“Ennika had another... message,” Sothe said quietly. “She wanted to talk to you.”
“To me? Why?”
“I don’t know.” Sothe sighed and crossed her arms. They were covered in old, whitening scars, from tiny cuts to a long, jagged wound that must have laid open her biceps. Winter tried not to stare.
“Well.” Winter used the rail to pull herself up. “I’ve got nothing to do. I’ll see what she wants.”
“Thank you.” Sothe hesitated. “After I’ve finished, I think we need to talk, too.”
“Strategy? I’m not sure we have enough information.”
“Not exactly. It’s... complicated.” Sothe shook her head. “Later.”
A bit bemused, Winter went down the steps and to the forward cabin shared by Sothe and Ennika. That took her past her own door, and the noises from within made it abundantly clear what was happening there. There were no secrets on a ship as small as the Swallow. She did her best not to listen and knocked on the door to Ennika’s cabin.
“Come in,” the blind girl said.
The room was much like Winter’s own, with two bunks, one above the other, and a small table in one corner. Everything was fixed in place, as a precaution against rough seas. Ennika sat on the lower bunk, her sightless eyes aimed at the ceiling, running her fingers against the pages of a book.
“It’s me,” Winter said, after a moment. “Sothe said you wanted to talk.”
Ennika nodded. “Sit, if you like.”
Winter did, wedging herself awkwardly sideways on one of the immobile chairs to face the bed. Ennika turned a page, tracing a few more lines, then set the book aside.
“Can you really read that way?” Winter said, fascinated.
“There are special books, with raised letters,” Ennika said. She leaned forward, holding out the book to Winter. “This one is just an ordinary copy of the Wisdoms, though.”
Winter took it and opened it to a random page. It was blank, or nearly so—the letters that had once been there had been worn away by the passage of Ennika’s fingers, until only traces of ink remained.
She handed it back. “If you can’t read it, then why...?”
“I know the Wisdoms by heart,” Ennika said. “I don’t need to be reminded of the words. But tracing it out is... a comfort.”
“How old were you when they took your eyes?” Winter realized a bit too late that the question might not be polite, but Ennika didn’t seem to mind.
“Five or six, I think. I don’t know my real birthday. It was just after my sister and I spoke the names of our demons and formed our bond. Once they knew we would live, our eyes were put out, so that we would not compromise the security of the Priests of the Black with what we saw.”
“Saints and martyrs,” Winter said. “That’s horrible.”
Ennika shrugged. “Ahdon ivahnt vi, Ignahta Sempria. What’s done to me in this life is only a small taste of what I’ll receive in hell, when my time is up.”
“You really believe that? That you’re damned for eternity because of what they made you do when you were a little girl?”
“I chose to do it,” Ennika said. “I was young, but not unaware.”
“You can’t have understood,” Winter said. “Not really.”
“I understood enough. I wanted to help people.” She shrugged again. “I probably would have ended in hell in any case, you understand. My sister and I were living on the streets before the priests took us. We would have been whores, or worse. This way, I can at least save the souls of others. Or I thought I could.”
The Priests of the Black have a lot to answer for. It was bad enough that they captured, tortured, and killed those who were born with demons through no fault of their own. But to take innocent children and feed them this line of nonsense...
“I have been trying,” Ennika said, “to make sense of what’s happened. The Beast’s return. At first I was in despair. I would have taken my own life, if Sothe hadn’t stopped me.”
“At first? You’ve changed your mind?”
Ennika nodded. “I talked with Janus. If it is Janus who touches my mind, where my sister once was. He asked me if all this was not also part of God’s plan. The Lord tested mankind once before, when the Beast of Judgment first came, and Karis proved equal to the challenge. Now He tests us again, and we have you.”
Winter sat up straighter. “Wait, wait. I’m not a prophet.”
“I know. It may be that you fail and the Beast will bring about the end of man. That, too, would be part of the plan. But my role in it, my purpose, will be fulfilled. It’s not an accident that I’m here, with you.”
“It’s sometimes hard to tell the difference between God’s plans and Janus’,” Winter said dryly. “Is that why you wanted to see me? To talk theology?”
“No. Janus gave me a message for you. He said that the core of the Beast is coming south, toward Vordan City, and that this is where you will have your chance.” She frowned. “He also said that if you fail, you will not get another. If the Beast takes Vordan City, it will grow so fast that it will be unstoppable.”
“If I fail, I’ll probably be dead.”
“And in hell,” Ennika agreed. “So it won’t matter much to you. But that was the message.”
Winter bit back a sarcastic response. “Fine. It’s good to know we’ll have one chance at this, at least. Was there anything else?”
“Not from Janus.” Ennika’s hands went tight in her lap. “I... wanted to ask you something.”
“You—” Winter frowned. “Go ahead, I suppose.”
“Your demon, the Infernivore. It tears the demons from others and devours them, correct?”
“More or less,” Winter said uncomfortably.
“When we reach Vordan City, will you use it on me?”
“Use—you want me to take your demon?”
Ennika nodded solemnly.
“Why? I thought it was all part of God’s plan.”
“My part will be finished soon. And when Janus is not speaking to me, there is... emptiness where my sister’s mind once was. A gap. It pulls at me all the time. I can’t...” She brought her hand to her head. “I can’t explain it well. But I can’t live with it.”
“I’m not sure using Infernivore on you would be any better,” Winter said. “Everyone whose demon I’ve taken has ended up dead, one way or the other. You might not survive. It could break your mind.”
“As I said, I was going to kill myself in any event, to get away from the pain.” Ennika smiled slightly. “Suicide is a sin, of course, but once one is bound to hell regardless, what’s another sin? But I am not... eager to die. If there is a chance, I would like to take it.” Her smile faded. “Though if it breaks my mind, I hope you will... take pity on me.”
“I...” Winter shook her head, realized Ennika couldn’t see it, and cleared her throat. “Let me think about it.” The girl had helped them—that was undeniable—but... I don’t know.
“Thank you,” Ennika said. “I understand it may be difficult for you. I will inform you if Janus contacts me again.”
*
Since her own cabin was still decidedly occupied, Winter spent some time in the chart room, staring gloomily at the maps. From the course the captain had plotted, the Swallow was small enough to make the ascent of the Vor all the way to Vordan City. That would be considerably faster than riding overland, assuming the wind cooperated. Nautical charts were very different from the campaign maps she was used to, and she was just trying to work out the meanings of some of the more obscure markings when she heard someone in the corridor. Sothe, a bucket in one hand and a towel in the other, paused in the open doorway.
“I talked to Ennika,” Winter said. “Janus told her we need to get to Vordan City, and he’ll try to give me an opening.”
“Good to know.” Sothe was damp with sweat after her exercise, her short dark hair plastered to her skull.
“You said you wanted to talk to me, after.”
Winter followed Sothe back to her cabin. Ennika was gone, above decks for a change. Winter had noticed the crew of the Swallow was very solicitous of the blind girl, and she wondered briefly what Sothe had told them about her. Maybe nothing. If Captain Kerrak was in fact a smuggler, then he’d have cultivated a crew who were comfortable not asking questions.
Sothe set the bucket down, shut the door, and reached for the buttons on her vest. She paused, glancing at Winter, who shrugged, a little uncomfortably.
“I must admit I’ve never liked being aboard ship this long,” Sothe said, nimble fingers working down the row of buttons. “It’s... confining. I’m only really comfortable when I have an escape route ready.”
“Never go to Khandar, then,” Winter said. The monthlong voyage to and from the distant colony had been pure misery.
“I don’t intend to, if I can help it.” Sothe shrugged out of her vest. Underneath, she wore only a linen wrap around her breasts. The skin of her stomach and back was just as heavily scarred as her arms, the records of decades of battles written in pale, crisscrossing lines.
Sothe undid her wrap, dipped her towel in the bucket, and started wiping herself clean. She sighed heavily.
“And, of course, you can’t get a proper bath.” She shook her head. “I suppose I’m getting soft in my old age.”
“Someday,” Winter said, “I’ll be done with marching around and living in tents. And then there’ll be baths.”
“Every soldier’s prayer,” Sothe said, with a slight smile.
“Not every soldier,” Winter said. “Most of the ones I’ve known would probably be more worried about food and wine than baths.”
“Fair enough.”
Winter looked away as Sothe stripped off her leggings. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For... well, for avoiding you, to be honest. I’ve been trying to make a decision, and it’s been... difficult.”
“It’s all right,” Winter said. “I haven’t exactly been a social butterfly.”
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” There was the creak of a chest, and a rustle of cloth.
“If you like.”
“You seem to have given up your male disguise.”
“I...” Winter hesitated. “Alex and Abraham already knew, and I didn’t count on running into anyone from Vordan. It seemed easier.”
“Then you plan to resume it? Once we get back to Vordan City?”
“I’ll have to,” Winter said.
“You don’t want to?”
“It’s not really a matter of wanting,” Winter said. “I started pretending to be a man so I could get into the army. After that it just kind of... kept going.”
“But the Vordanai army includes women now. You could, in theory, reveal yourself.” The bed creaked as Sothe sat down. “I’m dressed, by the way.”
Winter turned to face her, taking the same sideways seat in the chair she had earlier. Sothe had changed into a long, loose shirt and trousers. All in black, of course. I wonder if she ever wears any other color?
“I could,” Winter admitted. “But I’ve fooled a lot of people for a long time. They might not be happy about it.”
“Who? Raesinia knows. I assume your officers in the Second Division do.”
“Some of them,” Winter said. “Cyte and the Girls’ Own.”
“Then whose reaction worries you? The other generals’?”
“I suppose it’s mostly Marcus,” Winter said. “He’s... a little old-fashioned at times.”
“I suspected as much,” Sothe said, crossing her arms.
“Why? Is it important?”
“In a way.” Sothe sighed. “I find myself in a complicated position.”
“That involves me?”
“Indeed. I have information that...” She broke off. “How much do you remember about your past?”
“My past?” Winter said, now thoroughly confused. “You mean Mrs. Wilmore’s? The Prison? I assume you know I was there.”
Sothe nodded. “What about before that?”
“Nothing,” Winter said. Fire. But that was only a dream, or the memory of the dream of a frightened little girl.
“Would you want to know more about it, if you could?”
Winter shrugged. “I suppose so. I’ve never thought much about it. Most of the girls at the Prison had the same basic story—families who were dead, or in jail for debts, or petty criminals.”
“There is... a little more to it.” Sothe shifted on the bed. “Your parents are dead, but they were not criminals. They were labeled as traitors by the Concordat, but that was... a lie.”
“Wait. You know? How? Where did you find out?”
“I was asked to investigate.” Sothe took a deep breath. “You know I once worked for the Last Duke.”
“I’d gathered that,” Winter said carefully.
“When the Cobweb burned, the primary records of the Concordat were lost. But there were—are—backups, duplicates. Partial, but still extensive, scattered in various safehouses and secondary headquarters. I imagine there’s almost no one left who has the proper ciphers, but I do. I went looking.”
“Who asked you to look?”
“I’ll come to that,” Sothe said. “I found your records. I have your history—your real name, your family. If you want it.”
Winter stared at her for a moment in silence. Sothe looked away.
“The trouble,” the assassin said, “is that I... owe this person, the one who asked me to look. But when I found it, I realized I owed you, too. I can’t just deliver up your secrets without asking you.”
“That hardly seems like a Concordat attitude,” Winter muttered.
“I have learned... quite a lot from Raesinia,” Sothe said. She sounded earnest. “I believe this is part of it. So, if you want me to, I will destroy what I have learned. I cannot promise that it will not come to light in some other way, but it seems unlikely. Your past will remain unknown. Or else I can give it to you and leave the rest of the choices in your hands.”
There was another long pause.
“Balls of the Beast,” Winter said. “This is making my head hurt.”
“It is a common issue in the intelligence business,” Sothe said. “There is information you might wish not to know. But you cannot decide whether you wish not to know it until you know it. And so on.”
“Well. You’d better tell me. Otherwise this is going to drive me insane.”
Sothe let out a breath. “As you wish. Your parents were upper-class Vordan City merchants. They owned property and businesses that the Last Duke wanted for his own interests. He directed his agents to kill your family and make it look accidental.”
“Fire,” Winter said. “There was a fire, wasn’t there?”
Sothe nodded. “There was. You were four years old. Your parents were killed, but a dedicated servant got you out of the building in time. She suspected the Concordat were involved, and hid from the authorities. By the time we found you again, she had placed you at Mrs. Wilmore’s. She died not long afterward.”
“Is that all?” Winter gave a nervous laugh. “I thought you were going to tell me I was the lost princess of Borel or something.”
“You had an older brother,” Sothe said. “He was away from the house that day, at the War College.”
“A brother?” Something in Winter’s stomach churned. “Is he still alive?”
“Yes,” Sothe said. “Your name at birth was Ellie d’Ivoire. Marcus is your older brother.”
*
It felt like an eternity passed, though Winter supposed it could only have been a couple of seconds. She blinked, and swallowed on a suddenly dry throat.
“Marcus?” she said. “Our Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“But he�
��s... older.”
“By a decade.”
“And... I can’t...” Winter shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “You’re certain?”
“Reasonably. I have the records from Mrs. Wilmore’s, copied before it burned down. And surveillance reports from Concordat agents.”
“Does Marcus know?”
“He knows that his sister is alive.” Sothe tensed up. “For most of his life, he assumed that Ellie died with his parents. It was one reason he volunteered to be posted to Khandar, as far from Vordan City as he could get.”
Exactly what I was looking for when I escaped, Winter thought numbly. I suppose it runs in the family.
“After the revolution and the fall of the Concordat,” Sothe went on, “Marcus obtained some information from the archives.” She frowned. “I am not entirely certain how he broke the ciphers, but my assumption is that Janus was involved. His knowledge of such techniques is... extensive. In any event, Marcus became aware both that Ellie was alive and that the Concordat agent called the Gray Rose was responsible for the deaths of his parents.”
“And you volunteered to help him find out?” Winter said. “Out of the kindness of your heart?”
“No kindness was involved,” Sothe said. “I was the Gray Rose.”
“You?” Winter stared. “You mean... you...”
“I did not strike the match. But I was responsible. The operation was under my command.” Sothe looked at the floor. “In those days I did not... question my orders.”
Winter found her throat too thick to speak. It’s not every day someone tells you that your parents were murdered and in the next breath confesses to being the murderer.
“When Marcus discovered the truth, I gave him the opportunity to kill me,” Sothe said. “It seemed just.”
“He wouldn’t do it,” Winter managed. “Not Marcus.”
“No. Denied that route, I decided that I would find his missing sister, if she was still alive. When the army went south, I remained in Murnsk, visiting old Concordat safehouses.”
“And killing Duke Orlanko.”
The Infernal Battalion Page 45
