Page 76 of No Greater Sorrow

But she couldn’t bring herself to care. All she could think of were silver eyes, widened in fear and pain.

“Nic?” she shouted, racing toward the passage after Garm.

A blast of cold air sent goosebumps racing up her exposed arms. It was the early hours of the morning. Pink clouds stretched across the sky so tightly, it looked like a single breeze would dissolve them. The Avisai that she and Nicolas had ridden was curled up on a high ledge, with its wings covering its face to block out the light.

“Nicolas!” Aleja screamed.

“I can’t smell him,” Garm said.

“He’s still in there,” Aleja answered, spinning to find the passageway covered by a dense layer of hanging vines like the ones Bonnie had grown around their camp. Aleja reached for her sickle, remembered it was missing, and then searched for the sword. That too was gone. She must have left it behind in the altar room.

Fire erupted from her with frightening effortlessness, but the vines were still green and untouched when she lowered her hands. It seemed the Second had taken her warning to heart; perhaps this was a way of defense, should the Astraelis arrive with the Third in tow.

The distant smoke of Merit’s forge reached her nose, but the only movement was one of the other Avisai, circling lazily over the foothills. It was strange to be this… alone. Every other Trial had ended with her and Violet stumbling out of the caves to meet Nicolas. The first time, they’d been quietly elated, and the second time, they’d been seething, but they’d still beentogether. Two people who’d shared an experience that was incomprehensible to almost anyone else.

“Let’s go. Maybe he’s already down there,” Aleja finally said, when the dawn light cleared and the sky turned blue—a rarity in the Hiding Place. She knew that this restlessness would either precede the greatest relief or the greatest grief she’d ever experienced. Just like Orpheus, thinking he had saved his wife from death only to learn a moment later that he’d condemned her for eternity.

“What’s going on?” Aleja muttered as the Avisai descended. The camp looked even more like the burned ruins of a cathedral after the raid. A large group of soldiers had coalesced around the tents where the Dark Saints slept, but she saw no sign of any approaching attack.

Why would the Astraelis bother? she thought miserably. They’d already taken everything they wanted.

The Avisai veered to the left in search of the meadow where its companions grazed. Garm was waiting when she got there, shrinking into the body of a dog.

“There’s shouting,” he said. “Come on!”

Aleja wished she’d kept the sword, even if it was just to have something to fidget with. She didn’t know what she was going to say when the others asked why she’d returned without Nicolas. The commotion centered around Val, who was back in chains. Taddeas stood beside him, with one of his axes drawn.

“What’s happening?” Aleja asked, finding Orla at the edge of the crowd. The soldiers all spoke at once—an arrhythmic chorus of shouts made unintelligible by the clatter of armor as they jostled to be heard.

“Oh, you’re alive. That’s good,” Orla said, grabbing Aleja’s hand and pulling her forward. Amidst the crowd of soldiers, Aleja managed to catch a glimpse of Val’s mask, its wings clumped together with mud and dirt. The crush of people parted to accommodate Garm, but few gave Aleja more than passing glances. A fitting welcome for the new Dark Saint of Wrath.

“A somewhat sizable number of our soldiers are demanding Val be executed for his betrayal. Where’s Nic? He needs to settle this.” Orla’s eyes met hers. They were nearly as gold as the twine decorating her hair. “Where is he, Aleja?”

“He stayed behind to speak with the Second,” Aleja lied, knowing that if she said anything else, she would break down entirely. “We had to tell him about the Third. He’s not happy.”

“Of course not. Come on. Let’s get the others to back off. This is a matter for the Knowing One to decide,” Orla murmured.

The relief Aleja felt was like a single drop of rain falling on a house fire. It must have been obvious to Orla that there was more of the story to tell, but now was not the time to demand it.

“Stay back,” Taddeas roared, in a voice that was so unlike the mild-mannered college professor that Aleja’s heart jumped. The deep-red glow surrounding his axe was ominous enough to keep the crowd back a few paces.

“What are you going to do with him?” one of the soldiers asked—the first voice that’d broken through the jumbled noise of the crowd.

“We don’t execute our prisoners of war without a trial. That’s all you need to know, soldier. Now, all of you, get back to your duties. The Astraelis could be back at any moment. Let’s not hand them another victory,” Taddeas said.

“Hehanded them the victory. He told the Astraelis how to defeat us. He told them when and where to attack. And the whole time, he was whispering in Violet’s ear. Making her doubt. Making her fear,” said a woman’s voice. Aleja was so surprised by the tone that she doubted it was Bonnie until spotting her rye and wheat crown.

“His punishment is for the Knowing One to decide, not you. I’m in command while he is away, and again, I’morderingyou all to return to your posts,” Taddeas said. He must have caught sight of Aleja’s return because his next words came with the hint of a relieved sigh. “We need to start packing. We’ll have more answers soon.”

For a moment, Aleja thought they were going to listen. The crowd quieted, and Orla’s shoulders relaxed. Yet even with her sharpened instincts, Aleja was too slow to react when one of the soldiers stepped forward and swung his sword at the Astraelis prisoner whose tattered mask barely hid his face.

But Taddeas hadn’t let his guard down and raised his axe to knock the sword away. It worked, partially. The attacker aimed for Val’s neck, but was forced to change course, so the sword came down on his forearm instead. Aleja was on the wrong side of him to see the wound, but she smelled the blood. When a limp hand hit the mud with a splat, she had to divert her eyes to keep from retching in her mouth.

Val hardly made a noise, but his soft gasp of surprise was audible in the hush that swept over the encampment.

“Medics!” Taddeas called—a shout that did nothing to slow his axe as he blocked the offending soldier from running. The red light surrounding Taddeas’s blade rapidly expanded, encasing the other man within a sphere. When the soldier pushed frantically against it, but it was as if the magic had formed solid walls around him.

One of the fey medics appeared but hesitated when she saw the mess of flesh at the end of Val’s forearm.

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