Page 18 of Each Their Own Devil

“What’s the plan here? Explain it to me like I just became a Dark Saint a week ago,” she pressed, as they reached the entrance that led to the rose gardens. The gardens had finally recovered from Aleja’s fire, though their flowers still grew in unnervingly vibrant shades of red and gold, as if fertilized by the flames.

One of the great dark dragons, an Avisai, clawed into the soil near Bonnie’s cabin. A slash marred one of its leathery wings, the pale pink line stark against its black hide. Its tail swept through Bonnie’s plump cabbages, sending them flying.

The scout Taddeas had spoken of stumbled forward, clutching her elbow. Red streaks poured through her fingers, but her eyes remained steady as she ran toward Nicolas. “They’ve got Thrones with them. The attackers…they didn’t have anobjective. At least, not any we could tell. They just wanted to slaughter us.”

“We’re going,” Nicolas said sharply. “Tad, Aleja, on the Avisai.”

“Where are the others?” Aleja asked.

“Bonnie is still in the woods. I have no idea whether she knows or not. Orla is surely on her way to the fight.”

Aleja had only ridden an Avisai a few times, but there was a strange familiarity as she threw one of her heels into the stirrups and pulled herself up the dragon’s body. These reins were not as comfortable as Nicolas’s shadows, but at least Taddeas’s presence at her back was sturdy. She could feel his heart beating in double-time, obvious even through his armor.

It occurred to Aleja in that moment that she was going to battle willingly.

The Avisai rose with a few uneven wingbeats, favoring its right side. Aleja’s inner balance tipped, and for a horrible moment, she thought she might slip off, if not for Taddeas’s grip on her waist.

“Banking to the left,” Nicolas called, as he rose with them. “Hold tight.”

Aleja’s fists curled around the reins even before Taddeas placed pressure on her hands. “What do we do when we get there?” she breathed. The wind rushing past made her feel as if the pressure was sucking the breath from her lungs.

It was Nicolas who answered, keeping pace with the Avisai. “Yousurvive, Lady of Wrath. And you make our soldiers join you. Do not let your guard down, understand? Get to open space as quickly as you can. Your fire works best when you have an unobstructed path.”

“Noted,” she muttered, gripping tighter as the Avisai dove. As it landed with a heavy thud in a circle cleared of foliage, Aleja’s spine compressed painfully. Nicolas dropped next tothem a moment later, his sword already drawn and surrounded by flickering black flames.

Aleja had expected the sounds of battle, but all that greeted them were the crows chattering in the trees. The dragon whined as Aleja slid off of it, her hot palms accidentally grazing its skin. Taddeas dropped to the ground beside her, pulling one of his axes from the sheaths on his back. A tide of adrenaline flooded her, and she allowed fire to come to life around her hands—the flickering flames didn’t betray how they shook beneath the ever-moving streaks of red and gold.

“Can you hear anything?” she asked. The crows answered—caws that rolled from the north to the south like a slow wave. In her peripheral vision, Nicolas shook his head, but his silver eyes were narrowed, as if he’d spotted movement between the trees.

Aleja didn’t have to wonder if they would find the battle before it ended. A Throne screeched overhead, forcing her, Nicolas, and Taddeas to dive into the wood’s shadows. As the Avisai reared onto its hind legs, the wound in its wing reopened. Aleja could smell the blood—a sharp, electric tang that seemed to buzz in her sinuses.

Nicolas and Taddeas ran. She followed.

The sounds of the battle grew clearer within a few yards, but it was the sight of a young man in Otherlander armor that made Aleja’s legs feel heavy. She had seen corpses before, but after the last battle, their soldiers had been covered in sheets before she could glimpse their faces. This young man was twisted among tree branches, as if deliberately knotted through them. His face was frozen into an almost comical parody of terror—his eyes unnaturally wide, his mouth appallingly open—everything about him too horrificallyreal.

Aleja wished Nicolas would tell her to turn back. To run to the palace and disappear into the dungeons, where none but the Otherlanders could reach her. But the Knowing One merelyglanced at the corpse, then back to her, with a subtle nod as if to say:You chose this.

Something shot through the trees, aimed directly at Taddeas’s head. In an instant, the bolt of magic was deflected by one of his axes. Aleja only caught a glimpse of the red sparks scattering from the impact before she had to dodge another barrage of Astraelis magic. As she dove behind a tree, she heard the growls of a hellhound—Garm had finally caught up to them on the ground.

The flames around her hand urged to be released, but her magic was as dangerous to her allies here as it was to her enemies. She needed to get out of the tangle of trees and onto open ground.

Nicolas had no such limitations. She felt the tremble of his shadows as they gathered around her ankles like a rising flood before shooting forward. Aleja didn’t see how they were meant to attack or who their target was. There was only a ragged scream, abruptly cut off, just as Nicolas gestured for the three of them to dart forward.

If the shadows were the vanguard, then Garm was the cavalry.

His charge tore branches from the trees, sending a flurry of leaves swirling down around them. As the woods opened into a field, all around her was a blur of black—Otherlander soldiers—and pastel shades of gold, pale blue, and coral—the Astraelis.

She barely registered the moment Nicolas brought his sword down on an Astraelis charging from the right—a towering Principality like Val, with a winged mask already caked in blood. The Knowing One’s flaming sword crashed into his shoulder, slicing through the gap in his armor that allowed the joint to move.

Taddeas disappeared from her sight immediately. Nicolas, a moment later. An order barked in her direction was swallowed by the clash of swords and the electrical hum of magic in the air.

Her flames roared to life around her hands, but as she silently begged her inner voice to return—Tell me what to do, please, come back and tell me what to do—her fire only served to draw more attention.

A Principality sliced through an Otherlander soldier with terrifying ease, his blade driving cleanly through black armor as if it were no more than a scrap of silk. Then, he turned to her.

Before Aleja could raise her hands to defend herself, a blur of darkness shot past her, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of wet dog. The Principality staggered backward, a scream escaping before it was abruptly cut off by the wet gurgle of what Aleja could only assume was the throat being torn from his neck.

She had to move. Dodging a shining bolt of magic, she darted through the fray. Somewhere in the distant part of her brain, half-remembered lessons from the first chapter of a military tactics book surfaced:Find high ground.

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