Page 38 of Each Their Own Devil

Val’s mask wrapped tightly around his head. The frayed feathers from the wing that had been torn off were dirty with grime and sweat, splotches of gray marring the soft pastel blues. “This puts a damper on things.”

“We’ll figure it out. For now, we need to go where we won’t be followed,” Aleja said, glancing back to what of the mountains she could see beyond Garm’s body as he jumped from rock to rock to meet them on the ground.

Garm nudged her side. The sulfur-stink of his breath grounded her, but the Avisai’s tail thumped against the ground at his presence. “We should move quickly. There was shouting as I passed close to the army camp. Something is happening.”

She could not scratch behind his ears while he wore his helmet, so she settled for under his chin. “You didn’t try to escape,” Aleja said, without looking back at Val.

“Well, it seems I have no choice, do I?” Val said with a huff.

Aleja returned to the Avisai but hesitated before patting it on the rump. She had no idea whether they enjoyed being touched, but when she dropped her hand against its leathery skin, she could feel its muscles shift as it gave a pleased trill. “I don’t know if I’ll see you again but thank you. You should fly back now and quickly. In the chaos, they might not realize you’ve been gone.”

One of the Avisai’s wings brushed against Aleja as it moved to take off. It was the sole goodbye she received before the dragon rose silently and quickly disappeared—black leather skin against a black sky. When she looked back at Val, he was already examining the wards, bent at the waist with his nose nearly touching the shimmering magic.

“Your mages have been improving your defenses,” Val said flatly.

Aleja did not want to admit that she knew nothing about this; it seemed like the sort of the thing a High General in waiting should have been aware of. “It’s war time. What do you expect?”

“Luckily, I have studied Otherlander magic extensively,” Val said.

“Less talk, more opening the wards. They’re probably already searching for us.”

“Oh, the wards are open. It was a pleasant challenge. If you’re so eager to meet your death, then by all means, lead us. At this hour, there will be a regular patrol of Thrones overhead. I assume my mother has increased their range and frequency. That’s not to mention the scouting troops—Principalities like me, who’ll surely have mages among them.”

“We’ve snuck into the Astraelis realm before,” Aleja muttered, following Val through the wards with Garm trailing behind them.

The change in temperature sent goosebumps racing across Aleja’s arms. She stopped to look around as Val paused to closethe gap in the wards behind them; like the Hiding Place, this part of their world consisted of small hills. The Hiding Place’s air always smelled of pine and distant incense smoke from the palace—something ancient and dense—but the Astraelis realm was filled with fresh rainfall and the creamy musk of dandelions. In the dark, the wildflowers that rose from the hill’s tall grass looked like a field of white stars. The sky was milky violet.

“We should move quickly,” Val said, his voice low. “I’m good at breaking the wards unnoticed, but if my mother has cause to fear her own army, who knows what changes she’s made to their patrols.”

“How will we find her?” Aleja asked, looking out toward the vast landscape for the silhouette of a Throne. For now, all was still.

Val hesitated, and when she turned toward him, she saw that both his cheeks were drawn in. “She has a home near here. Our old home, really. If we can make it there, I have the means to contact her.”

“You seem eager to meet with her now,” Aleja pointed out. “A few moments ago, I thought I might have to force you to march with my hellhound snapping at your heels.”

“I’mnoteager to meet with her, but I can think of little else I’d rather do aside from be executed by the Otherlanders, which, if you’ll recall, is my other option.” Val paused, sighing. “My mother will offer me refuge. If you claim that she needs the Lady of Wrath for whatever plans that she means to fulfill, then it’s unlikely she will kill you right away.”

PART II

THE CROSSING OF WORLDS

8

THE LAST MEAL AND THE FIRST TREE

“Beware the enemy most who invites you to their table.” —The Book of Open Doors, Book V: The Keeper of the Keys

He had knownthe moment Aleja left their world. When separated by wards as powerful as those between the Hiding Place and the Astraelis realm, the marriage bond had felt like a piece of thick fabric that had been pulled so taught that, eventually, the threads had started snapping.

“Nicolas,” Orla said. “Your wife just burned an Astraelis convoy offering a peace treaty, then absconded with the only bargaining chip we had against the Messenger. What are you going to do about this?”

“Right now, she’s the Dark Saint of Wrath,” he snapped back. The urge to defend Aleja burned at the tip of his tongue as if he’d put a match out on it. He’d tried to think of a thousand excuses to make for her that wouldn’t turn the other Saints against him—he’d need them unified now, even if it was in their anger—but every argument he’d played out in his head ended on one final thesis: he trusted Aleja, even if the others couldn’t.

By the time they reached the palace, she and Val had gone, along with Garm and one of the younger Avisai, who had returned hours later and collapsed in exhaustion onto the field where its family grazed on leftover bones. Nicolas wished he’d insisted that the Dark Saints return to the army camp; every painting here reminded him of Aleja wandering through the palace halls, staring up at the angels and nymphs as if they were old friends she visited regularly to catch up.

“Nicolas,” someone said from the other side of the war room. Taddeas, this time. He had been silent as Orla and Amicia recounted the story of what had happened with the mutineers, and that silence had continued until now. “If you know something, now is the time to divulge it. No one here will blame you for protecting your wife.”

“Speak for yourself,” Orla muttered.

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