Page 9 of Each Their Own Devil

The presenceof the librarians around the palace was strangely exciting. Aleja liked the soft shuffle of their robes and the ever-present rustling of pages, like a gentle draft that moved through the halls. But when she greeted them over her rushed breakfast, they scattered at the sight of her.

When she asked Nicolas about it, he had waved a hand. “Can I be honest, dove? You always liked to…talk to them. About art. History. Whatever was on your mind. I think they’re afraid you might distract them from their work.”

“Oh,” Aleja said, frowning. “So, I was a nerd back then too.”

“I’m afraid so,” Nicolas said with a grin.

Though this was the last time Aleja attempted to bother the librarians, it was not the last she saw of them that morning. They seemed to favor Nicolas over her, trailing after the Knowing One with their oversized, rickety carts piled high with books, whispering in hushed tones. Aleja couldn’t understand why their news failed to bring her any relief. So far, there was no mention of the Avaddon in their texts. In fact, there was no indication that anything like the Avaddon had ever happened—or even could happen.

“I need to warn you about something before the meeting,” Nicolas said, as the librarians took another look at Aleja and scattered. Moments later, realizing they had left their cart behind, they returned, dragging it away together with the discordant patter of their mismatched footsteps.

“Gods,” Aleja said. “If you’re going to tell me I was even more socially awkward in the last life than this one, don’t worry, I’m way ahead of you.”

“It’s not that. It’s about our meeting with the other Dark Saints; it’s unlikely the librarians haven’t already spoken to at least Orla. By now, all of them will know that there is no evidence of the Avaddon.”

Aleja tried to swallow but gave a low, choked sound instead that she was glad no one but Nicolas was around to hear. “They won’t believe me, will they?”

“I can’t say what the Saints will do. You can count on Taddeas to give you the benefit of the doubt, but the others might not be so keen.”

“I know they don’t trust the Messenger,” Aleja interjected, but Nicolas was already speaking.

“It’s more complicated than that. You were tricked by her before. The war went on for decades, Aleja; there are hundreds of stories that you don’t know. But toward the end, you had the chance to kill the Messenger’s top general, her second-in-command, but she offered you a prisoner exchange instead. The prisoner in question was a woman from Orla’s command. You wanted so badly to save her and…it was an ugly scene in the end.”

“It was my fault?” This time, the sentence was hardly a rasp. Aleja wasn’t even sure if she meant it to be a question or not. A shudder ran through her as the full weight of Nicolas’s words settled—something cold and jagged clawed its way up her throat.

“No,” Nicolas said firmly. “There are no good choices, and you took the option that you believed would save Otherlander lives?—”

“But it didn’t,” Aleja snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me until now?”

For a moment, it seemed as though Nicolas was about to argue, but then the corner of his mouth twitched. “There was no reason to. There are thousands of stories from the last war, and last night, you needed to be thinking straight. The Messenger appealed to your sense of mercy.”

“And now you think I’m falling for it again?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” he repeated, teeth flashing. The gray streak in his hair scattered as he ran his hands through it. “There were times when you tricked the Messenger too. In fact, far more of the latter. The point is that it will be harder to convince the others.”

“Convince the others? I don’t even know if I can convince myself!” Aleja said, raising her arms. She wanted to pace, but the librarians had left behind tall ziggurats of books even in the throne room, and she was blocked in every direction.

“Breathe,” Nicolas said. “It’s different this time. We have the Messenger’s son, and the Messenger has the Third. The stakes are different.Weare different. If you believe the Messenger, then I trust you.”

“I’m not sure ifItrust me?—”

“You can,” Nicolas said firmly. “Your instincts have always been your greatest strength. We’ll deal with the others. Just look me in the eyes and tell me that you truly believe that Val and the Messenger are telling the truth about the Avaddon.”

Aleja was finally able to take a proper breath, but it was not satisfying, nor did it alleviate her lightheadedness. “I— No. I don’t trust her, but gods, I hate to say it—I trust Val. And, in a fucked-up way, I trust Violet. She’s a traitor, but… I don’t think she would have done it unless she saw something that made her believe that the Avaddon was coming.”

“Then, okay,” Nicolas said. “We’ll convince the others.”

“Will we?” she whispered back.

Nicolas’s fingers grazed her hair. “It won’t be easy. And although I have never made it a habit to lie to the Dark Saints, you hold no such obligations. If there are things you need to keep secret until you have enough evidence—until you’re sure?—”

“Hush, Nic. Don’t forget that they can overthrow you. I need you to promise me that you won’t burn the world down again for my sake.”

“You could ask almost anything of me, but that is the one promise I will never make you. I want to visit Amicia first. See you in the war room in twenty minutes.” Nicolas’s tone was firm but edged with something Aleja couldn’t quite place—regret or resolve, perhaps.

“Is she going to be okay?” Aleja asked, as they began the slow ascent back to their chambers above the throne room.

“Yes, but if I don’t reign her in, she’ll have a full harem in the healer’s quarters by noon.”

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