Page 83 of No Greater Sorrow

The Astraelis had the Third, and despite Val’s continued insistence that Messenger was in theright, the Otherlanders would have to act soon. To let this act of war go unanswered would only make them look weak in the eyes of their enemies.

“Hey,” Taddeas said while the others shuffled out of their last meeting. It had been sullen, despite Nicolas’s return. “I’m sorry about before. I’ve already told the others I’m not abandoning my post yet. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. We youngsters have to stick together, right? Here, I had Jack bring you something from the Green Country.”

Taddeas set a large pile of books in front of her. “Military theory,” he said with a huff. “Some history and psychology too. I’ve requested a few of my favorite books from the human realm, but we’ll have to wait for those. You were self-taught before, but intuition and talent can only take you so far. You need to learn from the mistakes and triumphs others have made in the past—understandwhycertain tactics worked and not others.”

He indicated a yellow cloth-bound book at the top of the stack entitledDissension: A Scholarly Exploration of Otherlander Warfare. “Start with this one. It was the first book I read when I came to the Hiding Place and will give you a good overview of typical Otherlander strategies. Once you’re done, go down the stack in this order. Take notes. We’ll be talking about every book once you’re finished.”

“Thank you,” Aleja whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet. Books are good, but there’s not much you can learn without first-hand experience. I think this is about to get ugly, Al. I can’t say why, but I don’t think Val is telling the whole truth, and I…” His expression became distant.

Aleja didn’t miss the flicker of betrayal that passed across his features. Somewhere along the way, Taddeas had begun trusting their prisoner. “Well, whatever happens, two minds are better than one, right? Study up. I have the feeling we have a few long years ahead of us.”

Years. Wars in the human world lasted that long—longer, even—but to be confronted with it shook her. It was a thought she pondered endlessly while wandering Bonnie’s impressive forest, listening for the snap of twigs beneath boots that weren’t hers. The Throne’s corpse was still where it had fallen, starting to show the first signs of bloat. In this state, the creature looked sad—as though it were starving and could no longer muster the strength to look for food.

Aleja settled into a grove between two large roots perfectly shaped to accommodate her body. The golden box glittered in her hands when she pulled it from the satchel she always wore. Its inside smelled of figs, now that she’d also taken the carrying the small piece of immortality-granting fruit Louisa had bargained away.

“How do I open you?” she asked the box.

Wind moved through the trees, rustling the leaves so that they sounded like the whispers of a congregation. Garm had wandered off to relieve himself, but so many tuft-eared squirrels had taken up residence in the forest that Aleja wasn’t surprised he’d yet to return.

She stared into the small keyhole and tried to remember, but it was useless. Her past self would have been clever. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone but herself to be able to open the lock, and with her body gone…

Aleja almost laughed at the obviousness of it. She drew the sword halfway from its sheath and ran her index finger along the blade with enough pressure to slice a thin line into her skin. A red dollop of liquid welled atop the wound—the pain not quick enough to catch up before she smeared blood across the small keyhole.

The box opened without a creak, Merit’s craftsmanship defying the centuries. Inside, resting atop a velour pillow, were the top two joints of a pinkie finger. They were not encased in glass, as with the other Unholy Relics, but thin golden wire spiraled around the bones in a delicate pattern.

She shook them from the box into her hand, the slight feeling of revulsion replaced by something strangely affectionate. Of all her past selves, she knew this Aleja the least. Sure, she’d seen bits of her in memories, and her favorite paintings still lined the palace halls, but while Aleja could understand her humanity, her life as a Dark Saint was still a mystery to her.

“Garm! Stop chasing those poor things and get over here. I need you to watch over me while I scry,” she called.

“Scry? Should we find Nic first?” he asked, appearing out of the shadows with clumps of leaves stuck to him like unintentional camouflage.

“He’s busy. Wake me if the Astraelis attack while I’m out.”

She had done this enough now that the sudden dip was no longer surprising. The tree shadows flickering against her closed eyelids disappeared and with a sensation like waking from a long sleep, Aleja was back in her old body.

Meteorite iron chains secured her arms and torso. They weren’t just constricting, theyhurt. Despite Val’s betrayal, she felt a sudden stab of sympathy for how long he’d spent in them.

She was surrounded by crumbling stone walls. The air smelled of burned flesh and something like gunpowder that carried the tang of magic beneath it. A heavy curtain was draped over the nearest gap in the destroyed structure, like a makeshift door.

This must have been the moment she was captured by the Astraelis, ready to be executed for her role in their defeat. If Nicolas wasn’t already coming for her, he would be doing so soon. And the part of her that was still foolish enough to hope, wished he would change his mind and turn around. That he would let her die and let the war end with her.

But when the curtain shifted, it was the Messenger who appeared. Her gait was less assured than the version Aleja had met. The Messenger glanced over her shoulder before the curtain could swing shut completely, as if to make sure she hadn’t been followed.

Aleja tried to speak, but her mouth was gagged.

“Quiet, dear Lady of Wrath and Fire,” the Messenger said. “Every time you remind the others you’re here, they start remembering your crimes and get creative with their punishments. I’m sure you recall how that went for you last time.”

Aleja couldn’t see much of her body in the dark space, but the ache inside her was more intense than the pain from the chains digging into her skin.

“I haven’t come to hurt you. I’ve come to speak with you,” the Messenger said, watching Aleja squirm in the chair. “If you’re smart, you’ll listen. What I’m going to tell you concerns both you and your wretched husband.”

The Messenger approached, her massive mask filling Aleja’s vision. For a moment, she expected to be hit across the face, but the Messenger merely wrenched the gag from her mouth.

“I’m not saying a word to you,” Aleja spat. Her voice sounded raw, like someone had recently choked her hard enough to crush her windpipe.

“I’m not asking you to. I was merely trying to make you comfortable. A display of my intentions.”

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