“Of course. It will be a volunteer,” Winter agreed.
“Will you be able to find someone?” Alex said. “We’re talking about a suicide mission.”
Winter’s mind went back to Murnsk, her desperate pursuit of the Penitent Damned and the way the Girls’ Own soldiers had fought to be allowed to come along. She shook her head. “We’ll manage.”
*
The others left, Alex and Abraham back to the Second Division camp and the Ghost to his self-appointed patrol of the city. Winter remained, sitting across from Feor, while students brought them cups of hot coffee with lowered eyes. Winter told her story, for what felt like the tenth time, and Feor told her what had happened after the army had left for the Murnskai border.
“At first Janus asked for naathem to fight his enemies,” she said. Her face was haunted. “My first student, Auriana, read her naath, but she was not ready. It... damaged her, her face and her limbs. She told me she was happy with the trade, but I knew I could not ask another to take that risk.”
“At the Mountain, they test the children to see if they’re strong enough to bear the demons they need.” She remembered her visit to one such family, where a boy had taken on the burden his older brother had first attempted. “It doesn’t always work.”
Feor nodded. “I know the Priests of the Black simply sacrifice captives until they find one whose soul can bear the strain. Mother was... misled about many things, but she was not wrong about their cruelty.”
“What happened to Auriana?” Winter said.
“She died,” Feor said. “When the Penitent Damned took the Thousand Names, during Maurisk’s coup. She held them long enough for the rest of us to escape.”
“I’m sorry.” Winter sipped her coffee, which was thick and strong, in the Khandarai style. Just the smell of it conjured up memories. “You’re still teaching the others?”
“Yes. Some of them may be strong enough to bear a naath, with proper preparation. But it will take time. I fear we cannot offer you much assistance.”
“What you’re doing for us is enough,” Winter said. “I know it can’t be easy for you.”
“It is not,” Feor said. “But you are right, I think. The Beast is coming, and our lives are as dust. What I can do, I will.”
“Mistress?” The voice from outside the curtained door was hesitant. “It’s the woman who arrived with your guest. She demands to speak with you both.”
“Of course,” Feor said. “Bring her here.”
A young man escorted Ennika through the curtain, guiding the blind girl until she reached one of the cushions beside Feor. She sat, and the student bowed and withdrew.
“Welcome,” Feor said. “My name is Feor. I understand you’ve come a long way.”
“I was hoping that you’d care for her here,” Winter said. “I thought it might help her to be around people who understood her condition.”
“Certainly. She’s welcome to stay with us as long as she likes.”
“We made a bargain,” Ennika said, turning her covered eyes on Winter. “I hope you haven’t forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Though I might have wanted to.
“A bargain?” Feor said.
Winter sighed. “Ennika wants to be free of her demon. She’s asked me to use Infernivore to devour it. But when I took the demon from Jen Alhundt, she never recovered, and she died not long after. My other... experiences with it have been similar. I’d hoped that you might have learned something from the archive.”
Feor frowned. “There is almost nothing on Infernivore in the archive. I searched, when I started to understand the tablets, but it has been used only a few times. Most who attempted it died at once.”
“I am willing to take the risk,” Ennika said. “I cannot live like this, with this hole in my mind where my sister should be. If I die, then at least we will be together in hell.”
Feor looked a little alarmed at Ennika’s casual reference to her own damnation. Her expression turned thoughtful.
“It is... possible that the experience would be less traumatic for a willing subject,” she said. “The soul grips the demon as much as the demon grips the soul. If the soul were prepared to release the demon, perhaps the damage would not be so great.”
“That’s a slim chance to hang your life on,” Winter said to Ennika. “You really want to go through with this?”
“Yes.” The blind girl straightened. “I am ready.”
“Wait,” Winter said. “You mean now?”
Ennika nodded. “Janus has said he will no longer be able to communicate. I am not... of use, anymore.” Her lip curved in a faint smile. “And if you intend to confront the Beast, then you will forgive me if I want to get our bargain fulfilled in advance.”
That’s fair enough. Winter looked down at her hands. “I suppose there’s no reason to wait. Feor...”
“Come,” Feor said, standing. “It’s possible you will be unconscious for some time, Ennika. We should get you in a bed first.”
The Khandarai priestess helped Ennika to her feet and led her out another doorway, through a basement passage. Winter followed, and found herself in a row of small cells, windowless and dry. Each was equipped with a bed, a chair, and little else, reminding Winter of a monastery. Feor guided Ennika to one of these cells and helped her to the bed, where she stretched herself out.
“You’re sure there’s no reason to wait?” Winter said quietly. “Nothing more you can discover in the archive?”
Feor shook her head. “We are in uncharted territory, I’m afraid. Try to be as... gentle as you can.”
“I don’t know how much control I have. But I’ll do my best.” Winter knelt, awkwardly, beside Ennika. “This will probably hurt. I’m sorry.”
“I am accustomed to pain.” Ennika held out her hand, and Winter grasped it. “Thank you for keeping your promise.”
Winter squeezed the girl’s fingers. She closed her eyes, letting herself feel the contact between them, the closeness of Ennika’s demon. As ever, the proximity drove Infernivore to a frenzy, a lashing at the back of Winter’s mind. She was so accustomed to holding Infernivore back, keeping it from leaping into Alex or Abraham at a moment’s casual contact, that it took her a few seconds to lower her guard and set it free.
The demon didn’t hesitate for an instant. As soon as Winter removed her mental leash, it surged across the boundary between Winter’s soul and Ennika’s, a torrent of energy passing through their linked hands. Winter could sense Ennika’s demon, a small, frail thing in comparison to the bulk of Infernivore. Soon the predator was wrapped around it, like a python smothering its prey. Infernivore’s energy spread through the other demon, changing it, incorporating it into its own substance.
In a bare instant, Ennika’s demon was gone, and Infernivore retreated from her body and back into Winter’s with the force of a tidal wave. Distantly, Winter heard Ennika scream, and her hand tightened on Winter’s hard enough that her fingernails drew blood. She thrashed for a moment, back arching, and then collapsed on the bed.
Winter opened her eyes. Ennika was pale, her face beaded with sweat. When Winter let go of her hand, it flopped limply to her side. But she was still breathing, quick and shallow.
“That was... difficult to watch,” Feor said. She was hugging herself. “For all that it may be our savior, Winter, your naath is... unpleasant.”
“I believe it.” Winter looked down at her bleeding hand. “Do you think she’ll be all right?”
“I have no idea.” Feor looked down at Ennika and shook her head. “My students and I will care for her body as best we can, but the damage is in her mind and soul.”
Winter nodded grimly. I doubt even Abraham can do much about that. She got to her feet, feeling weary. “Let me know if she improves, or wakes up.”
“I will.” Feor paused. “And... the other matter?”
“I’ll send you a volunteer,” Winter said.
“I will be ready.” Feor fixed her w
ith a firm gaze. “Do not lie to them, Winter. They must know that there is no coming back from this.”
Winter nodded.
*
The Grenadier Guard outside Cyte’s quarters told Winter that Cyte was with Marcus, working on battle plans. Winter felt odd being there alone, like an uninvited guest in someone else’s house, but as far as she knew no one had assigned her quarters of her own. Not that we’ll be here for long. Talk was that Marcus wanted the army on the move in the next few days, to begin preparing the position he had selected to make a stand.
There wasn’t much of Cyte’s in the room, in truth, just the same few pieces of kit that she’d have with her in the field. The rest was palace furniture, solid and expensive, that looked badly out of place beside Cyte’s battered writing desk and pack. Winter’s own pack sat beside it, representing the sum total of her worldly possessions—a few scraps of clothing, her knives, cooking gear, and other odds and ends. She wondered what had happened to the rest of her things, everything that had been in her tent when she’d set out to the north. Did they leave them behind in the retreat? Or are they packed away in some warehouse, lost in the army bureaucracy? There hadn’t been anything she particularly cared about, apart from a few souvenirs and her hand-tailored uniforms. And I suppose I won’t be needing those anymore, will I?
It felt too early in the evening to go to sleep, but Winter didn’t feel awake enough to do anything else. She sat at the big table and tried to read a few reports from Cyte’s piles, but she could feel her mind wandering before she managed more than a couple of sentences. The second time her eyelids slipped closed, she leaned back in the chair with an exasperated sigh.
“Winter,” said Sothe. “I need to speak with you.”
Winter turned, startled but not really surprised to find Sothe in the room. The assassin stood by the window in her customary black.
“There’s nothing to stop you from using the door, you know,” Winter said.
“I prefer to remain unobserved,” Sothe said. Then, with a slight smile, she added, “And it is important to hone one’s skills whenever the opportunity presents itself.”
“Your dedication is admirable.” Winter gestured to the seat opposite her. “I’d offer you a drink, but these are Cyte’s rooms, and I have no idea where to find anything.”
“Thank you, but there’s no need.” Sothe walked to the table but remained standing, her lithe body preternaturally still. “You spoke to Marcus.”
It wasn’t a question. “I did. I don’t think he took it well.”
“Give him time. It’s quite a shock we’ve given him.”
“I suppose.” Winter looked down at the table, which was covered with reports. The letters were blurred into incomprehensibility. “It just feels strange. It matters so much to him, and I... I don’t even know what it means to be someone’s sister.”
“I am confident you will come to an understanding.”
“Assuming any of us survive the next few days, you mean?”
“Yes. And that is why I have come.” Sothe shifted, one hand on her hip. “You are looking for a host for the Caryatid, Feor’s power, to help you find and destroy the Beast. I volunteer.”
Winter stared at her. Of the hundred questions she had, she blurted out the first that came to mind. “How can you know that?”
“Deduction, for the most part. I have heard you tell your story of what happened in Elysium, and I knew of Bobby’s unique condition. When you went to see Feor...” She shrugged. “Information is my stock-in-trade, after all.”
“Then you know what we’re asking,” Winter said.
“You need someone to undergo the same ritual Bobby did.”
“And there’s no coming back. Bobby...” Winter hesitated. “When Bobby was transformed, she saved my life. By the time I woke up, she was... gone.”
“I suspected as much,” Sothe said, her face impassive. “I understand the risks.”
“It’s not a risk,” Winter said. “It’s a certainty.”
“The certainties, then.”
There was a pause. Sothe shifted slightly.
“Why?” Winter said.
“Because I am the logical choice,” Sothe said. “I am highly skilled in combat, I do not have my own demon, and I hope that my loyalty is beyond question.”
“What about Raesinia? Have you told her?” Winter watched Sothe’s face and saw the tiniest flicker. “You haven’t, have you?”
“She wouldn’t understand,” Sothe said. “She believes she cannot do without me.”
“I’ve seen what you can do,” Winter said. “Are you sure she’s wrong?”
“Yes.”
The word was a hiss. Sothe retreated a step, her face shadowed.
“I’m sorry,” Sothe said, into the silence that followed. “But you don’t understand, either. Not really. You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“I’ve done things I regret,” Winter said.
“But at the time, you believed they were necessary. Even if you turned out to be mistaken.” Sothe shook her head. “I have no such defense.”
Winter regarded the assassin curiously. “I didn’t think you had pangs of conscience.”
“I spent years rooting them out. When I left the Concordat and joined Raesinia, I... worried. She looked up to me. I didn’t want her to become... like I was.”
“She’s not,” Winter said. It was strange, hearing Sothe talk like this. She could feel the emotion in the words, trapped behind her flat affect and iron composure. “You know she’s not.”
“I know. Instead I have become more like her. Better. But it leaves me... torn. For a time I thought I could make amends.”
“Like by finding me for Marcus?”
Sothe nodded. “But I was wrong. There are no amends, no cleaning of the slate. Only doing the most you can do, beginning now. And this is something I can do. If we win, Raesinia will not need me at her side any longer. And if we lose...” Another slight smile. “Then it won’t matter.”
“It doesn’t have to be you,” Winter said after another silence. “We could find—”
“Who? Some poor woman from the Girls’ Own, who’d do it out of devotion to her general?”
Winter winced. “I didn’t mean—”
“Someone who doesn’t believe in magic?” Sothe went on inexorably. “Someone who might panic at the very idea of the Beast, let alone transforming herself into—”
“All right,” Winter said. “I get it.”
“Good.” Sothe straightened. “I apologize again, for my... outburst.”
“I suppose I never thought about things from your perspective,” Winter said, scratching the back of her neck.
“I have never required sympathy,” Sothe said. “Nor do I need it now.” She paused. “But I do request one favor.”
“Favor?”
“Do not tell Marcus.”
“Why not?”
Sothe sighed. “Because he will convince himself my decision revolves around him and the debt between us. He will think he should have... protected me.” She pronounced the word with distaste. “He is a good man, and he will do well by Raesinia’s side. But some habits of mind are hard to break.”
“I understand,” Winter said.
“He is not angry with you, you know. Just working things out in his own mind. I meant what I said about giving him time.”
“I know.” Winter looked down at the papers. “To be perfectly honest, I’m still working it out myself.”
When she looked up again, the slim shape of the assassin was gone.
*
As Marcus’ assistant, Cyte had quarters in the palace proper, but the majority of the soldiers were camped a few minutes’ ride to the north, where some of Ohnlei’s lawns had been converted into a mustering ground during the revolution. Neat lines of weather-worn blue tents alternated with clear avenues, and in between regiments larger spaces had been left for drills and assembly. Muskets were stacked beside each tent, a
nd jackets, shirts, and trousers dried in the breeze as the soldiers took the rare opportunity to launder their uniforms. At the intersections, big campfires blazed, heating the copper pots used to make the ubiquitous army soup. It was late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun gleaming off buckles and bayonets. The soldiers sat in front of their tents, waiting for dinner, playing dice or cards or just telling tall tales in the oldest traditions of the army.
It was all so familiar that it brought an unexpected lump to Winter’s throat. This was home, if anything was. A strange, transient kind of place, constructed every day and torn down every morning, lugged across the landscape in wagons and backpacks.
The sentries were the first to recognize her, snapping stiff salutes at the sight of her uniform, then drawing themselves up even further as they saw her face. She left her borrowed horse with a corporal, a young woman who looked like she was about to burst with pride. As Winter walked down the aisles of tents, she could almost feel the rumors running ahead of her, spreading with the lightning speed of gossip. Women in blue uniforms soon lined her path, coming to attention as she came abreast of them, a wave of salutes that seemed to go on forever.
The lump in Winter’s throat got thicker. She felt like she should stop, say something, acknowledge the pride and relief she felt from every quarter. But what the hell can I say to them? She didn’t trust her voice, in any event, so she merely nodded, and from the looks on the faces of the rankers, that seemed to be enough. After she passed, she could hear the storm of quiet chatter that followed in her wake.
The command tent was just where she remembered it, as though the camp had remained still while the world moved underneath it. Two guards came to stiff attention, and Winter stepped between them and scratched at the flap. At the barked acknowledgment, she ducked inside.
Abby sat at the map table, scowling at a sprawl of papers. At the sight of Winter she came to her feet, her salute precise. Winter waved it away.
“Started hearing rumors you were back,” Abby said. She looked older than when Winter had last seen her, her freckled face pale and drawn. “It’s good to see you, sir.”
“You, too,” Winter said. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
The Infernal Battalion Page 53
