Page 61 of No Greater Sorrow

“Yes.” She trembled and pulled her wool coat more tightly around her shoulders. A tiny pentagram brooch over her chest pocket shone like the Knowing One’s eyes. Louisa had looked sick when they’d met at James’s party, but she was far worse now. Makeup could not hide the gauntness of her face. Louisa’s hair sat askew atop her head before she adjusted it, and Aleja realized it was a wig.

“Why did you wait so long?” Nicolas snapped. Both Louisa and Aleja drew back, surprised by the force of his voice. “I told you to light the candle with time to spare.”

“Itriedto fix it myself. I tried to replicate the well water. But every time I thought I had a breakthrough, something…” Louisa trailed off. To her credit, she seemed to have no qualms making eye contact with the Knowing One, even after he’d raised his voice.

Aleja thought back to Violet, who’d perked up for a few hours when she took a sip of the water one of the Hiding Place’s alchemists had crafted for her—an effect that had been temporary at best. Even the Second’s water, while powerful, did not last forever.

“This is what we needed, Nic,” Aleja said softly, hating that this woman’s suffering could benefit them. She called out to her inner voice, begging her to chime in.Tell me not to care. Tell me to be the villain so that I can save those I love, Aleja asked.

Nothing came in return.

“What do you mean?” Louisa asked.

Aleja and Nicolas looked at each other, a silent conversation bouncing between them.

“I’m going to save your life. But first, you have to offer me something in exchange,” he finally told Louisa.

Louisa hesitated, her eyes moving to Aleja’s face. “Is she… your assistant?”

“She’s my—yes. She’s shadowing me today,” Nicolas said, apparently having decided it wasn’t worth going into the details of why he’d arrived with both a young woman and a hellhound in tow. “What is your offer, Louisa?”

Louisa reached for her purse lying discarded on the grass a few inches away. A tube of Chapstick and a tampon tumbled out as she righted it. “Shadowing, huh?Thisis the career you want to get into?” Louisa muttered as she searched the bag.

“I was an art history major. The job market sucks, and I have student loans up to my ears,” Aleja replied.

“This guy pays well?”

“Not really, but I get free meals.”

One of Nicolas’s wings nudged her side. Aleja shrugged in response.

“Ah, here it is,” Louisa said, pulling a small velour bag from her purse. “This has been in my family for centuries. Honestly, I find it creepy as hell.”

“It has to be something you don’t want to give me,” Nicolas chided.

“Oh, that’s not a problem. Just because I find it creepy doesn’t mean I want to give it away. It’s always been a failsafe if you wouldn’t come to me.”

Aleja leaned in as Louisa opened the satchel and shook a small object into her palm.

A fig.

Beside her, Nicolas sucked in a breath. Aleja had no idea why the Knowing One would be so excited by a piece of fruit, but she’d spent enough time in the Hiding Place to know that few things regarding Otherlanders were as they appeared.

“Wherever did you get that?” he asked.

“It was gifted to one of my ancient relatives. He belonged to the Order of Six Wings.”

Aleja’s confusion must have been obvious, because Nicolas muttered, “Devotees of the Astraelis—like if the Diabolus Society had my blessing. The Six Wings disbanded a long time ago. Why did none of your ancestors ever eat it?”

Aleja raised her hand. “I need to ask a question since I’m shadowing the Knowing One. What exactly does that fig do?”

“The Astraelis don’t turn humans into Otherlanders, as we do through the Trials, but they sometimes grant gifts to their favored devotees—like how they turned a blind eye to the Remnant kept in an Unholy Well when it suited them. Their figs grant humans immortality,” Nicolas answered.

Aleja’s gaze snapped to Louisa, who was still quietly considering the fruit. “Are you trying to tell me no one in your family ever ate it? Thatyouwon’t eat it? You’re sick, Louisa. You didn’t need to pursue the doctor’s well water. You didn’t even need to light the black candle.”

But the ember of rage in Aleja’s stomach was not directed at the young woman sitting on the damp grass before them. If one of her great-great-grandfathers had come into possession of an immorality-granting fig, they would have eaten it without question.

“It’s not immortality as you might imagine it,” Louisa said. “It comes with the price of servitude to the Astraelis. When my ancestors left the order and turned to the Silent Arts, they vowed never to touch the fig, even under the threat of death.”

---