Page 45 of Each Their Own Devil

Well, Aleja thought in a voice that sounded suspiciously like the woman she had once kept in that locked door inside of her mind.If what you need is knowledge, then there is a tree full of ripe figs that can grant you just that.

Aleja threwup in what she assumed was the Messenger’s bathtub until nothing came out but stomach bile, and even then, she heaved silently for nearly half an hour with Garm’s head heavy in her lap.

She hadn’t meant to sleep in the bare room that the Messenger had assigned her; both Orla’s and Taddeas’s voices had whispered in her ear that she was a fool to let her guard down in enemy territory. And, for most of the night, Aleja had stayed awake atop her admittedly lovely linen sheets, like soft mist against her skin, clutching her stiletto blade, even with Garm pacing restlessly by the room’s door.

But eventually not even her Dark Saint body could avoid dozing off for a few minutes. When Aleja finally slept, the sky was a pale lavender that had shifted to pale pink by the time she was awake again—just a matter of minutes.

Her first thought was of Nicolas and the Hiding Place, but that was so painful to contemplate that it was easier to let her mind turn to Violet. Last night, at dinner, she had barely been able to raise her fork. And Aleja had a fig in her backpack that would grant a human immortality, even though it meant apromise of servitude to the Astraelis. A promise that Violet had made all on her own. What harm could the fig do her?

No, Aleja told herself.Violet betrayed you. The fact that you didn’t kill her on sight was kindness enough.

Still, that wasn’t the question clawing at her mind now. It wasn’t Violet she needed answers about, but the Avaddon. The word whispered through her thoughts like a curse she couldn’t shake.

She had to see the Third again. He had been maddeningly unhelpful in their last encounter, but perhaps he had only been waiting for her to ask the right question. Her steps were quick and sharp, though her legs still felt leaden from exhaustion.

The heavy doors creaked open, revealing the dark stables. She froze, startled to find Val already there. He was crouched beside one of the luminariums, his fingers lightly tracing its glowing surface. The Third was curled in the corner of the cage; his head did not turn to Aleja as she entered.

“How will it work?” she snapped at Val. “How do you kill a god?”

“I am adept at channeling large amounts of magic. I simply have to channel the Third’s magic through myself, effectively giving me his power for a short amount of time.”

Aleja crossed her arms. “You’re planning tobecomedeath?”

“I won’t be becoming death,” Val tutted. “But I will temporarily gain the Third’s power. Or rather, I will be a conduit, channeling the Third’s power into the First. Everything must succumb to death eventually, the First included.”

The Third did not seem to react to this information other than to give a wide yawn that revealed his lion-like teeth.

“What’s to stop this from triggering the Avaddon?” Aleja asked, wishing she had spent more time studying magic with her cousins—or even browsing the libraries in the Hiding Place’s palace.

“In theory,” Val stressed, “it will be like snuffing out a star before it can explode.”

“And the world doesn’t need the First to function? If the Second dies, so do all of the witches who use his magic, remember?”

“The First has never lent her magic to anything but the First Tree and the Messenger. If anything, it’s my mother who should worry. But no—in theory, the First’s death should be relatively painless for the rest of us.”

“Relatively?”

“If I do my magic correctly, yes. The first part of the ritual is a sort of severance, separating her magic from any who might depend on it. That’s actually the part I’m most comfortable with. I spent much of my early life researching weapons, remember? Before the Astraelis had any idea they could capture the Third and use him to kill the Second, they asked me to research whether or not I’d be able to sever the flow of his magic into the Knowing One and his Dark Saints, leaving them defenseless.”

Aleja unfurled her arms and took a step forward. Although she was able to keep the flames from springing to her hands, Val still moved back. She tried not to let it feel satisfying. “Explain.”

Val crouched, but even so, his head still hovered over hers. “By the time I had completed my research, I already knew I’d be defecting,” he whispered. “I figured it out, but I destroyed my findings so thoroughly that no scholar among them could put the pieces back together.”

“You figured it out?” Aleja said, trying not to sound as horrified as she felt.

“It wasn’t that difficult,” Val replied, sounding all too pleased to see Aleja’s wide eyes. “It’s not as if the Second can control every witch and occultist who learns a bit of forbidden knowledge. It would be like simply damming a river. But don’t worry, Wrath. As I said, my research has been thoroughlydestroyed. The only person who could ever hope to revive it is me.”

“And would you?”

Val’s uneven mask tightened around his face. Although she couldn’t see his eyes, she could imagine them darting to the bandages around his hand—permanent proof of the Otherlanders’ fury. “No. And not because of your veiled threats. In truth, I have little love for the Otherlanders, but even less for my own brethren. It’s not my place to decide whether a group of people lives or dies.”

“You’re choosing to avert the Avaddon,” Aleja pointed out, some of her anger dissipating.

“It’s different when you’re savingeveryone. Then, we can all decide to duke it out among ourselves. As it should be.”

“That’s the most Otherlander thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Well, perhaps my lovely prison stay has shifted my mindset.”

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