Page 21 of Each Their Own Devil

“I can’t explain now,” she gasped, still unsure if she was truly alive. “But we need to keep the enemy focused on us.”

A gash ran across Nicolas’s cheek, and another sliced diagonally through his wings, bleeding freely onto the trampled ground. “Then light them up, Lady of Wrath,” he barked. “I’ll cover you!”

Under different circumstances, Aleja might have asked for more detailed instructions.

Without the curse of an unfulfilled bargain in his heart, Nicolas’s shadows were quicker, sharper, carving a line in the fighting. Through the gap, Aleja spotted the cluster of Astraelis mages she had seen from the hill. Attacking themwould undoubtedly draw their full attention to her—a terrifying prospect if she hadn’t been caught in a dreamlike haze, still reeling from the moment she had teetered on the edge of death, saved by a sliver of darkness. Her fear barely registered when the mages turned toward her as one, their hands rising in unison.

“Show them that you’re back, dove,” Nicolas whispered.

She did.

Aleja didn’t need a little voice in her head to tell her that she would only have this one chance, and she might as well use every bit of magic left inside of her. Even Nicolas had to fall back from the heat.

After that, Aleja saw nothing but red.

She heard nothing but screaming.

She poured anger from the well of her heart until it felt like there was nothing left.

When the red faded, it was replaced with black—singed grass, burnt feathers, and the bodies of Otherlander soldiers who had fallen before she’d arrived. Two of the Principality mages lay motionless on the smoldering earth, but the two who remained had been partially shielded by the corpses of their comrades. Golden light shimmered to life around their hands, only to be met by Nicolas’s shadows rushing forward to smother it.

“Wrath, move!” Orla’s voice bellowed across the battlefield, loud as a war horn.

Aleja again wished the Otherlanders would be more specific with their commands. But when she ran, the soldiers around her followed. She lost sight of Nicolas, only for him to reappear overhead moments later, shouting orders above the clamor of armor and battle cries.

The Principalities had been forced to spread out to counter a new threat approaching from the east. She spotted Garm bounding over the sea of helmets. Feathers clung to his bloodiedmuzzle as both Otherlanders and Astraelis alike scrambled to avoid the hellhound in the throes of bloodlust.

“Garm!” she shouted. “This way!”

It was like watching a battle unravel in real time. With their line broken, the Astraelis couldn’t hold against the wave of Otherlanders surging forward. A cry tore from Aleja’s throat—ragged and scorched by smoke. She couldn’t stop her arm from raising to the sky, releasing a burst of flame. The light ignited a wave of roars from the crowd as they pushed ahead, tearing through the remaining Principalities.

She had lost sight of both Nicolas and Garm, but the fear that had gripped her earlier was gone. They were winning. The Astraelis would be forced back behind their wards, made to think twice before striking at the Hiding Place like this again.

Yet, even in the relief of this victory, two faces filled Aleja’s thoughts. One she knew well—Violet, with her freckles and toothy smile. The other, she had never truly seen—the Messenger, always hidden behind her circular, winged mask.

Aleja had felt anger before. She had felt rage. But now, she understood why the Second had chosen her twice as the Lady ofWrath. If the Second thought his bargain would be difficult for her to fulfill, he was mistaken. Aleja wouldn’t just bring him the Messenger’s heart on a silver platter—she would bring Violet’s as well.

4

THE SECRETS

“Redemption is reserved only for those who seek it.” —The Book of Open Doors, Book II: The Trials of Passage

Aleja did not knowthat the transformation from battlefield—even a victorious one—to graveyard was near instantaneous. Once the euphoria of overtaking their enemies had passed—and it had passed quickly—every sword stuck in the ground began to resemble a makeshift headstone. She could not stop staring, even as Nicolas returned to her side after conferring with Taddeas and gently touched her wrist.

“We can go,” he whispered.

“Why did they do this?” she answered, equally low. “For fucking what? To slaughter us or let themselves be slaughtered? What was the point?”

Nicolas paused. “It’s not the first time you’ve said that, nor the first time I haven’t had an answer for you.”

The feeling inside her was too big and complicated to put into words, but standing here, watching their soldiers slowlypick through the dead in a vain search for the living, it was easy enough to distill it down to anger.

“Tell me the truth, Nic. Tell me right now. Do you think the Messenger is just trying to trick me?”

His brief hesitation was answer enough, but Nicolas went on anyway. “I have never been one to trust,” he said softly. “Except for you, that is. And I will admit that, at times, it has worked against me. But this attack…”

“I don’t know how to describe it, but it doesn’t feel like the Messenger’s style.”

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