Page 41 of Each Their Own Devil

“This isn’t a fucking rescue mission,” Aleja said, pushing Garm aside so that there was no barrier between her and Violet. “If you don’t want to die, start talking.”

To her side, Garm crouched with a growl that vibrated from the base of Aleja’s spine to her tailbone. With a word, Garm would tear Violet’s throat out. Aleja wouldn’t need to do the deed herself.

There was only a single command between Violet and death.

But as Violet stayed silent, so did Aleja.

“The Messengerinvitedme,” Aleja eventually said, not lowering her hands.

“I know,” Violet said. “But I can hear the Authorities. The Messenger’s grip on her power is more precarious than she might be letting on. It doesn’t matter that the mutineers who tried to make a deal with the Knowing One—yes, she knows about that—never returned. It’s only made the other rebels more desperate. If they find you here, they will kill you, Al.”

“I thought this house was safe,” she answered through gritted teeth, unsure of whether she was speaking to Violet or to Val.

“Itwas. The wards just broke,” Val answered.

In the Hiding Place, hostile magic always sent a shudder through Aleja, but here, it felt as if her jaw might crack from the way her teeth clacked against one another.You don’t bow, you don’t kneel, for anyone or anything else, Nicolas had once told her, and Aleja had managed to obey him, even in the face of the Second.

She almost broke now, if not for Garm nudging his massive head under Aleja’s arm to hold her up. Violet was not as lucky. Her hands flew to her ears. A thin line of blood squeezed through the gap between Violet’s palm and her jaw, hitting her light gray tunic.

The sensation disappeared as quickly as it had come on, and the next person to touch Aleja was not Garm but Val. His massive hand clamped down on the shoulder that Garm was not supporting, not yanking Aleja back but urging her forward. “That wasn’t my mother. Down the hall and to the left,” he said. “We need to reach the armory. It’s the safest room in the house.”

“I know the way, but it’s warded,” Violet said. As she dropped her hand from her face, the line of blood became a smear across her cheek.

“I can get through them.Go!” Val said.

The house had fallen silent aside from their footfall and the sound of their panicked breaths. The urge to run was a human instinct, but they were in a narrow hallway. Anyone who followed them would be unable to escape Aleja’s fire. “Garm, stay with them. If anyone other than me shows up, attack.”

With a baleful look, Garm obeyed.

Aleja swore she could no longer see the hallway’s end as it disappeared into darkness.You’ve done this, and you can do it again,she thought to herself. But her will faltered when a Principality came rushing out of the shadows.

While most of them had pale masks with pastel tones, this one was a bright reddish orange. She didn’t hesitate before letting her fire loose. It filled the narrow hallway, obscuring her view of the Principality.

The wallpaper curled off the home’s bare frame as Aleja retreated, running backward until she felt safe enough to let her fire peter out. The Principality wasn’t dead, but she had brought him to the ground. His once-bright mask was now charred black as he crawled toward her, one hand outstretched.

But another figure now crowded into the narrow hall. He wore the robes of a mage, and his hands were already raised, already prepared to?—

If the pain of the wards breaking had been a vibration, this felt as though someone had dug enormous hands into her chest and was peeling her apart from the inside. She clutched her rib cage in a desperate attempt to keep her torso from splitting in half, even as her training screamed in protest; with her hands occupied, she had no means of defending herself.

With a desperate cry, she managed to tear her right hand away and send another burst of fire in the Principality’s direction.

Her fire hit an invisible wall. She stumbled back a few steps and summoned her flames again. This time, her enemies’ defenses were slower to respond. One of the Principalities cried out in pain, and she prayed that Val had already reached the armory.

But as she turned to join him, something caught her—a thread of golden magic looped around her leg, sending her crashing to the ground. Without looking, she shot a hand behind her, sending another wave of flame in hopes of buying herself a moment to scramble to her feet. Though she hadn’t aimed, someone hissed in agony.

No, she thought,I’m not dying here. The stiletto’s hilt was smooth in her hand as she turned and pulled the blade from her sash, but it was a short-range weapon. She wasn’t as quick as a trained Astraelis warrior, but if she could just?—

“I always dreamed I’d be the one to do this, Lady of Wrath,” the Principality whispered, sending out a wave of golden magic that she could not dodge. It tightened around her like a vice.

Her sudden freedom was so unexpected that she stumbled forward, and her hands hit the ground. The shockwave traveled all the way from her hands to her skull, briefly turning the world dreamlike, but she spun, reaching for the blade she had dropped before turning back to the mage.

Her eyes stopped at his throat. A blade pierced his neck from behind, the blood like a waterfall. With a few gurgles, the Principality collapsed. His face was replaced by another winged mask as he fell. It was circular—at least a dozen wings in shades of gold and pale pink, like a kaleidoscope.

“Behind you—” Aleja began, but the Messenger was prepared when the two remaining rebels staggered forward. No golden strands accompanied the Messenger’s magic. With a wave of her hand, the two remaining Principalities…dissolved. Where they had stood, two silhouettes of red mist hovered for a moment before being swept away by a draft.

“You’re early,” the Messenger said flatly, turning back to Aleja. The bloody mist added a pink sheen to her mask.

Aleja’s throat ached as she pressed her hand against it. “I was forced to destroy a group of mutineers that tried to strike a deal with the Otherlanders,” she said, resisting the urge to fall back and take a few deep breaths to assure herself that she wasn’t dead.

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