Page 87 of What Is Dark Within Me

“I don’t take orders from you anymore. If you want to fight me, I’ll win. I can tell by how long it took you to recover,” Roland said.

“Fine,” Nicolas replied with a shrug. He brought a hand up so he could examine his black nails. “I wasn’t suggesting you apologize for my sake. I was suggesting you apologize for yours. I’m not the one who’s going to have to face her.”

It seemed like the perfect moment for Aleja to swing the sickle into Roland’s side, so she did.

He screamed. The trees shook, pine needles falling as he whirled toward her. Black blood spurted from the wound. It did not smell like copper and salt, but something that reminded her of storms—the acrid hint of ozone in the atmosphere before the first lightning strike fell to earth.

The shadows confined to her wrists and ankles jumped to her neck. Aleja tried to breathe, but the air stuck in her mouth. With her palms free, she sent out another spit of fire, but the flames veered wildly into the clearing.

Roland crumpled anyway, hit at the same time in two places—the back of the head and the knees. Aleja wasn’t sure how Violet had dragged the large stick several feet when she could barely stand on her own, but this wasn’t the time to question it.

The Dark Saint fell to the side, one leg giving out beneath him, allowing Nicolas to swing again. The black-bladed sword he usually kept hidden beneath a glamour sank into Roland’s shoulder. Blood ran between the cobblestones and soaked into Aleja’s boots.

She hadn’t trained with the sickle, but Aleja swung it at the shadow creeping toward her leg, surprised when it was sliced in two. They wriggled like two halves of a worm, struggling to stay alive.

Roland knocked all three of them back by drawing in another troop of shadows from the surrounding trees, but he was bleeding more than either Aleja or Nicolas. One of the villagers emerged from their homes with a shotgun in hand, but Roland shouted, “Stay inside. Whatever happens, donotattack her,” and the woman retreated as if compelled to obey.

“You’re outnumbered. Hands down, Roland, or I will burn this place to the fucking ground,” Aleja snarled. She felt the woman inside herself smile. Every enemy had something that could be exploited. All that was left of Roland’s heart was this village; trapped in time and willing to turn a blind eye to the witches they dropped into the well every few years to keep their families alive.

Roland chuckled, putting both hands in the air in a motion of surrender. From the corner of Aleja’s eye, she watched Nicolas draw back a step. His eyes were the color of a storm. “I’m going to give you a choice, Roland. I can forgive this transgression if you return to the Hiding Place now and leave the Astraelis to rot. The Second will decide your punishment, not I, and these villagers can live out the rest of their lifespans. No one else needs to suffer.”

His proposal surprised Aleja until she thought back to the Hiding Place. Crumbling. Subject not only to its own whims but also those of the Second, forever dreaming in his place beneath the mountain. With six Dark Saints, it was deteriorating rapidly. With five, it might be gone in a matter of months—not nearly enough time to find and train another recruit to complete the Trials.

She caught Nicolas’s gaze briefly and realized she could read his emotions. He didn’t want to offer Roland this deal. The sight of Roland in an Astraelis’s mask infuriated him, but Nicolas and Roland shared a common goal. They each had their sanctuaries, places they’d nurtured for decades, for centuries, and now it seemed like one of them must surrender theirs and let it fall to ruin.

“I will not go back with you, Nicolas. Even if you hadn’t killed my brother. Even if you hadn’t threatened all I hold dear. You must know why by now. You must. Say it.”

“You’re a double agent,” Nicolas told him. “They never would have told you how to keep the Remnant in this state otherwise. Your brother was their devotee and you followed in his footsteps.Youturned to the Astraelis when the Second denied your requests, not the other way around. That’s how they knew to capture Aleja during that final battle. That’s how they know we’re weak now. That’s how you’ve been getting Remnants through our borders. What else have you told them, Roland?”

Both Aleja and the woman inside her took a breath. The cold air was at odds with the heat inside of her. Curls of steam rose from her skin.

“When did you figure it out?” Roland said, ignoring his question.

“When you came to reseal the Unholy Relic, you spoke to it as if it was familiar to you. You weren’t carting this thing around because it was powerful. You were doing so because it was yourfriend,” Nicolas said, drawing the small pendant from under his shirt. The bones were back inside.

“They were surrendering, and you fucking killed them. But that’s not all,” Roland said. The soft skin of his neck was unprotected, in striking reach, but shadows curled around her throat. She knew why she was alive—Roland needed a sacrifice for the well and Violet alone might not be enough.

“Look at the difference between this place and the outside world.Thisis what the Astraelis offer,” Roland continued. He turned slightly, as if to address the humans cowering in their homes. “A life free from disease, hunger, and conflict. An endless life. And the one thing required? An offering, every few years. One life to save that of many.”

“You’re sick,” Aleja spat. “And frankly, you’re preaching to the wrong group of people. Are you going to let us walk or do you want to figure out if you can kill two witches and the Knowing One before one of us gets a lucky strike in?”

At least they’dhadtwo witches. Violet had fallen silent, her face slack as she returned to her waking dream. Roland turned to Aleja. His shadows tickled her throat, as his eyes drifted to the sickle in her hand. “You have no idea what that weapon is, do you?”

She said nothing, not wanting to let him know this was true.

“I told my brother that one day, either the Knowing One or the one of the Dark Saints would come for him, but even he feared the sickle enough to keep it under glass. I’ve poured my magic into it for centuries.”

“You’re an idiot, Roland. How much?” Nicolas said.

“Enough to take down a Dark Saint with a single blow,” Roland chuckled, sounding amused. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

She had no idea what they were talking about but caught the way Roland’s eyes drifted back to the well. The thought of the thing inside of it made her stomach churn, but she found she couldn’t quite reach the memory of what it had looked like. Just wings and eyes. Eyes that weren’t its own.

“You know I dislike irony,” Nicolas said, a frown on his lips. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it has to end this way.”

Roland gave another dark laugh. “So, there is a bit of honor among rebels. If I’m being honest, I always figured it would be her to do the job.”

“Me too,” Nicolas said as Aleja stepped forward.

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