Page 6 of No Greater Sorrow (Our Lady of Fire #2)

Except for the hole punched through it, like a small doorway to their right.

“Why would the Third need a door to get past his own wards?” Aleja asked.

“He wouldn’t,” Nicolas murmured. “Keep your eyes open, dove. I don’t think we’re alone.”

She knew she should say something about the nickname, especially when she was definitely, certainly , very much committed to not thinking about him in those terms until he fixed his chest and did some groveling to boot. His fingers danced through the air again and the glamours hiding his wings and sword dissolved. In the colored light of the Third’s realm, the gray streak of hair by Nicolas’s left temple was pale blue.

“Where’s my flaming sword?” Aleja grumbled.

“Somewhere in the Second’s caverns, I’d venture. I noticed that Violet was wearing your old armor.”

“She needed it more than me,” Aleja said. She’d pulled the leather gloves back on before leaving the Hiding Place, and her left pinkie stuck out, pale against the dark material.

“You still have your sickle,” he said, as they made their way toward the gap in the wards.

“Great. You get a magical sword engraved with the names of your enemies, and I get a gardening tool.”

“We can have one of the smiths emboss something on the blade if you like. ‘You reap what you sow’?”

“Ugh. Corny .”

“Oh no. Puns are not allowed unless I give express permission. It’s the only thing that will get you kicked out of the Hiding Place.”

“Shut it, Knowing One. You go through the spooky portal first.”

He raised a finger to his lips and slipped through the opening in the ward. Aleja expected to see the same landscape on the other side, but as she stepped through, her first thought was that they had entered a cemetery. Leafless trees grew in contorted shapes—weeping willows stripped bare, aside from the tattered flags strung between their branches. To her left, an enormous marble foot was covered in brown vines. Even on tiptoes, Aleja wouldn’t have reached the gentle curve of its ankle bone. It was a piece of a statue on a scale she couldn’t comprehend until she saw others that were more intact on the horizon.

Impossibly large stone women wept into their hands, their bodies hunched with grief. A towering city of sorrow.

“This place used to be beautiful,” Nicolas said, watching her take stock of the landscape. “It was a labyrinth of willows, and everywhere you walked, you had to push aside great curtains of leaves. The statues came later.”

“What happened to it?” she asked, keeping her voice low. The world was quiet, aside from the rush of another distant river.

“For all the grief Third has caused in the world, he never felt it himself until Nyra died. If he’s here, we’ll find him at his tower.”

“Are there creatures here?”

“I’ve never seen them—only heard their calls, like owls.”

Aleja stoked her magic in case she had to call it up on a moment’s notice. Yet as they walked on, it seemed impossible that flame could survive here. Unlike the landscape on the other side of the wards, the air was humid and thick with the smell of sea salt.

After an arduous climb up a hill dotted with disembodied pieces of the statues, Nicolas pointed at broken walls ringing a distant tower. The tower was missing great chunks of stone; it was a wonder the structure remained upright when it most resembled a spine of ill-fitted vertebrae. Looking around, she was reminded of the battlefield Roland had taken her to in the Hiding Place—a garden of bones that shone pale blue.

She knew this place. She was certain of it now, even though she couldn’t tell where she’d seen it before.

Aleja spotted light and crouched. Over the ridge, a group of Astraelis huddled over something bright. A Throne was the largest of them—a creature that was part winged lion with a dragon-like tail. It was accompanied by three Principalities wearing masks. This was undoubtedly a scouting party, one that would be armed and ready for trouble.

“Shit. What do they have?” she whispered. Her throat constricted as she tried to keep herself calm. She was not prepared for this.

“We need to find out. What do you propose?”

A part of her wanted to scoff, roll her eyes, and tell Nicolas that he should be giving orders. However, if she was going to take over for Taddeas someday, as she had promised herself, she would need to be able to make decisions regarding entire armies, not just a scouting troop.

“They wouldn’t have sent such a small party if they were expecting to be ambushed. We need to figure out what they’re after—or what they already have—without letting them know we’re here.”

“How do you plan on doing that, general?” He gave her a sharp look, silver eyes gleaming.

“I’m not a general yet. I don’t deserve to be called that. Soldier is fine.”

“All right, soldier. What is the first step?”

“Maybe a distraction? Something that will make them split up. If we can lure them away from the object, we might be able to use your shadows to steal it right out from under them.”

“Good. But if you use your magic, they’ll know it’s you right away. Any other ideas?”

Aleja floundered, examining the landscape again. More enormous mourning statues surrounded the crumbling tower. “We can assume they’re interested in the Third. What if we make them believe he’s in there? The illusion only needs to be convincing for a few minutes, especially if the scouting party is already jumpy. A small amount of flame and shadow in the distance would be enough. They’ll either retreat to avoid being seen or advance to investigate, but it will force them to act either way.”

Nicolas’s teeth flashed in the darkness. For a moment, he looked like a wolf, regarding Aleja with hunger. “Let’s get closer to the tower.”

They made a wide arc around the structure. At this angle, it appeared sadder and more improbable; something that would not have stood in a realm that obeyed the laws of physics. “I know this color. It’s ultramarine. Wildly expensive, before someone figured out how to synthesize it. Only the best Renaissance painters had access to the pigment,” she muttered.

“You know I appreciate this sort of discussion, but maybe now isn’t the?—”

“The painting of Orpheus and Eurydice in the palace. The artist must have seen this place. What you see of the underworld from the cave mouth looks just like this.”

“Because I painted it.”

Aleja wondered if she should be used to this by now—this feeling of disorientation with every new revelation.

“You’re telling me this now? You said it was your favorite painting, you little narcissist,” Aleja snapped, her hands flying to her mouth a moment later. At least, they were no longer in sight of the scouting party. She hoped the crumbling statues ringing the tower would be enough to muffle her voice.

“Now really isn’t the time to talk about it,” he said.

“Fine, but this conversation isn’t over. Look, there are dried climbing vines all over the tower. If I can light a small blaze, you can do your work with the shadows.”

He nodded, and Aleja wondered if it was just the murky light, or if his eyes really did harden. There were two sides to Nicolas; the Knowing One and the man who’d become him, and it was still jarring to watch him switch between the two at a moment’s notice. “Aleja, I know you feel guilty about some of the things you had to do to find Violet, but if we’re caught, the Astraelis won’t show you any mercy. Promise me that you’ll?—”

“I’ll defend myself however necessary,” she said, as her hands erupted in flames. With a flick of her wrist, a small globe of fire dislodged from the whole and reached the brown vines. They smoldered with orange light. She hadn’t imagined it before. Her power was sharper, easier to summon and maintain, easier to manage.

Just imagine how it will be when you complete the Trials , whispered her inner voice.

Nicolas raised his hands as well. As the climbing vines withered, he captured the dim light and expanded it, using his left hand to stretch the shadows into warped, humanoid figures. Even Aleja might have been convinced that the tower was suddenly occupied.

Something tore across the sky, and they huddled low as the Throne made a rapid circle around the tower. Its wings fanned the flames, but Nicolas sent another shadow to suppress them. As their magic combined, her fire turned black, and Aleja begrudgingly remembered that she and Nicolas could use their powers like two musicians who’d played together for so long that they’d formed a sort of wordless telepathy.

The Throne screeched, and the dead trees rattled from the shockwave. Two enormous people in winged masks appeared from behind a fallen marble hand. One was taller than any person Aleja had seen before, and though the Principalities usually donned six wings on their masks, this one had more than she could count. The mask spun slowly, wings chasing each other in perpetual circles.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Nicolas muttered.

“Who?”

“The Messenger. This might not be so simple as bamboozling a scouting party. If I give the word to retreat, do so.”

Nicolas drew the shadows closer around them and motioned to the other side of the wall, indicating they should sneak back. But before either of them moved, the Messenger spoke.

“Stay on your guard. We’re not alone,” she told the man at her side. The Messenger didn’t have the booming voice Aleja expected. It was soft and sharp, as if she commanded attention by forcing her companion to listen closely for every word.

“Do you think Val was wrong? The Third might return here occasionally,” her companion replied.

“No, but there are others who might make use of an empty realm. The Otherlanders are adept at hiding, even from us.”

“Their armies don’t know we’re here, ma’am.”

Aleja looked at Nicolas in alarm, but he held a finger to his lips.

“In wartime, the Knowing One keeps his council close and tight. Check the tower.”

“But… I was just Val’s research assistant. Should I not request help from one of the soldiers?”

“ Check the tower . Val may be hiding there. Remember that he’s skilled in creating illusions.”

Aleja’s thoughts raced. Had Val mentioned that he was important enough for the leader of the Astraelis forces to personally oversee his capture?

Nicolas motioned for her to move again, and together, they crept behind a ruined wall out of the Messenger’s sight line. The statues blocked Aleja’s view of the remaining Principalities. All she saw was a faint light that dimmed every time the Throne passed overhead and cast a shadow over their group.

“If I can avoid being seen, I can create a distraction, drawing most of them away. Then, I can drop shadows down to confuse them. All you’ll need to do is walk up and take the orb,” Nicolas whispered, close to her ear.

“What about the Messenger?” she said, trying to wrestle down the frantic feeling in her chest.

“If I fight the Messenger, I’ll win. I’m quicker than she is and have a better grasp of my magic. But short of destroying every cell in her body, it’s very likely she would be back to tormenting us before we could breathe a sigh of relief. The First’s gift is life, remember?”

“The Third has no problem with this?”

“She wouldn’t truly be dead. My point is that she’s incredibly resilient. But that doesn’t matter right now. If she’s here, whatever they have is important. We just need to get it and get out of here.”

“Nicolas—”

“You’re meant to be here, Lady of Wrath. You can do this. Don’t die. That’s a command, soldier.”

She didn’t beg him to stay as his shadows enveloped them, though her dread felt like there was a boulder hung suspended over her by a thread that could snap without notice. After an agonizingly long moment, her eyes shot to the sky. The Throne shrieked and banked sharply to the left. In the ultramarine blue of this world, Nicolas’s shadows were nearly impossible to see, but she was aware of the tug of his power.

“What was that?” barked one of the soldiers.

“Messenger!” yelled the other.

The Throne veered away from the scouting party, whipping wildly from side to side, as if something was perched on its back. Darkness swarmed the space, blocking Aleja’s view. Shadows filled the gaps between the enormous statues, their pale marble bodies in stark contrast.

Get ready , said her inner voice. When you see an opening, it’s bound to be brief .

What do I do?

I thought your true crime podcasts taught you everything you needed to know .

Regrettably, they failed to mention how to deal with murderous angels.

Remember, Nicolas’s shadows are alive with his power. You can feel it, can’t you? Use it to your advantage.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her breath coming out with a puff of cold fog. If she steadied herself, she could almost hear the shadows whispering in a voice with an accent belonging to a nameless kingdom by the sea. The soldiers have scattered. We’ll guide you , the shadows said.

She plunged into the darkness. This was not like looking up at the sky through shallow water but rather like dropping to the bottom of the sea. Even the statues were hidden until she approached close enough to brush against the curve of a knee or a detached face scrunched in anguish. And again, the shadows whispered. This way, this way .

A dim glow appeared, tucked between pieces of a statue so weathered as to be unrecognizable. Aleja waited for someone to interrupt her, but it seemed Nicolas had truly managed to draw the others away.

Go. It’s now or never , she told herself.

She closed the distance within seconds, wrapping her hands around the orb with an internal shout of triumph. The orb was so smooth, so perfectly matched to the temperature of the Third’s realm that it barely felt real in her hands. But there was no chance to examine it because the shadows were no longer whispering.

They screamed.

Get out now !

A second light source joined her. The Messenger’s sword was almost identical to Nicolas’s, but the fire emanating from it was so bright and gold that it pierced into Aleja’s dilated pupils. Run , the shadows ordered, but the Messenger advanced no farther, merely tilting her head to the side. Her mask wasn’t subject to the laws of gravity. It whirled like a kaleidoscope Aleja couldn’t look away from—until she saw the Messenger shift her weight from her left foot to her right. The precursor to a fighting stance. It was like reading Nicolas’s most subtle body language.

“I told you that you’d come to make a deal, eventually,” the Messenger said.

“What?” Aleja whispered, as the shadows tried to coax her back into them. The Messenger seemed unconcerned when Aleja slipped the orb into her pocket and its light was muffled.

“Is my son with you?” the Messenger said.

Son ?

Val. The Messenger was talking about fucking Val . Violet was right. They’d let a viper slither into their camp. Aleja’s fire nearly reached her hands, but she pushed it down. Nicolas might win a fight with the Messenger, but she certainly couldn’t.

“Dead,” she choked out, knowing that her only chance of escaping now was to catch the Messenger by surprise and slip into the shadows with enough of a head start.

“You always were a terrible liar, Lady of Wrath,” the Messenger said, her voice low and unconcerned. “I could kill you now, you know? End this whole bloody business before it begins. How effective do you think the Knowing One will be at commanding his armies when his wife has been ripped out of his arms again?”

Aleja’s spike of fear threatened to overtake her. Her body tensed, expecting the Messenger to drive her sword into the soft flesh between her ribs.

“You have thirty seconds before my scouting party returns.” The Messenger’s voice was so low, it was almost inaudible over one of her soldier’s distant shouts.

“Wha—”

“Enjoy the Luminarium, Lady of Wrath and Fire. Tell my son I’ll see him soon.”

It’s a trap , Aleja’s inner voice screamed, but she had no choice but to take the Messenger’s opening. She ran, letting the shadows guide her like a river’s current. They’d already begun to thin. If she didn’t get out of here soon, the enormous statues would be weeping for her.

It was foolish to feel relief.

The feeling didn’t last long.

Turn , the shadows screamed, but she was caged by broken marble bodies, and the darkness had receded so much that the Principality ahead of her didn’t need a flaming sword to see.

Aleja had never experienced Astraelis magic before, but she understood what the sudden vibrations shooting through her arms were without having to question it. He was trying to use magic to break her hands and render her useless.

“How many in your party?” the soldier snapped, just as there was a crunch in her right wrist. But she still had her left. Aleja didn’t want to feel satisfaction as her fire engulfed the Principality’s mask, but the sight of those wings in flames awakened something dark in her. Something wrathful. Even after the golden feathers turned black, she kept pushing, letting the fire pour from the deep well of pain inside her. The pain of Nicolas’s lies. The pain of Violet’s lies. The pain of letting her fragile trust reside in another person, only to be betrayed.

Stop, Aleja. You’ve done it.

She didn’t listen until she was forced to stop by exhaustion. When the burst of light faded, the shadows were gone and the earth was no longer that beautiful shade of ultramarine blue, but the mottled gray of death. It wasn’t until she saw the writhing body of the Astraelis that her feet moved. Although she’d failed to kill him, his mask had melted into his skin.

Aleja ran, the statues like a ruined city surrounding her. She could do nothing but hope to stumble upon the narrow trail they’d found leading from the hole in the wards.

A shadow joined her, yet when she looked up in a panic, it was not the Throne, but Nicolas. The silhouette of his wings against the sky was such a relief she let out a yelp—a wordless exclamation of joy at the thought they might survive this.

“This way!” he called.

And when she tried to take another step, she realized her feet were no longer on the ground. Nicolas held her tightly as they rose into the painted sky, higher and higher, until they were surrounded by nothing but a deep and sorrowful blue.