Page 30 of Each Their Own Devil

“She is a liar, a murderer, and a war criminal. That’s why I want you at this meeting. If this truly offers us a chance to depose her or even give her own armies the means to take her down, then we need to at least hear them out. An Astraelis army with brand new leadership, or better yet, several parties vying for that leadership, makes it easier for us to defend ourselves. Or push into their territory, if necessary. You’ll still have to fulfill your own bargain with the Second at some point.”

Fuck, she hated this. There was a reason she had given up fencing after a few years, and it wasn’t just because in her early twenties, her knees already cracked every time she stood up off the couch too quickly. While she had been decent enough at strategizing against her opponent, she had always had trouble implementing that strategy. Every time she prepared to make a move, another doubt sprang up in her mind—it was as if instead of committing to a single course of action, she was trapped at the center of a web, seeing all the options before her, but unable toreach for any of them while the fine threads were falling apart beneath her feet.

It was at this moment that Garm pushed his enormous head through the gap at the bottom of the tent and looked up at them. His round eyes darted between her and Nicolas. “What are you doing?”

When she and Nicolas emerged from the tent a moment later, he was in a state that Aleja guessed was somewhere between his Doberman form and the monster he could become. She had seen his paws extend into long almost-human appendages many times, but the sight of it always caused something to curl in her stomach—a primitive human instinct that did not enjoy the sight of a canine with the benefit of opposable fingers.

On Garm’s torso—black metal against black skin—was a set of chest armor made to fit him at this size. While the coiled red serpent usually appeared on the front of Otherlander armor, Garm’s was on the back. He dug his back heels into the dirt and launched himself into a spin. “Merit says I’m the first hellhound to go to battle in half a millennium.”

“That could very well be true,” Nicolas told him. “You’re my only hellhound. Before I was the Knowing One, there were a few that served the one who held the title before me, but they were mostly sent to the human realm to collect bargains on her behalf.”

“Not me,” Garm said proudly. “I serve the Lady of Wrath.”

Nicolas pinched his brow, as though he had regretted every word he had ever spoken to Garm. Aleja smiled. “That’s right,” she told him. “Now, lead us to Orla and Amicia.”

It had been days since Aleja had seen the Dark Saint of Lust away from the watchful eye of the medics. Her hair was cropped again, pale blonde against her scalp—the wispy strands that hadbeen growing out around her pointed fey ears had been trimmed away.

At first glance, Aleja didn’t notice any obvious signs of Amicia’s injuries, until she pushed off the tree she had been leaning against as Nicolas and Aleja approached. Even from this small motion, it was obvious that Amicia favored her left side. Still, her green eyes were bright beneath her eyelashes.

Orla must have caught the way Aleja stared. “I told her it was too soon for her to return to the camp, and yet here she is. Send her back to the palace, Nic, or you’re going to be down to five Dark Saints again before you know it.”

“I’m fine,” Amicia said, “Nice outfit, Garm.”

Garm had to bend down to sniff her outstretched hand. At this size, his wagging tail was an actual menace—Nicolas dodged as it swung near him.

“Thank you,” Garm said, with a sloppy kiss to Amicia’s face. The Dark Saint of Lust laughed softly, but there was nothing coy about the way she fell back, wiping slobber off her cheek with a look that was equal parts fondness and disgust.

Amicia hobbled toward them, pushing past Garm with a gentle hand. The first person she embraced was not the Knowing One, but Aleja. “Thereyou are. What happened with the Messenger? Tell me everything.”

“Amicia, have some decorum,” Orla said.

“Never,” Amicia replied, crushing Aleja’s chest. “It’s all right, you can tell me later. Come to my chambers and we’ll share some wine.Don’tinvite the Knowing One. You’re okay, right? After the Trials, I never got to ask if you were okay. The Second made themhorriblefor me, and I can only imagine with how he despises you?—”

“Amicia, come on. We have work to do,” Orla said with a softness Aleja rarely heard. She had to admit to herself that the more Orla disliked her, the more she wanted to do somethingthat would make her nod in approval. Aleja leaned into the hug harder for a moment before letting go and returning to Nicolas’s left side.

It felt like her natural place.

It made her think of the First Tree.

She wondered what she would do if she had a fig in her hand that would grant her all of her missing memories—of Nicolas, of Orla, of Amicia, of Bonnie. Even of the Messenger. She was Alejandra Ruiz, the daughter of a woman whose name she didn’t care to honor, the granddaughter to Catalina Ruiz, cousin to Paola Ruiz, the sometimes-best friend of Violet Timmons, and the new bride of Nicolas, the Knowing One. Would Aleja take a bite out of a piece of fruit and realize she was no longer herself?

“Aleja?” Orla said. “Tell your husband that this is ridiculous, and we should ambush this group of Astraelis while we have the chance. If you give the word, I can have a band ready in less than fifteen minutes to wait for our command.”

“Ambush?” Aleja muttered. “No, this could work for us. Even if we decide not to let them walk away, we should take the chance to learn everything we can from what they have to say. Wait, why are you asking me this? Where is Taddeas?”

“Busy with our defenses,” Orla said flatly. “Something Amicia is supposed to be helping him with because she used up all her damned magic to stop the rest of us from dying—thank you very much for that, dear Saint of Lust, butpleasereport back to the High General.”

“I’m fine,” Amicia said, waving her hand. It was clear this argument had been had so many times that all the spite had been drained from it. “I’ve been useless for days. If the healers press another damp towel against my forehead, Iwilllash out.”

Aleja did not like that Orla’s eyes snapped to her at this statement, like a final appeal to authority. “What do you think?”

“If anything, Amicia’s presence will help Orla keep the peace. Come on, we’re wasting time,” Nicolas interjected. As he spoke, the shadows around them thickened, coalescing into dense shapes. Aleja’s mind had grown accustomed to this sight, but her body still reeled as the interplay of light and dark warped unnaturally, making the sun overhead feel out of place.

Garm let out a high-pitched whine at the appearance of the Umbramares—the black horse-like creatures Nicolas crafted from shadow. Though they ran on hooved legs, their bodies were too slender, and their muzzles too long and pointed to convincingly mimic horses. When they neighed, Aleja couldn’t tell if the sound was one of excitement or protest. Nicolas had once explained that he lent the shadows a sliver of will, but the Umbramares’ violet eyes betrayed nothing of his emotions. Four of them now stood waiting.

“I’ve never ridden one alone before, and unfortunately, my unfinished art history degree did not offer electives in equestrianism,” she hissed to him as the other Dark Saints drifted away.

“You rode an Avisai alone last night,” Nicolas pointed out. “It’s exactly the same, but you probably won’t die if you get bucked off.”

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