Page 54 of Each Their Own Devil

As they descended from the hill’s summit, Nicolas remained silent. From her position behind him, his wings blocked her view of his face, though he occasionally cast a glance back her way. It took only a few seconds for Aleja to realize there was no chance of being alone here. Yet when Orla approached from the other side of the hill, Nicolas barked, “Gather and organize the troops. The Messenger is on the battlefield.”

The look Orla shot Aleja was so venomous that Aleja’s mouth filled with a bitter taste.

“You’re in command for the next fifteen minutes,” Nicolas continued, his tone bored. “And it would reflect poorly on you if the Otherlander armies entered their first-ever convoy with the Messenger looking like a rabble.”

“Convoy?” Orla asked.

“If we’re lucky. A slaughter if we’re not. Only our Lady of Wrath can offer that kind of insight. So, if you please, give us a moment.”

When Orla spoke next, she addressed Aleja directly. “I don’t know what shit you’re up to, but you better get your storystraight for the other Saints. I know what it’s like to be the villain, Aleja, and it’s not pretty.”

“That was…surprisingly nice of her,” Aleja said once they were out of earshot. It was all she could muster. There had been many times in her life when the scope of a conversation felt so large that she couldn’t find a place to start.

Nicolas’s mouth was on hers before she could worry about what to say next. He tasted like war—a mixture of blood, iron, magic, and shadow. And damn her, like the desperate heroine in some gothic romance novel, Aleja melted into him as the marriage bond flared to life with almost painful urgency. When Nicolas pulled her closer, she let herself fall against his chest, raising her hands to the base of his skull to tangle them in his messy black hair.

“Are you okay?” he muttered.

Aleja noticed the murky shadows surrounding them, shielding them from view. “Yes. I have so much to tell you—Val, and the Third—he all but confirmed the Avaddon. And Violet, and fuck, the Messenger brought me to the First Tree, and in my bag, I have these figs that?—”

Nicolas kissed her again, brief and hard. “We’ll have time for that later.Are you okay?”

“I don’t know!” Aleja whispered, her words so close to his mouth that they felt spoken through their bond. “Physically, yes. Mentally? I’d need a damn thesis to answer that question. The world is ending, Nic, and our greatest enemy has convinced me that I’m the only one who can help stop it. Less than an hour ago, I was standing beneath the First Tree, talking to a snake, and I?—”

She ran out of breath before she could finish, but it didn’t matter. Aleja closed her eyes, too weary to complain that his armor was uncomfortable against her cheek. If their positions had been reversed, she wasn’t sure she could have stoppedherself from asking about the Avaddon, the First Tree, or the personification of death trapped in a cage at the Messenger’s house, guarded by who knew what. Aleja had always understood that Nicolas loved her more than he loved…the universe, probably. But this was one of the moments when she trulyfeltit.

“I was so worried about you,” Nicolas whispered into her hair.

“I’m sorry I ruined everything.”

“That has yet to be determined, Lady of Wrath,” Nicolas said, though he was still speaking in the tone of a husband, not a commander. “You may not be my High General in title now, but I still trust you as if you were. And you need to trust yourself. Look me in the eye and tell me you believe that you made the right move.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Because I know you, Aleja. And there is no better strategist among the Otherlanders. So, what’s our next step?”

Aleja let out a shaky breath. “Well, two things. I’m not sure if you’re going to like either of them.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I have a fig from the First Tree in my bag. The downside is that the snake who gave it to me also claims all it will tell me is that the Avaddon can’t be stopped—but it will give me the location of the First.”

She nearly went on to tell Nicolas about the second fig but stopped. Aleja realized she still needed time to consider what she wanted to do about that particular piece of fruit. She would tell him, but not until she knew whether or not she was going to eat it and regain her memories. She didn’t think she could bear to see disappointment flicker across his eyes if she decided to let the damn thing rot.

“And the next thing, dove?” he asked.

“Oh. That.” Aleja cleared her throat. “Well, as you’ve noticed, the Astraelis armies are in disarray, but—if the Avaddon is stoppable—we can’t possibly do it without the Messenger and Val’s help. We need to offer her and her allies refuge in the Hiding Place.”

At the mention of the fig and the First Tree, Nicolas’s eyes had hardly widened, but his wings twitched before Aleja could finish her sentence. “That’s going to be a hard sell, dove.”

It was not just surprise that flickered through the marriage bond. It was a kind of revulsion Aleja had never felt in the magic that connected them before, and although she could tell it was not directed at her, the force of it still made a muscle in her abdomen flutter.

A dark realization hit her. This was why she was so hesitant to decide whether or not she was going to eat the red fig. It might help her in battle, but in this state, she couldn’t remember the war. She couldn’t remember if she had ever watched the Messenger kill one of her friends. Hell, she could barely remember the fear of knowing she was about to be executed. Could she still do this, if she knew the names and faces of Otherlanders she had loved who had fallen beneath Astraelis swords or magic?

Yes, because you’d have to,she told herself in a tone that reminded her of her missing little voice.But it would be so damn much harder.

“What we’re selling,” Aleja said, “is survival. We need to get the Messenger and her forces into the Hiding Place, and we need to let Val do his research in the desperate fucking hope that he’s able to tell us something useful before our time is up. We have a week, Nic.”

His teeth flashed in a grimace before he briefly looked away. “Keeping the peace will not be as easy as you imagine. Maybe the Dark Saints can be convinced to see reason, butnot even I can control the thousands who take refuge there—many of whom have been in the Hiding Place for centuries and nearly all of whom know someone who was killed in the last war. What do you think will happen when the tension snaps and an Otherlander kills one of the Astraelis? What do you think will happen if the Astraelis decide to retaliate and kill an Otherlander?”

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