Page 3 of No Greater Sorrow

Taddeas sagged in his chair when every set of eyes at the table turned to stare at him. He’d only agreed to serve as the Knowing One’s High General because he’d assumed war would not come during his tenure. “No. That’s the strange thing. The Astraelis must be aware that their convoy has not returned. They’re aware Roland is dead, and that Aleja has yet to take the Trials. If they wanted to mount a retaliation, now would be the time.”

“Another reason to fortify our borders while we have the chance,” Nicolas said.

Violet stood first, dropping her napkin next to a half-finished cup of tea. “Thanks for breakfast, Bonnie. Very nice to meet you all,” she said, retreating before anyone could answer.

“She’s undergoing the Trials? That girl is so weak she could hardly tuck her chair in. Whatever were you thinking, Nicolas?” Orla asked.

Violet had no training, and she’d spent the last few months sick and cold, while the villagers waited for the Remnant in the well to beg in hunger. While staying in the Hiding Place might have slowed the progression of Violet’s cancer, it did not cure her.

Aleja followed the thud of Violet’s sneakers down the marble floors without waiting for Nicolas’s response. She found Violet in the rose gardens, which were just beginning to recover from Aleja’s fiery outburst a few weeks ago. The flowers now grew in shades of gold and reddish orange, as if they had absorbed some of her magic.

“I’m going to die after all, aren’t I?” Violet said. She dropped onto a bench and covered her face with her hands.

“You’re not going to die. Neither am I,” Aleja said, but the words felt hollow. Her hands grew hot—the flames barely suppressed. This place reminded her of Garm digging up soil while the gardeners shouted in dismay. Aleja couldn’t think of him without a glow emanating from her palms.

“Have you thought about what weapon you’re going to choose?” she said, sitting in the grass at Violet’s feet.

“No. Have you?”

“Nic said to ask for my old sword back, but…”

You should be with him. This might be the last time?—”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Violet raised her head. The imprint of her fingers had left red splotches on her face. “I should never have gone to the well, and you should never have lit the black candle.”

“We’re not going to die,” Aleja said for the second time, as if it was a prayer—though all the beings she could be praying to were still bickering over their breakfast table.

* * *

After Violet declaredshe needed a nap, Aleja found Nicolas again. He was exactly where she’d predicted, in the office with the stained glass rose in the door’s window. She wasn’t jealous when she walked in on the Knowing One consulting with two beautiful women at his round table, including the Dark Saint of Lust. Aleja knew with certainty that Nicolas only had eyes for her.

“Come on, Orla,” Amicia said, smoothing down her silk robe as she stood. “We have our orders.”

Orla brushed past with a nod, but Amicia took Aleja’s hand. Even with her power suppressed, a shiver raced down Aleja’s spine. Amicia smelled of rose oil as she leaned in and said, “You’re going to be fine. We all know it. Be smart. Be safe. Be vicious.”

As Amicia left, the room’s atmosphere darkened.

“Take your shirt off,” Aleja said as soon as she clicked the lock shut.

“Now, dove?” Nicolas asked, leaning back in his chair. A map of the Hiding Place was spread before him. Aleja recognized the forest where she’d once hunted Remnants, as well as the ridge of the Second’s mountains, where she’d be meeting her fate in a matter of hours.

The undercurrent of darkness in his voice had been present last night too, as he’d pressed kisses down the length of her spine.

“Yes, now. No more lies, Nicolas.”

He hesitated. The fading taste of syrup and honey coated the roof of Aleja’s mouth as she swallowed, watching him unfasten the first few buttons of his tunic.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I—” he began. His fingers hovered over his collar.

“Showme.”

He dragged the shirt off his shoulders. Nicolas’s wings had been glamoured away, so there was no distraction from the black tattoo across his chest. It spread from the place where his heart would be, flowing over his scars, and gently moving with each breath as if it too were alive.

A snake entangled in thorny vines.

Unlike the other serpent motifs in the palace, this one did not project a sense of silence and secrecy or the hidden knowledge of the Otherlanders. Mouth open, tongue lashing, it twisted in pain as thorns burrowed into its scales. Black ink seeped into Nicolas’s veins, turning them dark, like a map of poisoned rivers.

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