Page 74 of What Is Dark Within Me

“Because even as a young hellhound, I’ve seen many winters,” Garm told her. “No one except for the Otherlander went beyond the edge of the wards, nor did I see anyone bring supplies. You know how this season has treated the mountains. Either their group is extraordinarily well-stocked or something else is keeping them bright-eyed and energetic.”

“Thank you, Garm. Go inform Taddeas of what you know. Even if he can’t leave the Hiding Place, he’ll have advice to offer.”

“Sure, boss.” The dog licked Aleja’s hand before he left, and she stiffened as his long tail hit another of the statues.

“I guess James and his caravan didn’t dig their way out of the snow after all,” she said when Garm disappeared.

“We’ll need to infiltrate on foot. Only forty-eight hours have passed in the human realm. Roland may expect us. How has your training gone?”

“Fine, I think.”

She swallowed; it was the end of one phase of Aleja’s life and the beginning of something uncertain. If Violet was alive and able to break the binding, would Aleja simply be free to go on her way? How could she live knowing that she was the exiled incarnation of a Dark Saint, whose old home was crumbling because she had abandoned it?

That Alejandra would have screamed at her—pleaded—for her to stay. To find someway to restore her power and save those she loved. Aleja couldn’t say how she knew, only that it was true.

Her inner voice was strangely silent.

“What’s with that face?” Nicolas asked.

“It’s hard to believe it’s almost over.”

“You’ll be free, soon. As will Violet, if all goes well. What will you do then?”

It might have been a rhetorical question, but Aleja couldn’t tell. “I don’t know. Beg my cousin to let me keep my job. Maybe try to get back into school.”

“Really? All you’ve seen, all you know, and you’re going to go back to your old life? There were a hundred books about Italy in your apartment. Why not go there?” He crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall, a lock of black hair falling over his eyes.

She had no answer. She’d never had one, even when she was a graduate student. Hell, Paola would have lent Aleja the money if she’d asked. She supposed a part of her was trapped at the Miami estate, unable to plan for the future because she still expected to die.

“You’d like the Uffizi galleries,” he went on. “Don’t you want to see the Birth of Venus in real life?”

“Sure, but—”

“If money is an issue, I can fix that for you once my power is restored. We’ll make a second bargain, something trifling.”

“It’s not the money. I don’t… I don’t know what it is. Besides, what about this place? I figured you’d ask me to become a Dark Saint. Make the seven whole again.”

He began to answer, but paused. The sag in his shoulders was almost imperceptible, but Aleja caught it.

“I wouldn’t ask it of you. Your old self never spoke to me of her decision to take my punishment. I didn’t realize what she’d done until I woke the morning my banishment was supposed to begin, to find her missing. I can’t guess her reasons. Perhaps she intended to save me while sacrificing herself. But as I’ve said, the war was not kind to either of us, nor were we kind in return. It’s just as possible that she saw a way out—a way to forget both the Hiding Place and me.”

“I don’t think that’s right,” Aleja said. She took a step closer. The sculptures’ eyes seemed fixed on her, their chests slightly inflated, as if they were holding in a breath.

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “If I am her and I feel that way, doesn’t it make it true?”

“Now you’re thinking like an Otherlander,” he said. His eyes were duller than usual, the dark gray of a distant storm rather than molten silver.

“You once told me Otherlander marriages aren’t dissolved by death.”

“They’re a magical contract, not just a vow.”

“Is that why you haven’t found someone else?” An unbidden wave of jealousy moved through her, causing her fingertips to spark. She clasped her hands behind her back.

He gave her a half-smile, but she found the expression was no longer infuriating. She could see the depth of it now; understood that it was a mask for something dark and pained underneath.

“We’re not completely backward,” he said, “Widowers or those who part from their spouse for other reasons are free to marry again, to forge a new bond. That’s not what you’re asking, is it, dove?”

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