Page 43 of No Greater Sorrow

He didn’t like this plan. It was rushed and impulsive, but if they acted quickly, his party would have two advantages on that side of the wards: mobility and the element of surprise. If they could draw the Authorities away and strike quickly, it should be possible to get Merit out without being noticed until they were back behind their defenses in the Hiding Place.

“I don’t know if I should—” Violet began, but her voice was so quiet that Amicia spoke over her without seeming to realize she’d interrupted.

“Who’s to say that Val isn’t sending us into a trap? If the Messenger knows we’re coming, it would be the perfect opportunity for her to wipe out the Knowing One and a few of his Dark Saints in one swoop,” Amicia said.

To her side, Orla nodded in agreement. “I know you’ve already shot it down, Nicolas, but if Val is the Messenger’s son, she might agree to exchange prisoners.”

“Both Val and Merit have something the Messenger wants,” Nicolas told them. “I’m not sure we’d be any better off either way. What do you think, Aleja?”

In the silence that followed his words, all eyes turned to her. Taddeas and Bonnie with barely noticeable smiles, Orla with complete indifference, and Amicia with a distant expression, as if she too was contemplating the answer. Only Violet refused to look up from the knotted wooden table in the war room.

Go on, Nicolas urged her silently.If the Trials are going to break you, make up for it by wielding every ounce of power you’ve been given.

“If the Astraelis force Merit to imprison the Third, then we’re fucked, right? I don’t think we have a choice about trying to rescue him.”

“They’ll certainly be eager to get Merit back if their plans hinge on him. Just because they haven’t brought troops to our borders yet doesn’t mean they won’t if they want him back,” Orla pointed out.

“We still have to try. They might be torturing him. We can’t just leave Merit there,” Bonnie said. She was the oldest Dark Saint in the room, and Nicolas wasn’t sure how many others she’d seen come and go as the centuries rolled by.

Aleja bit her lower lip and Nicolas let himself be distracted by the sight for a single, glorious second. “What if we make it look like he escaped? If we plant a false trail, the Astraelis might waste time and soldiers following it, even if just for a few days,” she said.

Nicolas kept his face blank but internally gave a brief smile. His Lady of Wrath had always functioned best when the odds were stacked against them.

“They’ll have Merit imprisoned securely,” Orla began. “I doubt they’ll believe he escaped without help. Unless…” Her eyes widened. “If it all goes to hell, weletthem get a glimpse of Val. We let them know one of their own is acting against them and that he has allies. It won’t do shit to keep the Messenger from attacking us, but it might cause some disturbance among her high-ranking officers.”

“Assuming Val agrees to that. He doesn’t seem like the sort to voluntarily put himself in more danger than necessary,” Amicia pointed out.

“I’ll talk to him. You should come with me, Ami,” Taddeas said.

Amicia laughed softly. “The Astraelis are very resistant to my particular charms, but I’ll back you up.”

As the Dark Saints trickled from the room—Orla with a begrudging nod in Aleja’s direction—no one seemed to notice that Violet hadn’t said a word since her weak protest.

“I’ll do it. I’ll go,” Violet told Aleja as she left. Her voice was very quiet, as if she was speaking but didn’t want anyone to hear, like the words of an unsent letter. It was all Violet said before she too slipped from the room, leaving Nicolas and Aleja alone.

“You did well,” he said and meant it. There were dark circles beneath Aleja’s eyes. Her hair was pulled back into a messy braid with loose strands sticking wildly in all directions, but gods, she was the most beautiful thing in this world or any other. He caught a hint of her scent—citrus, cloves, and an herbal salve courtesy of the healers. His heart felt like it was in a vice that had nothing to do with the curse emanating from the center of his chest.

“Is war always about finding the path that will get the least people killed?”

“Most of the time. Forgive me for being curious, but you and Violet don’t seem particularly happy with each other.”

Aleja sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. A new habit, not an old one. “The Second wanted us to betray each other. He got his wish. It’s just that… she was the first one to fold. And in the end, all I got was thischarminglittle poem. You don’t have any idea what it means, do you?”

Nicolas gave a low hum. He’d already seen the slip of paper. “Sadly, no. I suspect it’ll come into play during the final Trial. But it was a test. You both passed. The Second’s illusions are deadly, but in the end, they’re still illusions.”

“Why the hell won’t he help us win the war, then?” Aleja asked bitterly.

“I can’t say. Maybe after years of lending his power to the Knowing One, it’s been depleted. Maybe it takes all his effort to keep the Hiding Place intact. Maybe he just doesn’t want to help because giving us magic and a home is enough, and the rest we must figure out on our own.”

“Still think it’s bullshit,” Aleja said, her eyes darting to a dusty tapestry depicting some Knowing One—not Nicolas—standing atop a hill with their flaming sword held over their heads.

“Do you think I’ll die if I drink this?” she asked as she pulled a bottle from within the cupboard beneath it. The liquid sloshing inside was more of a murky brown than red; in truth, Nicolas wasn’t entirely sure it was wine.

“I thinkI’ddie if I drank that. If alcohol is what you’re after, we can steal it from Amicia. I doubt she’d come without a few cases of the good stuff.”

“Stealing from a Dark Saint. Sounds risky.”

The words were an invitation—a foolish invitation, and one Nicolas should decline. Taddeas would surely want to speak with him again, and though the fighting had not reached the Hiding Place yet, the world felt strange, like the birds had stopped singing or all the motes of dust in the sunbeams were suddenly gone. But Aleja looked at him like she could see all the secret places where he kept his grief and fear, growing like a neglected garden that’d sprouted full of weeds.

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