Page 44 of No Greater Sorrow

“Not with the Knowing One at your side,” Nicolas said, hoping that the hangover would be penance enough.

* * *

As it turned out,stealing from a Dark Saint was easy when they weren’t in the building. Aleja followed Nicolas back to the wing Amicia used when visiting the palace, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu. The two of them had been here before, and she’d trailed him just like this, trying to sneak glances at the dancing satyrs and water nymphs—an eternal bacchanal captured in pink marble. Amicia’s devotees, along with the other gardeners and caretakers that normally wandered the grounds, had presumably been sent to safety elsewhere.

“It’s pretty here. How is it that we’re not all falling into each other’s laps now that Amicia is around anyway?” she said, as Nicolas found the door he wanted and began fiddling with the lock. Apparently, a Dark Saint’s wards were not as simple for him to get through as a human’s.

“Amicia usually channels the sexual aspects of her nature. As you can imagine, it’s more pleasant for her and her devotees. But, as we’ve already discussed, there are many types of lust.”

“Bloodlust,” Aleja said, remembering. “Does that mean that if she hangs around for too long, all the soldiers in the camp going to have a rumble or something?”

“Hopefully not. Amicia usually channels her power with a constant but gradual release. Right now, she’s bottling it up, letting it build much as you do with your fire. It’s unpleasant for her, but it will be even worse for those she decides to unleash it on.”

With that, the door popped open, and Aleja and Nicolas stepped into a dark room dominated by an empty four-poster bed. An earthy muskiness hung in the air. Apparently, Amicia was still keen to enjoy herself even while suppressing her power.

“Oh, fairy wine,” Nicolas said. He opened a drawer containing a few pale green bottles that couldn’t mask the color of the vibrant lavender liquid inside. “May the Second give his blessings to whoever started recruiting the fey to be Dark Saints.”

“Something tells me that’s a bad idea. Let’s find something I won’t regret drinking. Something with bubbles.”

“Here we go. The favorite of rich occultists trying to goad me into a toast after a bargain,” he said, pulling out a dark bottle somewhat inelegantly hidden behind another tapestry.

“Who’s out there collecting what you’re owed while all this is going on?”

She accepted the bottle when Nicolas handed it to her. Aleja only recognized one or two of the French words on the label, but it felt heavy and expensive.

“Some people are going to think they’re extremely lucky for getting out of their bargains. I’ll send a few of the Dark Saints to help wrap everything up eventually. You could give it a shot when this is over. It’s fun.”

“Villain,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “Come on, help me drink this.”

“I thought you might want to be alone,” he said, sounding both nonchalant and hesitant at the same time. Aleja knew she was the only one able to catch the second emotion hiding under the flatness of his voice.

“It’s a drink, not a marriage proposal, Nicolas. At least, not another one. Come on. The palace seems to be in a good mood tonight. Take me back to the room with your painting. I want to look at it again, now that I know who made it.”

“Of course,” he said, after another brief hesitation.

Perhaps Aleja had been wrong about the palace, or perhaps Nicolas simply decided to take a meandering route. The conversation came so easily as they walked that for the first time in hours, Aleja felt the knot of dread in her chest loosening. She nearly forgot about the wine, and by the time they neared the room with the enormous painting of Orpheus and Eurydice emerging from the world of the dead, only a quarter of the bottle had been emptied between them.

“I prefer Masaccio’s early work,” Nicolas said with a shrug, gesturing to a triptych at the center of which was a woman in blue robes holding a baby atop her lap.

“You are absolutely wrong about that. I don’t care that taste in art is subjective. In this case, I am deeming myself the arbiter of truth, and your opinion is not just bad, but false.”

“Are you serious? Look at that baby. It’sterrifyinglymuscular. It looks like he’s getting ready to punch one of those cherubs.”

“We delight in punching cherubs now, Nicolas? And I was starting to think the Otherlanders had the moral authority in this conflict.”

“I’m very certain the cherub did something to deserve it.”

It was almost a shame to let this champagne go flat and undrunk, but Aleja realized she didn’t want her memories of this moment to be murky—her and Nicolas wandering the hallways as they’d done both in this life and the one before.

“Here we are,” he said, sounding almost embarrassed beneath the bored tone of his voice.

Aleja set the bottle on the floor and took a seat on a small bench at the center of the room. It was Otherlander furniture, the wooden frame twisting around itself like two tangled vines, but the cushion was comfortable. Nicolas paused before taking a seat next to her, but she nodded and then turned away to hide her frown—by the Second, she wasn’t nearly drunk enough to consider crawling into his lap.

“When did you paint it?” she asked, deciding to kick her shoes off. Their soles squeaked against the marble as she wiggled her feet out of them.

“Shortly after you left. I—I did not cope with it very well. It was years before Bonnie could convince me to leave the Hiding Place and seek out a bargain, and I only did it because the first hints of decay were beginning to show.”

Should I make another bet on how long it takes for you to break your promise about touching him? her voice asked.

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