Page 47 of No Greater Sorrow

“Ugh. Don’t say it like that. He’s… contemplative. And he has one obsession and one obsession alone.”

“Sorry. What’s he like?” Aleja said, recalling how, on her first day in the Hiding Place, she’d inadvertently confused Bonnie’s gifts with gluttony.

Orla regarded her with suspicion. “Damn, you really don’t remember anything, do you? You two were colleagues more than friends, but as much as I hate to say it, that’s not your fault. Merit is only interested in one thing—his forge.”

Aleja didn’t miss the undercurrent of both fondness and frustration in Orla’s tone when she spoke of him.

“Merit was our smith during the last war. He comes from a long line of them, many of whom had their tenure as Dark Saints.” Orla rubbed her forehead, as if deciding whether to continue subjecting herself to Aleja’s presence. “He’s the closest thing we have to—what do the humans call it? A legacy hire. One of his distant ancestors was the first person the Second taught the art of enchantment to.”

“Wow,” Aleja breathed, temporarily forgetting she was supposed to be acting like all of this was second nature to her.

“Anyway, we need him to forge us proper weapons if we want any chance of winning this.” Orla’s voice returned to its normal tone—sharp and disdainful. “This conversation has been awkward enough for one day, don’t you think? The chances of this not turning into a shit show are slim. Just do as I say, all right?”

“Noted. What is your power anyway?” Aleja asked.

“Void.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s among the rarest that can manifest among the Dark Saints. Let’s hope you don’t have to find out.”

“Wonderful talk, Orla. This was very helpful before my first foray over enemy lines.”

Your husband’s actions destabilized her home for six centuries. She’s allowed to dislike you, Aleja’s inner voice pointed out.

Orla gave a soft huff, but at least she didn’t snap at Aleja again. “Nicolas, come on! This gap isn’t going to stay open for long.”

Aleja remembered the small hole in the wards they’d used to sneak into the Third’s realm. “How are the gaps opened?” she asked.

“Carefully. One of our scouts was here earlier to ensure the Astraelis don’t have any roaming units at this border. The longer it’s open, the more likely one of them will take notice—Nicolas! Hellhound, fetch them.”

Garm seemed thrilled to have been given a command and hopped to his feet.

“I didn’t realize our realms were so connected,” Aleja said, speaking mostly to herself. She had the feeling her continued questions were starting to push Orla from the realm of annoyed to angry.

“Of course, they are. We were one people a long time ago. It was the Second who built the wards and isolated us in the Hiding Place to keep us safe.” This answer was not given in the same sharp tone she’d spoken to Aleja with before; there was almost something wistful in Orla’s voice.

“Do you think there’ll be peace again?” asked Aleja.

“Maybe, but not today.Finally. What in the Second’s name were you three doing over there?” Orla said as Nicolas, Violet, and Val approached.

Val’s mask twitched, unable to hide his nervousness. “I was instructing Violet on how to extract herself from the Authorities’ mind, if… well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Are you sure I should be here? I am decidedlynota soldier.”

Coming here had been an act of either bravery or foolishness on Val’s part. If caught, the most likely outcome for him was execution.

“You claimed that you wanted to help when you crossed our borders. Now you’ll get your chance,” Nicolas told him, shoving a pack against Val’s chest. He turned to the others. “All right, come on. We keep low and quiet.”

“Can we walk there?” Aleja whispered.

“Walk?” Val asked. “No, I wouldn’t assume so. What happened to the Umbramares, Knowing One? I didn’t see any at your base.”

“Umbramares?” Garm’s tail wagged violently.

“Give me a moment,” Nicolas said. He raised his hands and the small hairs on Aleja’s arms lifted as if a bolt of lightning was about to strike—then, the Umbramares rose from the earth. No, they rose from theshadows, pulling themselves up as if they were crawling from deep holes in the ground. The Umbramares were smaller than regular horses, with streamlined bodies that appeared almost feline. Their shapes were barely visible in the night, cut from a swathe of darkness like Garm in his monstrous form, with eyes that glowed a deep violet—a shade Aleja had only seen in the tiny space where blue fire transitioned into red.

She expected Orla’s hand to pass through the Umbramare when she gave it a pat on the forehead. Yet it preened at the touch, and Garm gave a jealous whine.

“They really are cute, Nic. Only three?” Orla asked.

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