Page 15 of Each Their Own Devil

The silence that followed was broken only by the wards’ low, electrical hum. Aleja exhaled slowly, the weight of her next words heavy in her chest. “I’ll talk to the Knowing One. How close to the Second would you need to get?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Val said, his tone subdued now. “Close enough for my instruments to take measurements. Into the cave where the Otherlanders keep him, that’s certain. And I’ll need the help of the Dark Saint of Sloth—Merit, is it?”

Taddeas snorted with derision. “Forget the other Dark Saints, Val. If you think the Second is going to let an Astraelis get that close to him, you should pray we let you stay in this cell. He has magic even we don’t fully understand. There would be no one to stop him from claiming your life.”

“Then he too must be convinced,” Val said. “I don’t know how else to impress upon you that?—”

“We know,” Aleja said, her molars grinding so hard it felt as if they might crack. “I’ll speak with the others. In the infinitesimally small chance I can convince the other Saints to go along with this—gods, I can’t believe I’m even asking—what instruments would you need?”

“Send Merit down, and I will guide him through blueprints.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Taddeas said. “Do you need anything else, Val?”

Aleja turned her head away at the question. Whether she should be kind or cruel to a prisoner was a moral dilemma she had never considered before her Trials, and she wasn’t particularly fond of it now.

Val sighed. “A book, perhaps. Surely you don’t think I can escape this place with a handful of paper, do you?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Come on, Wrath,” Taddeas said.

As they turned to leave, Aleja couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. Val had already returned to the small chair, his arms folded across his chest. In their absence, the wings of his mask sagged, drooping to either side of his face. Yet, Taddeas had been right: the air in this place smelled faintly of chrysanthemums and jasmine in the rain.

“Do you think he’s…?” she began as they rounded the corner to find Garm waiting for them by the intricately carved wooden door. His front paws were folded beneath his chin, tail thumping lazily against the stone floor.

“I think we have to choose between two bad decisions and hope we pick the one that doesn’t get us killed,” Taddeas said.

“Very helpful, Tad.”

“This is war. Why do you think I did everything I could to avoid having to fight in it?”

3

THE SOUND OF HORNS

“The faithful must strike down their enemies with the sword of truth, for only through sacrifice can wisdom be revealed.”—The Book of Open Doors, Book II: The Trials of Passage

Nicolas was not fondof meeting with the Second, and he was certain the feeling was mutual.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” Aleja mumbled, as Nicolas slipped from the bed. The cover of night was not just practical; it allowed him to avoid the prying eyes of the librarians and the other Dark Saints. A visit to the Second always raised questions, and he preferred to keep this meeting—and the burden it carried—his alone until he heard what the Second had to say.

“Stay here. He’s not pleased with you.”

“He’s not pleased withyou,” Aleja retorted. Though her eyes and the room were dark, he could track their movement by the faint glint of candlelight reflected in them. As she rose, he placed his hands on her shoulders, gently guiding her back to the mattress.

“It’s part of my duties. I’ll be back before dawn.”

Aleja argued, as Nicolas knew she would, but perhaps she realized her presence would only remind the Second of her defiance. Within the half hour, Nicolas was traveling alone, trudging up the winding paths in the foothills on foot. Flying would have been quicker and less tiring, but this felt more fitting somehow—more deliberate.

He had not spoken to the Second since Aleja’s bargain had revived him, but fragments of strange, dream-like memories lingered from his time beneath the mountain. He had been dead, but not truly.

And he had dreamed.

The details escaped him now, but they hardly mattered. The themes were the same in every story—human or fey, Otherlander or Astraelis. There was forbidden knowledge, coveted and pursued at a cost, and there was always a betrayal—a choice that set the world spinning toward its reckoning. The chalice fills, the chalice drains.

I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D COME AGAIN SO SOON, the Second rumbled as Nicolas entered the warm red light of his chambers. The pool beneath which the Second slept was still, though a few swifts, disturbed by Nicolas’s presence, erupted from their roosts and fled toward the dim light of the cave’s entrance.

“I wasn’t eager to speak with you again,” Nicolas said, because the Second would already know it was the truth. “But the Astraelis seem to believe that our world is about to end.”

The Second paused for a moment. Nicolas listened to the water dripping into the pool, each drop echoing like the racing of a heartbeat. There was a faint pang in his chest, though the curse had been lifted by Aleja’s new bargain.HOW DO YOU PLAN TO WIN THIS WAR, KNOWING ONE?

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