Page 65 of Each Their Own Devil

Not every Otherlander had chosen to march alongside them, but most had. Even though she hadn’t eaten the red fig yet, she understood how surreal the army behind her would have seemed to her past self—soldiers in black and soldiers in pastel blues, golds, and pinks, all working together for the first time since their realms were torn apart. Her voice dropped even lower. “Do you think this might actually mean peace between us?”

“I think that if we’re all dead, then there aren’t going to be many chances for peace negotiations, are there? Come, we’re lagging behind. It’s time to catch up to the Knowing One and confirm our orders.”

They came across Amicia first, whom Aleja had seen earlier in another heated but whispered argument with Orla. Amicia might have saved Otherlander lives when she unleashed her power during the raid in the mountains, but Aleja had no idea whether she’d had time to build it back up again. It was clear she wasn’t letting it slowly release as usual, or anyone without resistance to her charms at the palace would be falling all over each other.

“You all right, Ami?” she called as she passed on her Umbramare.

Amicia responded with the typical salute of the Hiding Place: she touched two fingers of her left hand to her left temple. Her cheeks were flushed from the morning cold, but it did little to hide the pallor of her skin. It was hard to believe how little time had passed between Amicia’s injury and now—though it stretched out in Aleja’s mind, like an enormous gulf separating the world that was from the world that had been.

The plan was simple: after crossing the Astraelis border, the majority of their armies would divert south to engage the mutineers under Taddeas and Orla’s lead, Bonnie and Amicia alongside them. Nicolas would lead a second group deeper into the realm to confront the Authorities guarding the First. Aleja—who had seen the spot where the First slept—would join a smaller group of Otherlander soldiers carting the Third, which would slow them down.

“Hey, Tadd, before we separate… I want to tell you that I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t want this. I should have taken over when you asked?—”

“No. You were right back then. You’re too inexperienced. It would have been cruel to you and a disaster for our armies. Soon, this will all be over, and we can get you properly trained. Be careful out there, Al. Don’t lose focus, not even for an instant. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Taddeas picked up the pace, cutting off her chance to answer. It wasn’t like him, but perhaps any goodbye would feel too much like the last.

It was a shock to see Nicolas on his Umbramare riding beside the Messenger on one of her great elks. Behind them clustered a group of soldiers around the Third’s slow-moving cage. One of his claws hung between the bars, flexing as she passed.

As Taddeas and the other Dark Saints separated, so did a large number of their armies, moving away in unison like a great murmuration of birds. Aleja wished for the view of the Avisai gliding overhead—among their numbers was the smaller dragon that had carried her to the palace.

“The ride will take two hours,” the Messenger said once Aleja was in earshot. “And it’ll be a treacherous two hours. There are plenty of Thrones patrolling these skies, not to mention the Authorities that will appear as we near the First’s stronghold. Remember that our?—”

“Our priority is protecting Val and the Third,” Nicolas interrupted sharply. “May I remind you that you’re not the one in command here? This is a joint effort.”

“And may I remind you, Knowing One, that we are on Astraelis territory. My soldiers and I know these lands. I’m sending a few scouts ahead to assess any enemies in our path. Do you agree with that decision?”

He gave a dismissive gesture that clearly meant yes. Aleja tugged on the marriage bond. She might have the luxury of not remembering the Messenger, but she was also the one who would have to kill her. The more the Messenger trusted her, the easier that grim task would be. Again, she tried not to feel a pang of guilt. Perhaps Nicolas could sense it through the bond.

When he addressed the Messenger next, his tone softened. “Have them take a few Otherlander scouts with them as well. Your soldiers may have experience with this landscape, but not with fighting Thrones. We understand their weaknesses better than even you.”

“A concession I can agree to, Knowing One,” the Messenger replied, and Aleja did not fail to feel the flicker of his annoyance at the wordconcession.

The scouts peeled away like the other soldiers as she raised a hand with a series of gestures that, with her height atop the elk, would surely have been visible across the small troop they had been left with. Nicolas’s command was not quite as sophisticated. He barked an order at the officer nearest to him, and she fell back to inform the others.

A long silence followed, as if not even the clopping of hooves or the rattle of the Third’s cage could break through the oppressive anxiety. The cloudy sky felt close to the earth, wedging their small group between two impenetrable planes. Even the Messenger’s mask twitched as Val’s tended to, fanning out wide around her face as if it could sense a change in thewinds. It did not feel entirely right that Aleja should ride up here, alongside the respective leaders of their armies, but every time she tried to urge her Umbramare to slow, it refused.

It was another half an hour before the Messenger raised a hand again and said, “Knowing One, call down your Avisai. We’re getting close. From here, the Authorities will spot them before we have the chance to make the first move.”

Nicolas whistled into the air, and with a whoosh that sent the loose strands of Aleja’s dark red hair flying into her face, the two great dragons joined them on the ground with a high whine of displeasure. As the sound tapered off, Aleja listened closely, as if somehow, she’d be able to hear the sounds of Taddeas and his armies, who had by now surely been met with resistance from the Astraelis mutineers.

“Violet, to the front,” the Messenger barked.

It seemed as though Violet herself was surprised by this request. She had marched alongside the Third’s cage, occasionally muttering something to him or listening closely to a low voice behind the tarp.

Aleja again tried to sus out whether she’d eaten the fig. There was no true immortality among the Otherlanders or the Astraelis, other than that neither would succumb to age or disease. Aleja had to assume that Violet would still die if one of the Authorities tore its teeth into her, but her odds would be better if she could run with her usual athletic quickness.

“She’s been assigned a band of our best soldiers to accompany her,” Nicolas said. He had no reason to comfort Aleja when it came to Violet. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time she had said anything remotely generous about her old best friend in her husband’s presence, but he must have noticed her tremor of concern.

“Good. We’ll need her alive as long as possible if she’s going to draw the Authorities away,” Aleja said, trying to keep hervoice flat, but she had the feeling that neither Nicolas nor the Messenger would buy the coldness in her words.

When Violet passed, accompanied by a band of Otherlanders alongside two Principality mages, she desperately tried to catch Aleja’s eye. They had shared a hundred silent conversations—gossiping at bars about too-drunk frat boys or stern professors in the general education classes they took together, or Aleja goading Violet to finally ask out the barista she had a desperate crush on. Violet had always had an uncanny knack for communicating entire paragraphs with a few slow blinks.

This is your last chance to forgive me, the grim downturn of Violet’s mouth seemed to say.

I already forgave you, Aleja replied with a raised eyebrow.If you haven’t eaten that fig, I’m going to be so damn mad at you.

But if Violet had an answer, it was swallowed by the soldiers that surrounded her.

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