Page 67 of No Greater Sorrow

With the distance closed between them, she could do nothing against the Messenger’s advances. The next blow did not come from her blade, but from her sword hilt, cracking against the side of Aleja’s head.

The trees spun, a kaleidoscope of black and green.It’s okay, whispered her inner voice.I’m here. I’m sorry I left you for so long.

Aleja couldn’t answer. She spat blood from her mouth, only realizing after it had splashed back into her face that she’d fallen to the forest floor. Something cold and sharp pressed against her throat.

The Messenger whispered close to Aleja’s ear, “In a moment, my son is going to let his magic loose again, and when you wake up, this will all seem like a dream. But I hope you remember this: whatever your Knowing One has led you the believe, I am not your enemy.”

The Messenger stood and the blade against Aleja’s neck dropped away. “Violet, stay behind my son. Val, go ahead.”

“But, Mother, you’ll be?—”

“I can handle it.Now.”

Aleja’s vision was already darkening. The gash in her arm bled freely, drenching her hip and arm. With a last burst of strength, she turned her head, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nicolas. And in that moment, her heart swelled with hope.

The Knowing One had cut the Third’s front legs free with the sickle, and the blindfolded Throne reared up to take a swipe at the Messenger. But the world again lightened. The leaves changed from pale green to yellow. Nicolas swung once more, slicing through the last of the chains around the Third’s legs. But the blade never made it all the way through.

This time, the tremors began in the soles of her feet. The tooth that had lost its filling shattered altogether, gritty against her tongue. Aleja’s cells felt like they were vibrating apart; she tried to look at her hands, to see if they were still intact, but she could no longer move her head.

It’s okay, her little voice repeated.You did all you could. Soon, nothing will hurt anymore.

But the voice lied. The pain was unrelenting. Aleja tried to scream Nicolas’s name—to scream something, anything—a plea to the Messenger, or a prayer to the Third to take her now so that she wouldn’t have to feel this pain any longer. When she closed her eyes for the last time, only coldness, silence, and a shade of ultramarine blue answered.

8

THE BARGAINER

“The true scope of the Second’s power is a question that has plagued occultists and scholars since the first rudimentary studies of the Otherlanders. As the first among the Knowing Ones, he certainly shares their gifts. However, we know little beyond that. Though it is said that the Second detests being referred to as a god, it is undeniable that he would be perceived as one by any human he encountered.”

—Excerpt fromTen Myths of the Otherlandersby Emiel Nasir.

“Aleja!Aleja, wake up. You have to go to your Trial.”

Garm’s cold nose pressed against her cheek. Aleja remembered coming to as the forest collapsed around her. It was the dead Throne that saved her in the end. A tree had fallen onto the swell of the Throne’s ribcage, and its trunk stopped just inches from Aleja’s face.

But after that, all was dark.

“Trial? Where’s Nicolas?” she moaned. The air had a medicinal scent, indicating that she was back in the healer’s tent, but the Knowing One was not squeezed onto the small cot beside her.

“I woke him too,” Garm said. Though his breath smelled of raw milk, Aleja welcomed it; the fact that she could smell anything meant she was still alive. “The Second demands he comes with you.”

“What?” she said, forcing herself up despite the wave of dizziness.

“The Trial is designed for two. With Violet gone, the Second wants Nicolas to take her place.”

Aleja thought she could sit up, but she was wrong. Bending over the edge of the bed, she attempted to retch into a chamber pot, but missed. At least, there was hardly any food left in her stomach. The liquid from her mouth was clear and tasted like tart fruit that hadn’t been allowed to ripen.

“The Second can’t do that,” she said, as soon as she was able to still her heaving stomach and wipe her mouth clean. In truth, her mind was still on Violet—on the way Violet had been unable to meet Aleja’s eyes, and how she’d immediately ceded to the Messenger’s orders.

“You can tell him that when you see him.”

“What happened?” Aleja asked. The past few hours felt like the times she’d spent too long in her grandmother’s tower, when the world had begun to break down, as if something had stepped on a completed puzzle. The pieces might be mostly in place, but they were no longer connected.

They’d met the Third. She had given him her sickle and in exchange, he had gifted her with knowledge. The tiny box in her backpack contained the fingerbones of the Dark Saint of Wrath—sliced off by her own hand. After that, there had been vibration and pain and betrayal. And both Val and Violet, standing with the Messenger.

Fuck them both, she thought bitterly.

“As far as we know, the Astraelis have the Third,” Garm said darkly. “You and Nicolas were both quite battered when we found you, but there was another witness. Val told us everything that happened.”

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