Page 14 of No Greater Sorrow

“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. What do you need?”

“What’s wrong?” Aleja asked.

“We won the war,” the woman said, wiping her eyes.

“They’re celebrating outside.”

“I know. But I’m going to die tomorrow.”

This conversation had never happened. In the past, Aleja had snuck away in the night without a word to anyone—not even her husband or her friends among the Dark Saints.

“It’s going to be okay,” Aleja said, not understanding this challenge. She’d expected this woman to run from her as the corpse had, or attack when she realized Aleja was here to claim another shard.

“No, it’s not. It’s going to destroy my husband. He needs me.”

“He’ll survive. And one day, the two of you will find each other again.”

“A pretty thought,” the woman said with a tense smile. “You needn’t concern yourself with it. I’m sure they’re missing you at the party. Were you looking for something?”

Aleja reached into her bag and pulled out the shard. The woman’s smile flattened as she regarded the object. “Oh. I’ve been searching for that everywhere.Whoare you?”

“I’m just passing through,” Aleja told her, wondering if she should back away as the woman stood from the bench and looked her up and down.

“Passing through with my heart in your satchel? Give it here.”

“I can’t. I need to find the second piece. It must be in the palace somewhere. You could help me.”

“Help you?” the woman snapped. “You’re a thief. Hand it over.”

Garm knocked Aleja to the side as the woman pulled in the flames from the candles lining the room’s walls. Aleja had never seen her power used this way—had never realized she could control flames that didn’t come from herself. If it hadn’t been for Garm, she would have been trapped.

She ran as a ball of fire crashed through a pillar that shattered as if hit by a wrecking ball. “Fuck! She’s so powerful. What do we do?”

“We need the shard! Where would she keep it?” he barked.

“The bed chamber above the throne room!”

The palace’s maze-like halls refused to make it easy—nor would the previous Lady of Wrath. Aleja’s shoulder exploded with pain, but she pushed on blindly. A passage opened to the left and she took it, no longer certain where she was heading, only that she had to get away.

“We’re lost,” she moaned, biting the inside of her cheek. The ache in her scalp she could ignore, but she was afraid to touch what must have been a swathe of raw flesh on her shoulder.

Garm slowed to match her pace. When Aleja was able to calm herself, she couldn’t hear the thud of boots on the marble floors behind her. “We may have lost her for now,” Garm said.

“Doubt it. She knows the palace better than I do. We need to find the throne room.”

The paintings on these walls were older than those in Aleja’s time. The flat oval eyes of medieval icons stared down at her, but none had the symbolism she was accustomed to. They were paintings of the Dark Saints, she realized, spotting one with very dark red hair and her left hand raised, a curl of fire rising from her index and middle finger.

“The smells are all wrong, but I know this hall. Follow me and move fast,” Garm said.

Aleja tried not to look at the wound on her shoulder, seeping blood and plasma down her arm. If she survived this, it would be another scar to add to her growing collection.

“Look,” Garm said, pointing with his muzzle. “That statue is familiar.”

Aleja hadn’t realized she was dizzy until she stopped walking. “We can’t be far now,” she said, slumping against one of the marble pillars as the satyrs danced around her like she was the center of some celebration.

It would be a funeral if she didn’t get out of here soon.

“Your shoulder looks bad. Are you okay?” Garm asked.

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