Page 33 of Each Their Own Devil

You know it’s the only way. I’ll take the fall. You keep the Saints united.

“You don’t know the Messenger like we do. With Val dead, shewillattempt retaliation on the Hiding Place. With her focus turned away from the mutineers, we can organize and strike her down,” Merivus explained, unaware of their silent conversation.

Aleja could no longer stop herself from speaking, desperate to derail this without betraying the others. “You just gave us the perfect reason to walk away from this meeting. Knowing One, as your High General in waiting, I can’t recommend that we go through with this plan. Why would we open ourselves to the Messenger’s retaliation?”

“It won’t come to that. Our movement will take her down before she can gather her forces,” Merivus said. His mask turned to her, though his voice sharpened as he addressed the Lady of Wrath.

“And then what?” she snapped. “I fail to see how any of this in your interests or ours. We’ve fought against the Messenger for centuries. We understand her psychology and her tactics. Why would we want her replaced by a group of unknown Astraelis whose motivations aren’t clear? And for that matter, why would you offer us the Third? The Third is your best—and maybe only—hope of wiping us out completely. So, explain to me, Merivus, why I shouldn’t burn you where you stand?”

Below his mask, Merivus’s mouth widened into a grim smile. “We do not consider the Knowing One nor the Lady of Wrath to be fools. I am happy to elaborate on our motivations.”

One of the Astraelis behind him took a small step forward—whether in support or protest—but Merivus lifted a hand, halting the soldier in his tracks. “We grow as tired of this conflict as you do, Lady of Wrath. How long should this cycle continue? Our peoples fight, then return to their side of the wards to lick their wounds for a few centuries before a leaderbold or stupid enough comes along and throws a volley across the realms, beginning the process all over again. What we offer is an agreement—permanent and sealed by magic. There will be no more war between the Otherlanders and the Astraelis. Future disputes will be resolved through diplomacy alone. The Knowing One and I will work together to phrase the bargain ourselves, ensuring neither of us can insert a loophole.”

Behind her, Amicia made a low noise. The Messenger had made no such promises of a permanent ceasefire; if anything, she had all but assured they would return to war once the First was dead.

“Why give us the Third when the Messenger’s head on a platter would do?” Nicolas asked.

“Consider him a peace offering. We expect your plan is to release him. With both the Third and Val out of the picture, we can assure that neither side has the capability to strike a blow that will mean total destruction of the other. Of course, we could just release him ourselves, Lady of Wrath, but would you truly ever trust that we had? He is a gift for you to do with as you will.”

Orla asked a question, but Aleja’s mind was in such disarray that she did not understand the words. She had felt inner conflict keenly during the second Trial, when the choice had been to betray Violet and pass or face failure and miss the chance to ascend to Dark Sainthood, and she had felt conflict many times since.

But never had she faced two such stark paths ahead of her. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t choose. She would let Nicolas and the others make their call, and whatever happened next, whether it be peace or incomprehensible violence, would not be Aleja’s fault.

“Dark Saint of Wrath?” Nicolas’s silver eyes were locked on hers, but she could barely remember turning her head to glance up at him. “Let’s confer. If these traitors are as eager to strike adeal with us as they seem, I’m certain that they’ll be willing to wait to hear our answer.”

“If the deal is to be made, it must be done now. The longer the Messenger has to root us out, the less our plan is likely to work,” Merivus said.

“You’re asking us to make a decision that will nullify our only bargaining chip with the Messenger,” Aleja said, finding her voice again. An out. She needed an out to truly consider what she was prepared to do. “We need more time to discuss this with the other Dark Saints.”

“We do nothavetime,” Merivus snapped. His mask ruffled around his face, as if the feathers were being hit by a sudden burst of wind. “The Messenger grows increasingly paranoid, hunting her army for dissenters. It’s only a matter of time before she realizes that we are among their leaders, and when that happens, you can forget any chance of a deal for peace.”

“There is still a chance to walk away,” said the Astraelis to Merivus’s left, who had already once attempted to interject. This time, Merivus spun to him. The movement was so quick that a choked sound barely left Aleja’s throat before there was a sword plunged through the Astraelis’s chest.

Aleja’s right hand flew to the stiletto dagger in the folds of her sash. Her left erupted with fire, but she kept the flames low and close to her skin, flickering with dangerous shades of twilight blue.

The Astraelis with a sword through his chest took a staggering step before Merivus could yank the blade out with a few difficult tugs.

Merivus wiped the blade on his robes before returning it to its sheath as the wounded Astraelis fell to his side on the patchy grass. Blood poured from his mouth, staining the peach-colored feathers of his mask. There was something even more grimabout the semicircle of an audience that watched him clutch at the hole in his chest.

It was not enough to kill an Astraelis outright, but Merivus was a mage. Golden threads of magic flooded toward the wound. For a moment, the Astraelis’s body was a field of tiny golden stars—a moment of celestial beauty.

Then, the body exploded.

Even Nicolas stepped back in surprise, the hand that wasn’t holding his sword raised to keep Garm back. Something wet and warm hit Aleja’s face. She took a step back, nearly slipping on a—a tube, a strip—something that she had no desire to look down upon and see.

“I apologize,” Merivus said. “But I saw no better chance to show you how serious I am about this opportunity for peace.”

“You’ve made a terrible mess,” Nicolas said calmly, brushing what looked like a chunk of brain from his lapel. “If this is how you plan to rule the Astraelis, perhaps we are better off with the Messenger after all.”

“How you and I keep the peace in our separate realms is our own business. Now, let’s make a deal, Knowing One.”

“This is the Hiding Place. You will give me a chance to confer with my Dark Saints first,” Nicolas said, before addressing Aleja through the marriage bond.I’m trying to buy you time, dove,but if you’re going to act?—

Aleja could hardly stop her eyes from darting between him and Merivus, as if she were following the ball in a tennis match. Her right hand had supercharged the hilt of the stiletto in her hand; it blistered the skin of her palm, but she barely noticed the sensation. Desperate, her eyes ran over Merivus.It’s just like a painting, she told herself. Everyone and everything speaks, whether or not they intend to.

“If you don’t agree to give us a few minutes, then walk away,” Nicolas was saying.

Merivus, to her surprise, glanced back to his remaining convoy, but it was obvious there would be no other questioning of his strategy. The Messenger might have been conniving and cruel, but she could have forced Val to return with her, and she hadn’t. She could have let Aleja be executed in her last life before allowing Nicolas to save her. The Messenger knew when to seek help. She knew when to admit she was wrong. And, dammit, Aleja trusted that the Messenger actually believed in the Avaddon.

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