Page 43 of What Is Dark Within Me

At her feet was the body of a man—no, not a man, he was much too large—wearing an oversized mask composed of six wings, three on each side. The mask covered almost the entirety of his face, including his eyes, so that she couldn’t see the wound where the trickle of blood streaming over his chin originated from. Soot blackened his gold armor.

“One of the Principalities—their top commanders,” Nicolas explained. “It was rare to see them involved in battles, but this was a surprise attack. The Principalities were meeting in secret to discuss their war plans. One of our spies revealed their location, and you led the charge. We secured many of their documents that day and took down one of…them.”

She looked at Nicolas’s face. It was that or continue to stare at the corpse. He had said it with no hint of pride or glee in his voice. Aleja could tell without having to ask that he disliked being here as much as she did.

“Come,” Nicolas muttered. “The sooner we examine the field, the sooner we can get out of here.”

It didn’t seem possible that she was the one responsible for every dead Otherlander sinking into the mud below. They scrambled down a few boulders before the earth rumbled, the vibration shooting into her jaw. “By the Second,” Nicolas said, sounding exasperated. “I’d forgotten about the last Throne.”

“Is it safe?” she asked, scanning the valley as soldiers poured out of a black tent. Before it stood a tall pole bearing a black flag with a coiled red serpent.

“I’d recommend not dying,” he said. “We may be in a memory, but it would be very unpleasant.”

“That’s wonderful, Nicolas. I’m glad to be learning this now,” she said. “What do we do?”

A great shadow fell over the valley. The soldiers responded with a chorus of shouts, as someone Aleja recognized stepped out of the tent. It was the Nicolas of the past. His hair was longer, tied back at the base of his neck, and he wore black armor that matched the color of the sword in his left hand. A second person emerged behind him. She too donned a chest plate emblazoned with the crest of the serpent. A helmet covered her face, but it’d been thrown on hastily, and a sliver of dark red hair tumbled from the back.

“That’s—that’s—”

“Stay low.”

The shadow of what looked like a low-flying plane swept across the valley, and Aleja’s attention was drawn up. The creature resembled a lion with two enormous wings jutting from its back, but with the claws and bifurcated tail of a dragon.

“What is it?” she muttered.

“We call them Thrones. The Astraelis’s foot soldiers.”

The Remnants she and Liam stalked in the woods couldnotbe called shadows of their former selves, not if they’d originally looked like this. The Throne was at least four times as large as the flickering creatures in the forest; it swept over the valley, snatched one of the Otherlanders in its talons, and ascended into the low clouds.

“Fuck!” she gasped. “Should we help?”

“This has already happened,” Nicolas told her. The remaining soldiers moved into position, like a toy army preparing to wage war against a fully grown lion. “There’s nothing we can do. Just watch and try to learn. This shouldn’t take long.”

She watched as the past Nicolas launched upward, the rush of air from his great black wings rattling what trees had not toppled in the first skirmish. Black flames engulfed his sword, and the sky dimmed as if a pair of great theater curtains had drawn closed around them.

The Throne spotted him and didn’t hesitate. It took a sharp turn with the soldier clenched in its talons, tucking its wings as it sped toward the Knowing One.

In a move Aleja didn’t expect, the Throne dropped the soldier, forcing Nicolas to bank down to catch him. The Throne took advantage of his divided attention, attempting a swipe at Nicolas’s wings that was deflected by a stream of flame from underneath. Aleja’s former self had her palms turned to the air, while the soldiers took cover behind the boulders strewn around the battlefield.

She missed the moment former Nicolas returned the soldier to the ground, but with a great push from his wings, he was in the air again, landing atop the Throne’s back. It writhed, trying to buck him off. Another wave of fire singed the beast’s underbelly, but it seemed to think Nicolas was the more pressing issue. It twisted to snap at the Otherlander on its back.

It was the opening Nicolas needed. His black sword sunk into the Throne’s throat. Their most vulnerable body part, just as Liam had taught her.

Dark blood fell from the sky like heavy rain, splattering against the valley as the soldiers scattered. The past Aleja looked unperturbed by the massive creature tumbling toward them. She nodded to Nicolas as he landed beside her, and they watched the Throne hit the ground, generating another shockwave that made their tent pulse. A spurt of blood gurgled from its throat as it stilled.

“Don’t tell me you brought me to this memory because you thought it made you look like a badass,” Aleja hissed.

“Of course not,” Nicolas said, shooting her a half-smile. “But while we’re here,didit make me look like a badass?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, you’re right. It was just a Throne. Terrible to deal with in large numbers, but not the worst of the Astraelis’s armies. That title is reserved for the Authorities.”

“Can we get on with this?”

“Fine. Let’s look.”

Aleja’s jaw clenched. Nicolas intended for them to search the battlefield for survivors, but that meant getting closer to the old versions of themselves. Until now, she’d still been able to deny her past with the Knowing One. All she’d seen as proof was a painting and the stories of those around her. Even when she’d scried with the first relic, there had only been a glimpse of her face, marbled with ash.

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