Page 70 of Each Their Own Devil

The hellhound stood over the body of a mutineer who must have made it down the hill ahead of the others. Half of the Principality’s mask was torn off, exposing a pale cheek. Garm’s helmet was smeared with blood.

“How much time does he need?” she asked.

“Eight minutes,” Garm barked, “but Val hasn’t spoken in a while.”

Her legs shook beneath her. This was taking too long. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, as if pain could anchor her—could make up for the helplessness clawing at her chest. Aleja’s eyes shot to where Val had stood by the Third’s cage. He was on his knees now, swaying slightly. The Third was in a similar state—lying on his side in the cage, taking rattling breaths. The eyes that usually blinked unevenly from his wings were slow and hazy.

In front of Val, a cavern had opened. It was strikingly familiar, though it took Aleja a moment to recognize it. She’d seen it before—during her second Trial, when she and Violet had fought over the First’s glass heart.

“We have to get Val down there,” Aleja muttered.

“How?” Garm whined.

“I’ll take care of him,” she said, with little idea how. “Can you pull the Third’s cage?”

“Yes,” Garm said, but the battle’s scent had reached even her nose. “But the others?”

“Help me get him and the Third down there, then you can come back up. My orders are to make sure the ritual is completed.”

“You got it, boss,” Garm said, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.

“Garm, listen. The Avisai who helped me is injured in the field where I fought the first Authorities. When this is over, make sure Nicolas goes to help her, okay?”

“Don’t talk like you’re not going to be here after this,” Garm growled. He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead, he darted the last few feet to the Third’s cage and grabbed one of the handles with his enormous jowls.

Inside, the Third barely reacted, flexing his claws uselessly.

Aleja was quick to Val’s side, taking hold of his hand. “Listen,” she whispered desperately. “You’ve almost done it. The First’s chamber is open, but the battle is coming. You need to complete the ritual down there. Will you let me lead you?”

“Mother?” Val asked weakly.

“No. It’s the Lady of Wrath. Come with me.”

“I’m not sure I can—everything hurts?—”

“Just a few steps forward, then we walk downhill, okay? This is almost over.”

The heavy sound of wingbeats was already approaching—a deep, rhythmic thud. Aleja wondered if it was the bite of the fig urging her to turn around and rush toward the advancing army—her old self coming to life within her—but she forced her feet to move, dragging Val along. The downhill slope helped propel them forward, but even with her new Dark Saint strength, it was difficult to haul him. She was easily two heads shorter and likely half his weight, and Val stumbled as though drunk.

“Is this interrupting the ritual?” she asked.

“No,” Val gasped, sparing a glance at Garm, who was dragging the Third’s cage with his massive jowls. “He agreed to let me channel him.”

“What?” Aleja paused, despite the weight of the moment bearing down on her.

“Well, it was easier than if hehadn’tagreed,” Val muttered. “You can thank Violet for that. But channeling death isn’t pleasant, and I can only hold on to this for a few minutes longer before I succumb myself—and then no one will be happy.”

“You know how to get the First to appear, though, right?”

“I—I have a very good idea of how I can do that. Just get me down there.”

A few more yards brought them to level ground, but by then, Aleja could hear the sounds of battle overhead. When the ring of sunlight above was suddenly overcome by shadows, she felt a flicker of relief. Nic was still up there and in control enough to use his magic.

“How long will this take?” she asked. “Your mother is out there too.”

“My mother,” Val spat, his voice suddenly sharper, “loves me without knowing how to love me. I’m not doing this for her—I’m doing it for me.”

“Enough talking,” Aleja said, though her voice cracked, burning tears rising in her eyes. Another wave of unnamed emotion swelled within her, too overwhelming to parse. “Let’s get this over with.”

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