Page 52 of Each Their Own Devil

It was a bait that the Authorities could not resist. Both of them were bloodied as they turned to the illusion, buying everyone else on the battlefield a moment.

Nicolas hoped that the agreement he had made with Taddeas decades ago on a bench in Thompson Square Park had been wise. The first bad sign was when he and Orla crested the hill and found…no one. Taddeas’s troops should have already been in his sight line.

Orla did not slow as she shouted at Nicolas from ahead. “If Taddeas ends up being another poor choice for a Dark Saint, Knowing One, I swear to the Second and all that he stands for that I willkillyou and take your title for myself?—”

She did not get the chance to finish her thought.

A red flare rose between the hills, the color of Taddeas’s magic, but the Authorities were back at their heels. A wave of air from their wings nearly knocked Nicolas’s mount off balance, but in the distance, he spotted the place Taddeas must have been directing them to.

Two hills rose close together, leaving a narrow pass between them. If Taddeas was attempting to funnel the Authorities into a choke point, this wouldn’t do—the Authorities were large, but they would still have no trouble making it through the gap.

“Where are our damn soldiers?” Orla hissed. She turned, sending another void behind her, but this magic always drained her energy. One of the Authorities’ wings was clipped by the black hole that opened in the air and disappeared just as quickly. Aside from a flurry of feathers, its advance continued.

Nicolas spotted that Orla was going to be ambushed before it happened. A Throne appeared overhead, drawing her attention up and giving an Authority the chance to flank her.

“Orla!” Nicolas shouted as she threw herself from the Umbramare a moment before the Authority’s enormous mouth swallowed the creature whole. Nicolas slowed to let Orla reach him and climb on, sending another wave of shadows to obscure the Authorities’ vision. But by the time they were running again, he knew it would be too late to escape.

Another flare went up.

He pushed his mount toward it, with Orla clinging to his waist. She said nothing, but he could feel her rapid breaths against his back, coming as fast as the Umbramare’s hoofbeats. By the time they reached the pass, the Authorities were on them again. Even with the curse on his heart lifted, his Umbramare wouldn’t tire quickly, but there were still limits to how hard he could push it.

“Where is everyone?” Orla snapped again, though her voice sounded weak against Nicolas’s back.

By the time they reached the other side of the pass, Nicolas swore he could feel the tickle of wings against the back of his neck.

Then, the world exploded.

Both he and Orla were thrown forward, and in the shock, Nicolas could no longer maintain control of his magic. The Umbramare disappeared, melting back into the shadows. The ringing in his ears was so jarring and sharp that it was near impossible to find his balance as he scrambled to his feet. Orla lay in the grass to his left, blinking rapidly. Her helmet had been knocked askew by the fall, revealing a cobweb-thin line of blood trailing from the corner of her mouth.

Where the pass had been was now a mountain of rubble, heaving as the trapped Authorities thrashed beneath it. The hillsto either side looked as though someone had scooped them out, emanating a faint red glow—the same color as the signal flare they had seen in the sky moments ago.

“Taddeas better hope he was right about the Messenger’s soldiers having the advantage now. That magic will have drained the hell out of him,” Orla muttered, drawing her sword as she pushed herself to her feet, still swaying slightly.

Before Nicolas could respond, the mystery of where Taddeas’s troops were hiding was solved. An army of soldiers in black armor came pouring over the hills, like a wave of Nicolas’s shadows. He too drew his weapon, just as the first Authority in the pass managed to throw an enormous boulder off its wings.

“Don’t let them get up!” Nicolas commanded to the charging army.

For the first time—aside from when Aleja had fought an Authority alone—the Otherlanders had the chance to take them down without sacrificing one of their own.

“Shit, shit, shit,”Aleja muttered.

“Stop it. You’re giving me anxiety,” the Messenger snapped. She was clearly more capable on her elk, but her size forced it to slow—when pushing their mounts as hard as they could, the Messenger could barely keep pace with Aleja and Garm.

“I thought you said that you were sending a peace convoy!”

“I did,” the Messenger replied. “Unfortunately, things did not go as planned.”

“Mutineers,” Aleja whispered.

“That seems likely.”’

“If you can’t even control your own armies, then how the hell am I supposed to trust you to help me stop the Avaddon?”

Is it always fucking morning in the Astraelis Realm? Aleja thought. She squinted into the horizon, but it was as if this world was designed to place the sun in her eyes at all times.

“The fig in your backpack will help us resolve that question,” the Messenger said. “We’re getting close to the border. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer dismounting, so we can saunter up with my blade to your throat? The Otherlanders might be more inclined to forgive you if it looks like you’re my hostage.”

She had been avoiding the fact that everyone in the Hiding Place probably hated her now. Aleja almost agreed, but her jaw clamped shut before she could speak. Although she could not see the Messenger’s eyes, she could practically feel them rolling behind her mask.

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