but herself to be able to open the lock, and with her body gone…

Aleja almost laughed at the obviousness of it. She drew the sword halfway from its sheath and ran her index finger along the blade with enough pressure to slice a thin line into her skin. A red dollop of liquid welled atop the wound—the pain not quick enough to catch up before she smeared blood across the small keyhole.

The box opened without a creak, Merit’s craftsmanship defying the centuries. Inside, resting atop a velour pillow, were the top two joints of a pinkie finger. They were not encased in glass, as with the other Unholy Relics, but thin golden wire spiraled around the bones in a delicate pattern.

She shook them from the box into her hand, the slight feeling of revulsion replaced by something strangely affectionate. Of all her past selves, she knew this Aleja the least. Sure, she’d seen bits of her in memories, and her favorite paintings still lined the palace halls, but while Aleja could understand her humanity, her life as a Dark Saint was still a mystery to her.

“Garm! Stop chasing those poor things and get over here. I need you to watch over me while I scry,” she called.

“Scry? Should we find Nic first?” he asked, appearing out of the shadows with clumps of leaves stuck to him like unintentional camouflage.

“He’s busy. Wake me if the Astraelis attack while I’m out.”

She had done this enough now that the sudden dip was no longer surprising. The tree shadows flickering against her closed eyelids disappeared and with a sensation like waking from a long sleep, Aleja was back in her old body.

Meteorite iron chains secured her arms and torso. They weren’t just constricting, they hurt . Despite Val’s betrayal, she felt a sudden stab of sympathy for how long he’d spent in them.

She was surrounded by crumbling stone walls. The air smelled of burned flesh and something like gunpowder that carried the tang of magic beneath it. A heavy curtain was draped over the nearest gap in the destroyed structure, like a makeshift door.

This must have been the moment she was captured by the Astraelis, ready to be executed for her role in their defeat. If Nicolas wasn’t already coming for her, he would be doing so soon. And the part of her that was still foolish enough to hope, wished he would change his mind and turn around. That he would let her die and let the war end with her.

But when the curtain shifted, it was the Messenger who appeared. Her gait was less assured than the version Aleja had met. The Messenger glanced over her shoulder before the curtain could swing shut completely, as if to make sure she hadn’t been followed.

Aleja tried to speak, but her mouth was gagged.

“Quiet, dear Lady of Wrath and Fire,” the Messenger said. “Every time you remind the others you’re here, they start remembering your crimes and get creative with their punishments. I’m sure you recall how that went for you last time.”

Aleja couldn’t see much of her body in the dark space, but the ache inside her was more intense than the pain from the chains digging into her skin.

“I haven’t come to hurt you. I’ve come to speak with you,” the Messenger said, watching Aleja squirm in the chair. “If you’re smart, you’ll listen. What I’m going to tell you concerns both you and your wretched husband.”

The Messenger approached, her massive mask filling Aleja’s vision. For a moment, she expected to be hit across the face, but the Messenger merely wrenched the gag from her mouth.

“I’m not saying a word to you,” Aleja spat. Her voice sounded raw, like someone had recently choked her hard enough to crush her windpipe.

“I’m not asking you to. I was merely trying to make you comfortable. A display of my intentions.”

“You’re a fucking?—”

“Hush,” the Messenger scolded. “Our time is short. I’m sure your Knowing One is on his way here if he’s not already watching from his shadows.”

“Just execute me and be done with it,” Aleja said, sagging with resignation. She wondered if the Messenger would recognize it as the plea it was. If they killed her before Nicolas could attempt a rescue, perhaps the Second would spare him.

“I’m not going to execute you. At least not now. I’ve already sent my best troops away, as well as any commanders who can fight worth a damn. When the Knowing One shows up to slaughter them, he’ll make easy work of it.”

Aleja felt her past self’s shocked numbness. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because I need you to survive this and my comrades—whose names will doubtless appear on the Knowing One’s blade before nightfall—are expendable. You are the only one among all the Dark Saints and Astraelis who might be willing to listen to me. Who might understand.”

Aleja tried to speak, but her mouth was full of blood from a cut on her lip that had opened again. Her information while scrying was limited; she couldn’t recall what had caused the wound in the first place, just that it never seemed to heal.

The Messenger took advantage of this momentary silence. “You’re not going to believe what I have to say, but you will, in time. Now, listen . There is something wrong with the First. She no longer speaks. She no longer channels her magic into our realm. And if I were to die, it is doubtful she would appoint a new Messenger. Our attack on your realm was ill-timed. I argued against it, but in the end, was forced to relent lest I stoke doubt in my underlings. I’m sure you can understand that, Lady of Wrath?”

Aleja spat blood at the Messenger’s feet, but the other woman did not react.

“This little skirmish will have appeased them, so I can focus on the truly important matter. I am going to kill the First, and I… I appeal to you, Aleja. I need you to help me do it. In exchange, I will help you kill the Second.”

This time, Aleja couldn’t help but react. Her head shot up, causing a wave of dizziness that would have made her topple over, had she not been secured by chains. “Are you insane? What the hell are you talking about?”

“There is something you know deep in your heart, isn’t there? Something you dread. When Nicolas arrives here and paints this camp in the blood of my commanders, he will be breaking a pact—something the Second will not tolerate. How do you think the Second will choose to punish him?”

“You don’t know shit about us,” Aleja spat. Yet it wasn’t thoughts of her death that’d haunted her over these past few days of imprisonment, but thoughts of what would happen to Nicolas when he did the inevitable.

“I know more than you think. I know that the Second taught his devotees to value their knowledge, their will, and their freedom—that he taught them not to accept the corruption of their leaders. Yet, you fear him, don’t you? You fear his authority. You fear him so much that you’ve been begging my soldiers to kill you every time that gag is ripped from your face because you know what will happen to Nicolas if you’re still alive when he gets here.”

“Nicolas knows exactly what he’s doing,” Aleja said, even though the Messenger was right on every count.

“Your kind taught humans how to protect themselves from the Otherlanders. How to fight back against them. And yet, you allow yourself to squirm under the Second’s thumb, hoping to escape his notice whenever you decide to bend a rule.”

“What the hell does any of this have to do with the First?”

“Listen to me,” the Messenger said in a very low voice. “Yes, the First, the Second, and the Third are powerful. Very powerful. But they too are subject to the laws of the universe, to the laws that demand all things exist in cycles of creation and destruction. They could not stop what is coming even if they wanted to.”

“What’s coming?” Aleja asked. There was blood in her mouth again, but it was too thick to spit out. She swallowed, wondering if she would die before it made her stomach hurt.

“An end. An apocalypse. A period of destruction before rebirth can begin. What we call an Avaddon.”

When the Messenger looked at Aleja again, there was a tense expression on the visible half of her face. A dangerous expression. It meant they were about to share some secret they’d be forced to carry together, because it was too heavy for one of them to do it alone, and it couldn’t be allowed to fall.

One of the Messenger’s hands grazed her stomach, and Aleja realized it was slightly rounded—maybe not enough for someone else to notice, especially not through her armor, but the Messenger wanted her to see. Pregnancy was incredibly rare among both the Astraelis and the Otherlanders, but not unheard of. Confusion joined Aleja’s anger.

“Explain,” Aleja said.

“I already lost my husband. I am not going to birth my son into a world that kills him,” the Messenger hissed, leaning in close.

“Even we can’t stop the forces of nature.”

“Perhaps not. But if we knew a storm would be caused by a butterfly flapping its wings, and we knew where and when to find the butterfly, then we could crush it before it had the chance.”

“I don’t understand what you’re proposing,” Aleja said, wondering if her light-headedness was from blood loss or the understanding that whatever the Messenger said next was going to change everything.

“Yes, you do. Just as Nicolas would do anything to save you, you would do anything to save him. That’s why you’re going to listen to me. And that’s why, when the time comes, you’re going to ask me to let you help.”

“What are you proposing, Messenger? You’re going to try and kill the First?”

“Yes. I have theories. If it’s done properly, the Avaddon can be avoided.”

The answer surprised Aleja. If her hands weren’t bound, she would have raised them in frustration. “What if you can’t ?”

“Let me worry about that. I merely need you to kill Second before he takes advantage of the First’s absence and attempts a power grab.”

“Why would I?—”

“Because you’ll want revenge for what he does to Nicolas to punish him.”

Aleja fell silent, not wanting to give the Messenger more ammunition.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just let me speak,” the Messenger went on. “We capture the Third. Only he has the power to do it. And once the First and the Second are dead, we’ll be truly free—both the Otherlanders and the Astraelis. After that, we can decide whatever the hell we want to do to each other, but it won’t be under the thumb of any god .”

“Killing them will have consequences. The Hiding Place is tied to the Second’s magic, as your realm must be to the First’s. How can I know you’re not leading us on a suicide mission?”

The Messenger touched her stomach again. “Because I’m as selfish as you are, and you know it.”

“This is… you’re insane,” Aleja finally said.

“No, I’m not. I’m seeing more clearly than anyone else in this forsaken war. What do you expect us to do , Aleja? Even if we don’t all die—which we will—the alternative is to squabble between ourselves until one side eventually wipes out the other.”

“That’s not the only alternative. Your kind could leave us be.”

“None of that matters, can’t you see? We have mere centuries before we must make a choice: work together or perish.”

“Why me?” Aleja said. For a moment, she forgot she was bound; when she shifted in her chair, the chains dug painfully into her skin.

“You’re obsessive when it comes to those you love. Once you realize what is going to happen to everyone you care about if we don’t stop the First from destroying our worlds, you will help me.”

“Maybe so. But there is one death that would make be very happy, and that is yours, Messenger.”

There was a rustle outside—it wasn’t accompanied by shouts, but the Messenger’s attention snapped to the curtain all the same. When her gaze returned to Aleja, she wore a deep frown. “I never expected to have the time to explain it all now, nor for you to believe me right away. But trust me on this: there will come a time when the Second does something to make you remember this conversation. There will come a time when you’ll beg me to help you, and not the other way around. Because believe me, Aleja… I am begging for your help now.”

“You think just because you’re pregnant, I’ll take pity on you?” Aleja said, as if she wasn’t the one in chains.

“No. I don’t want your pity; I want your help . And you will give it to me, Wrath.”

This time, the commotion outside was impossible to ignore. The Messenger’s voice was hushed when she spoke again. “I’ll do what I can to learn more, and by the time you come to me, I’ll have figured out a way to save us both. We can resume trying to kill each other once the deed is done.”

The Aleja of the present could tell the memory was ending. She could no longer feel the pain of her broken body, but outside the makeshift chamber, someone screamed. Nicolas was there. Doing the deed that had changed the course of both their lives.

She fought against the pull tugging her back to the forest where Garm watched over her body. Aleja had to learn more. Her past self had found this memory so important that she’d sliced off her finger to make an Unholy Relic before facing her punishment from the Second.

The Messenger had let her live and sent her fellows away so that Nicolas would find little resistance when he came to rescue Aleja. Why ? she wanted to scream. Was it possible that the Messenger was telling the truth?

The bones seemed so mundane now, despite the twist of wire binding them. It was a crude decoration. She pictured her old self spinning the thin gold strands around them, while her missing finger bled profusely.

“Aleja?” Garm asked, but she kept her eyes closed, needing a moment to mourn the women she’d been.

“I’m okay,” she finally muttered, wiping her brow before reaching for the bones and placing them back in the box.

“What did you see?” he asked.

“A nice memory of Nic and myself. I guess she wanted to preserve it somehow,” she lied.

Garm’s head slumped, as it always did when she mentioned Nicolas lately. His breath turned to stream, hard to see amidst the late-morning fog.

“We should get back,” she muttered. Leaves stuck to her clothes as she rose and slipped the box back into her pocket. Even though its secrets had been revealed, it didn’t feel right to toss it into the woods for the scavengers to find.

Aleja thought as she walked, a more difficult task here, where roots bulged from the soil to trip her if she let her eyes stray from the ground. Silmiya waited for her at the edge of the field. The camp was mostly empty now, aside from a few collapsed tents that couldn’t be salvaged—their poles jutting from the mud as if reaching for help. A few yards away, the two small librarians hauled a cart piled high with books across the rough ground. The one in the red cowl oversaw the task, making sure the stack didn’t fall over every time the cart wobbled.

“The others are waiting for you. There’s a meeting,” Silmiya said.

“What?” she asked. “This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

Silmiya had no qualms about rolling her eyes at the new Lady of Wrath. “It’s an emergency meeting. I would have told you sooner had you not extended your patrol for an extra two hours. You can follow Red and Gray—they’re on their way there too.”

“What about you?” she asked. Aside from Taddeas, Silmiya was most in charge of day-to-day operations involving their armies.

“I’m gathering our troops. A small Astraelis convoy is at our border. Much has changed in a short time. Go . They need you there.”

Aleja broke into a run, Garm trailing her.

She was faster now, even with her feet sinking into the mud. Aleja was halfway across the field before Garm banked sharply to the left and she realized they were headed past the place where the Avisai grazed, then uphill, beyond the tree line toward the craggy rocks at the foothills of the Second’s mountains.

“There!” Garm barked, pointing his muzzle at the shimmer of wards.

A ring of stones stood behind the wards, where all the Dark Saints, including Merit, were gathered. His soft face was peppered with soot, as thought he’d been pulled from his duties with little notice. To his left, Orla leaned against a tall rock, tapping her fingers against her thigh.

“What’s going on?” Aleja panted. “I met Silmiya on the way here. She said there were?—”

“Sit down, Aleja,” Nicolas said, gesturing to a flat boulder. His hair was disheveled, the gray streak bright against the black like a lightning bolt.

Something jolted inside of her. Her eyes found Taddeas and Bonnie, searching for some explanation in their faces, but Bonnie was looking down at her feet and Taddeas’s gaze was distant.

“The Astraelis have sent a message,” Orla said. “They’re going to execute Violet unless we meet their demands.”

Aleja wished she had followed Nic’s advice. She swayed on her feet. “What do they want?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s most likely a trick. They’ve used tactics like this before—distracting us while they planned something else,” Nicolas said.

“ What do they want ?” she insisted.

“The Messenger wants to meet with you alone,” he told her.

“I’ll do it,” Aleja said immediately. The tension in the air was palpable; even Garm’s body felt as stiff as one of the marble statues in the palace as he brushed against her.

“Violet betrayed us,” Orla said before anyone else could speak. “We wouldn’t be in this position if she hadn’t fed information to our enemies. Perhaps we shouldn’t respond at all.”

“We’re not going to stand aside and let them kill her. What is wrong with you?” Bonnie snapped. Her dark eyes roamed the space, never settling on anyone’s face.

“The Messenger has always had it out for Aleja. You’d be a fool to let her do this, Nic. We all would. Who would you rather lose? A girl who lied to us and ran off with the enemy or the Dark Saint of Wrath?” Orla said.

“We’re not losing either,” Aleja hissed. “I already told you all, I’ll meet with the Messenger. She’s had the chance to kill me more than once and didn’t take it. Maybe she really does just want to talk.”

She tried to make eye contact with Nicolas, but all she could do was tug uselessly at their marriage bond. His silver eyes dimmed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The small box containing her Unholy Relic weighed heavily in her pocket, but she couldn’t reveal what she’d seen while scrying with it until she was able to speak with him privately.

Orla threw her hands up, as if she knew Aleja would get her way no matter what happened, but Taddeas protested. “I have to take Orla’s side, Al. I don’t know what exactly caused Violet to betray us, and I’m not going to pretend we’ll learn by speculating, but this is probably a trick.”

“Val insists that—” Aleja said.

“We can’t trust Val. I don’t put it past the Astraelis to leave a snake in our midst,” Orla interrupted.

In their past meetings, Nicolas had spoken to Aleja as if she were just one of his Dark Saints, but his eyes softened as he watched her pace from one end of the wards to the other. “Orla is right. Violet’s actions surprised us all, but?—”

“I’m doing it. When does the Messenger want to meet?”

“In an hour, near the border,” Merit said.

“It’ll take me that long to get there. Stay here, all of you. I’ll be back after I talk to her.”

Aleja knew she would lose her nerve if anyone protested again. As a chorus of voices erupted behind her, she pushed back through the wards. A rush of air from Nicolas’s wings followed, but she didn’t turn until she was sure none of the others had trailed her.

“This is a bad idea. Just because the Messenger didn’t kill you then means nothing. She has a plan,” he said.

Aleja turned back to him. A hint of the snake tattoo crawled up the side of his neck, matching the placement of her scars. Permanent reminders of their choices.

She pulled Nicolas close as if she was about to kiss him. A brief look of confusion passed across his eyes, but she could no longer see it once she pressed her cheek against his jaw. For a moment, her will to leave faltered. His heart beat strong against hers, a shared rhythm reminding her of all the ways they were connected—all the ways they’d fought to stay together, through war, time, and death.

“I don’t have time to explain, but I need you to trust me on this,” she said, voice no louder than a murmur. The Hiding Place was the Second’s realm, and even though Nicolas didn’t have any qualms about bad-mouthing him, there could still be someone listening. She pushed the small box that contained her relic into his hands, and his fingers closed around it. “Watch the memory when you’re sure you won’t be seen. The Messenger thinks she needs me.”

“What are you saying?” he asked, shifting as though he might pull away. She held him firmly in place. If any of the Dark Saints came out from behind the wards, it would look as if he were kissing her goodbye.

“We both have good reason to hate the Second,” she whispered fiercely. “What if we make the Messenger think that?—”

He gave a low hiss of warning but tenderly pressed his face against hers. “Don’t say it. Not even to me, do you understand?”

She nodded.

“And you’re sure about the Messenger? There’s no bringing you back if she kills you. Not this time.”

“I’m sure,” she said, winding her fingers into his lapels, where the silver snake was cold, in vibrant contrast with the heat emanating from his body. “Listen, Nic, whatever happens, whatever I have to do?—”

“I know. And you?”

“I do.”

He pulled back, pressing his forehead hard against her own. “As your commander, I order you to return to me. Do you understand?” he said, echoing the words she’d once spoken to him.

“Yes, Knowing One.”

It was as hard to wrench away from him now as it had been to pick herself up from his shredded body and continue the last Trial. “Go,” he said. She was grateful. Aleja didn’t think she could have made the first move herself.

“Garm, stay with her,” Nicolas continued. “Remember your promise.”

“No,” Aleja said, as Garm whined in response. “If the Messenger said to come alone, then that might set her off. Stay here, Garm. Be a good boy and watch over them.”

* * *