Page 36 of No Greater Sorrow

“Are you going to be able to do that?”

“I’ve killed before.”

Taddeas fell silent for a moment. His eyes softened. “I’m sorry you have to do this. You’re so young, Aleja. It’s not fair that you should have to enter into Sainthood at a time like this.”

“It’s what I chose,” she said. “Thanks for helping me.”

He nodded, leaning back in the chair with his hands cupping the back of his head. His shoulder made a soft popping sound. “Are you familiar with the concept of skirmish tactics?”

* * *

“There you are,”Nicolas said when she found him an hour later, in a tent dominated by a large bed that, inexplicably, looked as if it’d been dragged over from the palace. Judging by the red swatches of fabric draped artfully across the wooden beams, these were Amicia’s quarters. Apparently, she did not enjoy sleeping on a cot.

For the first time that Aleja could remember, Nicolas looked truly exhausted. “Listen, I don’t want you to tell the Second about the Astraelis’ plans for him. Not yet. He’s old and unaware of our goings-on.”

“So, you’re basically saying, don’t tell Daddy the angels are coming to kill him until we have a solution in place?”

“Exactly. And please don’t call him’Daddy.’ It makes me cringe, and I try to avoid that at all times. How else do you think I’ve made it to this age without any crow’s feet?”

“Would you prefer I save the title for you?”

“I’d prefer ‘Sir,’ but the choice is ultimately yours.”

“Don’t let that information spread around the camp. I think there are a few soldiers out there willing to, uh, take orders from you, if you know what I mean. I came to ask how you’re feeling. And I was wondering if you’d told any of the Saints about the brand-new tattoo on your chest, but I’ve realized I already know the answer.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Take off your shirt. Let me see for myself.”

“Aleja—”

“Do it.”

He shrugged and undid the top few buttons of his tunic, allowing it to slip from his shoulders. Aleja bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. The snake writhed and gasped for air as the thorns imprisoning it dug in more deeply than before. The black running through Nicolas’s veins had spread to his shoulders, nearly reaching the base of his neck.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Yes. Terribly.”

“All you have to do is stop being in love with me.”

“That’s impossible.”

Unable to bear the intensity of his gaze, she looked away. Aleja missed touching him. Missed the way they whispered nonsense to each other as they kissed—secret prayers only the other could understand. When he wrapped both his hands around hers, she didn’t pull away, even as the rational part of herself screamed to leave the tent.

“Did the Second give you any idea what the next Trial might be?” he asked. She immediately understood that this was a diversion, a ploy to keep her close for a moment longer, and she allowed herself to be deceived.

“No. But I doubt we’ll be able to help each other out next time.”

“It may be worse than that, Aleja,” he said, but perhaps he could see on her face that she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, aside from breaking her promise to herself and pulling Nicolas into a kiss. Aleja nearly did so. She rose to her tiptoes as one of his hands curled tightly into the hair at the base of her skull.

Her desire felt like a lion snapping at her heels. She couldn’t outrun it. No matter how quickly she tried to speed away, its hot breath was always at the back of her neck.

“I was thinking that, when this is all over, we should go to Italy,” he said.

She gave him a tight smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and remembering she’d never told him about her plans for when the war was over. “Don’t you have bargains to make, Knowing One?”

“People everywhere light the black candle. Don’t you want to sneak into the Uffizi Museum at night? Eat pasta until we can’t move? Drink wine and kiss until someone yells at us for public indecency?”

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