Page 81 of Each Their Own Devil

But then warmth bloomed in her stomach, spreading like the comforting heat of tea on a winter’s day. It was sudden and inexplicable, but it melted the invisible chains holding her in place. Aleja wrenched herself away from the Third’s grip.

“Alejandra,” he said, his tone not angry but exasperated, as though dealing with a wayward child. She tore away, sprinting into the endless blue void, unsure of where she was going—or if there was even anywhere to go. A small voice deep inside her whispered that she was only delaying the inevitable, but she ignored it.

The Third’s towering figure grew smaller behind her. In the distance, a golden light flared brightly. It was the only landmark in this endless nothingness. Without hesitation, Aleja ran toward it. As she did, a sharp force pulled at her chest, as if the light had latched onto her sternum, yanking her forward with impossible gravity.

“I mean this with no malice, dear Lady of Wrath,” the Third’s voice whispered in her ear, intimate and unshakable despite the distance she’d created. “But you’ll regret what you are about to do. Life is naught but pain and loss. Once you come to my realm, you will never lose anything again.”

His words struck her with eerie tenderness, but as they echoed, she understood with perfect clarity why she had killed the First. The fear of loss meant she still had something precious to hold on to.

“I’ll see you soon!” Aleja called, breathless as she ran toward the light. “But not yet!”

And she surged forward, chasing the warmth, the change, the unknown.

15

THE CHAINS

“When the blade is lifted against those we once cherished, let us weep not for the act, but for the burden of obedience.” —The Book of Open Doors, Book VII: The Return to the Threshold

Aleja awoke in a cave.No, in a chamber.

The first thing she saw was an enormous, winged mask, and she whispered, “Val?” before realizing it was actually the Messenger. Beneath the mask, the Messenger’s skin was pale and slightly clammy—something Aleja had never seen before.

“Yes, yes, Knowing One, here. Your wife lives, for now. You’re very welcome,” the Messenger said, her voice bored.

The next thing Aleja noticed was the smell of vanilla and wood smoke, followed by hands in her hair, on her damp forehead, checking her temperature. “What happened?” she choked out. “Where are we?”

“Shh,” Nicolas hushed her, his voice low. “Val and the Messenger rode out while we were in the field. You destroyed the mutineers and, I’d venture, much of the Astraelis realm. But theAuthorities are dead—or at least there are so few left that they pose no threat to the Hiding Place.”

“The other Dark Saints…” Aleja’s words hurt as if every syllable scraped against her throat.

“Bonnie and Merit were already at the border. Taddeas and Orla managed to get out of the way before…” He hesitated, as though reluctant to continue. “We haven’t found Amicia, but Orla saw her last. She used the last of her power to enrage the Authorities enough to distract them. She—she saved us all.”

Aleja rolled onto her side to avoid choking on the bile that rose in her throat. Killing Roland, a traitor to the Dark Saints, had been one thing. But Amicia? Amicia had been her friend—not just in this life, but also the last.

“I didn’t mean to— I tried to convince her to run—” Aleja’s voice cracked.

Nicolas pushed her hair back gently. “I know. She made her choice, and her choice was to save those she cared about.”

“Violet?” Aleja asked involuntarily. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to face more heartbreak. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she would have been better off staying with the Third.

“We haven’t seen her yet, but our scouts are still searching the area.”

“And the Avisai?”

“I’ve sent Garm to look for her.”

Aleja managed to push herself up onto her elbows, Nicolas’s firm hand on her back. The warmth of his palm seemed to reach her heart, cutting through the sorrow lodged there. Her gaze fell on a sheet-draped figure in the corner of the chamber. Her stomach twisted at the sight of the First’s body, and she couldn’t look for long. The room still smelled faintly of rich soil, damp green plants, and honeycomb.

Her next thought was the cage. The Throne inside it moved subtly, its ribs expanding and contracting in soft but steady motions.

“The Messenger found us again on the field,” Nicolas explained. “She stabilized you, and Val managed to pull the Third out. We owe them your life.”

Nicolas’s voice was a blend of gratitude and trepidation. A feeling Aleja recognized. She was going to have to kill the Messenger if she wanted to survive. She let her head fall to the side, her eyes scanning the chamber. The Messenger conferred quietly with Val by the Throne’s cage.

There was nothing cold left in Aleja now, except for the freezing blade resting against her thigh.

“The effects of the Third’s magic will linger for some time,” Val said, noticing her movement. His mask flared slightly, feathers shifting to obscure the exposed eye. “You should rest. Your muscles will be weak for a while yet.”

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