Page 82 of Each Their Own Devil

“Thank you,” Aleja gasped. Nicolas’s hand tightened around her wrist, and she could feel her sluggish pulse thudding against his skin.

“Lady of Wrath, I’d like a word,” the Messenger said.

Nicolas rolled his eyes. “Can’t you wait to declare war for another twenty-four hours? You’re still so tedious, Messenger.”

The Messenger cracked her knuckles loudly, the sound echoing through the chamber like a distant thunderstorm. “The Astraelis realm is vast. I could have let you avert the Avaddon, then fled to some distant corner, never to be found. But here I am, offering assistance. So, I’ll ask again: Lady of Wrath, may we speak? Outside. In private. It concerns my prisoner, Violet. Seeing as you know her best, you might have some insight into where she has run off to. I’d rather this information remain classified.”

Aleja knew the Messenger’s subterfuge was unnecessary. Nicolas and Val wouldn’t care about Violet’s whereabouts now that the First was dead, along with most of the Authorities. The Messenger could have left Aleja to die. Yet here she was—a greater threat to the Messenger than the reverse. The blade against Aleja’s thigh pulsed with death magic.

“Fine,” Aleja said, pushing herself to her feet. Val had been right; her legs wobbled beneath her as though her knees were merely suggestions.

It was kill the Messenger or die herself, and Aleja had already seen what the Third’s realm was like.

The Messenger had no husband, not anymore. She had a son terrified of her. No armies left.

Aleja could do this. Shehadto do this.

“After you,” Aleja said.

Nicolas sent a question through the marriage bond. Aleja answered with something—perhaps despair—raw and jagged. “I’ll be right back,” she told him.

The Messenger filled the tunnel more completely than even Val had. When they finally reached the top, Aleja squinted against the sunlight, her eyes unadjusted. Her right hand hovered over her sash, the cold of the blade radiating through her palm. She should strike while the Messenger’s back was turned. Then she wouldn’t have to see the pain flicker across the Messenger’s face.

But her hand wouldn’t move.

Do it, she screamed silently at herself.

“Don’t worry,” the Messenger said before Aleja could act. “You won’t have to stab me in the back, Lady of Wrath. I’ll be dead soon enough. Let me speak first.”

“What do you mean?” Aleja asked as they stepped into the daylight.

It was, objectively, a beautiful morning. The golden beams of sunlight speared through thin clouds so forcefully, it felt like they could slice them apart. Despite the charred remains of the battlefield—littered with the bodies of soldiers—the air smelled of smoke, dandelions, and tall grass. Aleja hated it. She wanted the landscape to mirror the darkness inside her.

“There is no one to siphon the Third out of me as I did for you, and I refuse to let my son take on this burden. In moments, I will be dead,” the Messenger said.

“What the fuck—” Aleja spat. “You’re insane.”

“I’m telling the truth,” the Messenger said, as if Aleja’s fury were nothing more than a mild inconvenience. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ve heard what the Third offers. I’m looking forward to it. One day, you too will tire, Lady of Wrath. You will crave the peace the Third offers. But first, grant an old woman one last answer. What was your plan after we averted the Avaddon? Were you going to kill me?”

Aleja studied the Messenger’s mouth, searching for any trace of emotion, but her expression was unreadable.

Aleja decided to do what she always did—throw fire at the situation.

“I made a bargain with the Second to bring Nicolas back from the dead,” Aleja said. “The Second would only accept me cutting out your heart and bringing it to him.”

The Messenger brought one of her enormous hands to her chin in a delicate motion, but she did not look entirely surprised. “Ah. I did wonder how you cured the Knowing One’s unfortunate condition. Fine, then. Before I go, I have something to say to you.”

Aleja hadn’t even realized her hand was still hovering over the cold blade, but once she did, she left it there. “What?”

“You may have averted the Avaddon, but you haven’t broken the chains. As much as you criticize our kind, we have stillexisted far more independently from our leader than you have from the Second. Our flaws are our own. The same cannot be said for the Otherlanders. Don’t use that dagger on me. It is still full of the Third’s magic. Give yourself an option.”

“What do you mean?” Aleja whispered.

“You’ll figure it out.” The Messenger shifted, the motion deliberate and unthreatening, as she drew her sword. It crackled to life with golden flames that cast flickering light across both their faces. “Like your Knowing One’s sword, this weapon was crafted to kill what should be unkillable. Here. Take it.”

She held the hilt out to Aleja. Aleja did not move.

This felt surreal—like a dream that would not let her wake. She imagined herself falling asleep again and again, only to return to this moment, this choice. Her body remained frozen, but her tongue loosened enough to ask the question clawing at her mind. “Where is Violet, really?”

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