Page 66 of Each Their Own Devil

Then, aside from a handful of Otherlander commanders and Astraelis mages acting as guards for the Third’s cage, she was nearly alone with Nicolas, the Messenger, and Val. Aleja’s heart beat erratically beneath her sternum, accompanied by a pain that felt like fluttering electrical charges. She had never wished so badly to be back in her dingy city apartment, with its piles of coffee cups, a long-untouched USB drive containing her unfinished art history thesis, and the heavy binders full of newspaper clippings about Violet.

Nicolas let the Messenger trail ahead so his Umbramare could trot beside Aleja’s. “Remember, our primary objective is getting Val and the Third to the First. Violet’s distraction won’t be enough. The Messenger and I will act as bait—the Authorities won’t be able to resist the temptation to chase us. I want you to stick close to Val in case he needs backup. He’s a formidable mage, but if he’s distracted with his ritual, it would be all too easy for the Authorities to overtake him.”

“We’ve already gone over this,” Aleja said, sending fondness through the marriage bond that she couldn’t express in words. “What are you actually trying to say?”

“I need you to swear to me that you’ll stick by Val’s side, no matter what happens. If he dies, everyone dies—losing him so you can save me wouldn’t do any good. Do you understand, soldier?”

“Yes, Knowing One,” she said grimly. She had already thought about this, of course, but hearing it said aloud now, when they were so close to the First’s stronghold, made the possibility of watching Nicolas in mortal danger and doing nothing feel all too much like an inevitability.

“I mean it, dove. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the Messenger will have my back.”

“Understood,” Aleja said, then dropped her voice. “I love you, by the way. If the world doesn’t end, I hope you’ll finally be taking me on that honeymoon to Italy.”

“Our next dance will be on the cobblestone streets of Florence.”

“Swear it to me?”

“I swear.”

Ahead of them, the Messenger yanked on the reins of her elk, bringing it to a halt. The Umbramares followed, with uneasy hisses and sighs, as if Nicolas’s anxiety was channeled through them.

“We’ll be faster on our mounts,” the Messenger said. “But we’re in the Authorities’ territory. By now, they’ll have spotted one of our scouts. We should be prepared to fight at any moment. Son, tell me you have good news.”

Val was so engrossed in one of his luminariums that he barely looked up when his mother addressed him. “Hm? Oh, yes. It is absolutely possible that this could work.”

“Possible?” Nicolas hissed.

“It’s better than highly improbable. The ritual will take roughly ten minutes. If you can buy me that much time, I should be able to channel the Third’s magic through me and into the First, nullifying her existence safely.”

Ten minutes on the battlefield might as well have been an eternity, but it wasn’t worth pointing out. This was the most excited Aleja had ever heard Val—he sounded positively gleeful. To her right, the Messenger frowned and said, “Don’t take too much satisfaction in this, son, or you’ll find yourself turning into something like me. We do this out of necessity.”

“Yes, Mother,” Val said with a hint of wistfulness, still gazing into his luminarium.

“The Messenger and I will flank the First’s resting place from the west to draw away whatever Authorities Violet hasn’t managed to pull toward her. That will be your one and only chance, soldiers,” Nicolas called to the small group of Astraelis and Otherlanders behind them. “But once the Authorities realize what we’re up to, there’s no doubt they’ll turn their attention to you. Today, we’re all rebels—the universe is telling us it’s our time to die, and we’re answering back with a resounding no. Remember what you’re fighting for.”

There was a warm rush through the marriage bond—one more silent “I love you”—before Nicolas locked eyes with Aleja, nodded, and turned away with the Messenger and her officer behind him.

“Oh,” Val said, the frown obvious in his voice even before he looked up. “You’re the only Dark Saint left with me?”

Aleja tutted, urging her Umbramare forward. To her right, Garm shone, all black fur and silver armor. To her left, the small Avisai’s claws scratched lines into the grass. “The others will be busy dealing with the Authorities. Besides, I’m the Dark Saint of Wrath and Fire.”

“Yes, but you’re a bit…green, aren’t you?”

“The Astraelis I’ve killed would say otherwise, and the smaller our group is, the less attention we’ll attract. Come on. We’ll make a large loop and approach from the rear. There’s still a chance we can take them by surprise.”

If the Astraelisrealm was beautiful, then the place where the First slept was beyond human words. Aleja wondered if this was why the Astraelis language still sounded like static-filled nonsense to her. Perhaps they had adjectives to describe the almost kaleidoscopic shades of green—so numerous that Aleja was certain a few were colors she had never seen before. The sun broke through the clouds in gentle lines, grazing the earth with tender light. The hills were flatter here, but their shapes became more varied: wide swoops and swells, like an ocean turned solid.

The effect was somewhat dampened by the Authorities that swarmed a single low mound. From Aleja’s vantage point, she counted twelve and felt a sudden stab of fear for Nicolas and Violet, each of whom must have drawn far more away.

While the Authorities didn’t seem to realize they were already being watched, their hive minds kept their wings beating in perfect time—one creature divided into separate bodies. Occasionally, the mass broke enough to give her a glimpse of the rough-hewn rock that had once been a statue of the First. The place she had seen in her hallucinations. The place from which the roots of the First Tree were fed.

“Well,” Val said, “what now?”

One of the Otherlander officers guarding the Third’s cage saluted Aleja. He looked more inhuman than most in the HidingPlace—pale blue skin, gold eyes, and pointed ears. When he opened his mouth, his teeth were small but very sharp. “Dark Saint, if I may?”

“Of course,” she said, so damn grateful someone had spoken before her.

“The Authorities will naturally seek you out—unless they catch sight of another high-value target first. I’m carrying several vials of Ignisium—incredibly combustible when paired with fire. I’ll try to lead the last of them away, but if you see that I’m swallowed, you’ll still have a moment to aim?—”

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