Winter

Ennika held Winter’s arm as they descended the steps into the palace basement, Alex and Abraham following behind. It was cool down there, a steady breeze blowing up from the dark, underground corridors. There were springs under Ohnlei, and their chilly waters were channeled through the walls to wine cellars and meat storage. The ubiquitous braziers were absent, and Winter carried a candelabra in her hand.

At the bottom of the stairs, a young man in a gray robe waited in front of a curtained doorway. He bowed at Winter’s approach. She recognized him, distantly, as one of the students Feor had taken on when she’d been commissioned by the queen to study the Thousand Names. The lack of familiarity brought home just how long it had been since Winter had seen the Khandarai priestess. She probably feels like I abandoned her here.

“General Ihernglass,” the young man said. “My name is Justin de Horat. The mistress is expecting you.”

Winter nodded. “Is there somewhere Ennika could rest while we talk?”

“Of course.” Justin extended his arm to the blind girl. “You’ll find the mistress through the archive in the sanctuary. I’ll find Miss Ennika somewhere comfortable.”

He disappeared through the curtain, and Winter and the others followed. Beyond was a wide hallway with more curtained doorways off either side and a large arch at the back. Between the doorways, lining the walls, were the Thousand Names.

It had been more than a year since Winter had seen the ancient artifacts that had been the start of everything. They were eight-​foot-​tall slabs of steel, deeply incised with long strings of tiny, unfamiliar characters. Under the Mountain, she’d seen a similar archive, and the Eldest had told her their unwieldiness was intentional. Not only would the steel tablets be proof against the years, but their sheer size and weight made theft unlikely.

She knew now that they were the creation of the Mages, an ancient faction of the pre-​Elysian church that held that the summoning of demons was not intrinsically evil. The Mages had worked to discover the names of demons, and inscribed their knowledge on tablets like these. But their enemies, led by the great Saint Elleusis Ligamenti, had won the power struggle, and the Mages were declared heretical. Some had survived by stealth, like the Eldest and his followers at the Mountain. Others had fled over the seas, taking their archive with them, and after a thousand years had become the secret cult that Winter and Janus had faced in the temple under the Great Desol.

Or so the Eldest claimed, at any rate. Winter was on shaky ground as far as theological matters went, and she wasn’t sure how Feor would take being labeled as a devotee of a heretical Karisai sect. She can talk it over with the Eldest, once all this is finished. For the moment they had more practical concerns.

Abraham’s eyes were wide and his hands twitched, as though he couldn’t wait to examine the huge tablets. He leaned close to Winter and said, “It’s true, then. What you said about the archive in Khandar.”

“You thought I was making it up?”

“I just...” He shook his head. “The idea that it could be found, after so long, seemed incredible.”

They pushed through the curtains at the end of the hall and into a large space, softly lit by ranks of candles. Like the chambers of the Eldest, it was simply furnished, with a circle of cushions on the stone floor the only concession to comfort. They were all empty, save one where Feor sat, looking expectant.

She’d grown, Winter thought, in the time since they’d last met. Not just physically, though a better diet had gone a long way toward filling out the half-​starved girl Winter remembered. There was a confidence in her that hadn’t been there before, a squareness to her shoulders and a steadiness to her gaze. Her dark hair was long and carefully plaited, and the gray cast to her skin marked her as Khandarai.

“Winter.” She smiled tentatively and spoke in Khandarai. “Do you still remember my language?”

“Not... as well as I should,” Winter answered haltingly. Both Alex and Abraham looked on, uncomprehending, and Feor laughed.

“Fortunately,” she said, her Vordanai accented but smooth, “I have learned quite a bit of yours. Come, sit. I imagine we have a great deal to discuss.”

“Quite a lot, yes,” Winter said, relieved that Feor didn’t seem to be angry with her. “This is Alex and Abraham, who accompanied me from the Mountain. That’s a hidden enclave in the north—​the Mages—” She took a deep breath. “I suppose I should start at the beginning.”

Feor held up a hand. “Fortunately, we don’t need to go back that far.” She beckoned to another curtained doorway. “Come in, Jaffa.”

The curtain twitched aside, and the Steel Ghost entered, candles gleaming softly on the brushed metal of his mask. Abraham let out a quick breath, as though he’d been waiting for this. Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Jaffa?” Winter said.

“Jaffa-​dan-​Iln was my name,” the Ghost said. “Before I put on the mask.”

“He came to me several weeks ago,” Feor said. “Most unexpectedly, I might add.”

“I have apologized for any difficulty I caused,” the Ghost said. “But I dared not show myself to anyone else. Only Raesinia knew of my existence, and she had not yet returned.”

“Once we’d established that he wasn’t one of the Penitent Damned,” Feor said, “he explained a great deal to me. I am not sure I completely accept his version of ancient history”—​she looked sidelong at the Ghost and smiled again— “but our present circumstances seem clear.”

“What have you been doing in Vordan?” Winter said.

At Feor’s urgent beckoning, they took their seats, pulling the cushions into a tight circle. When he was settled, the Ghost said, “I came to warn Raesinia about the Beast, only to find that she was gone. It was urgent that the naathem in the city be alert for any of the Beast’s bodies that might try to slip in, so I went to Feor. She and her students have been helping me keep watch.”

“And you haven’t told Raesinia you’re here?”

“It seemed easier to deal with you,” the Ghost said. “I am very pleased to see your journey was successful.”

“It certainly wasn’t easy,” Alex said. “It must be nice being a sandstorm.”

“It has its advantages,” the Ghost said.

“The Beast pursued us,” Winter said. “All the way to the Bataria. After that, it gave up and shifted its attention south. Or so Ennika tells us.” At Feor’s puzzled expression, Winter explained, briefly, what Sothe had told her about the Penitent Damned and her connection to the Beast.

“Remarkable,” the Ghost said. “So it is possible for a mind to maintain its independence even after it is taken by the Beast.”

“Or so it wants us to think,” Abraham said. “I do not believe Ennika is lying to us, but the messages passed to her could be part of some manipulation.”

“I just can’t see the advantage for the Beast,” Winter said. “If it is trying to lead me into a trap, it’s taking a very long road to get there.”

“And if it wanted to ambush you, it would have needed to suggest a particular time and place,” Alex said. “Ennika hasn’t given us anything like that.”

“If we accept that this information is genuine,” the Ghost said, “then Winter is right. The coming battle is our opportunity—​maybe our only opportunity—​to get her to the Beast’s core, while it still believes she is in the north.”

“That leaves us with two problems,” Winter said. “First we have to find the core. Then we have to get me there, ideally with enough of a force that we can handle a few guards. The Beast may have to deploy its army to fight, but it will hardly be completely unprotected.”

“You can leave the first task to me,” the Ghost said. “I can travel fast and unseen. I should be able to locate our target.”

“You can’t take anyone with you, though?” When the Ghost shook his masked head, Winter sighed. “The core could be miles behind the lines. We could try to punch through with a cavalry force, but then it would know we were coming.”

Winter looked at Feor. The young priestess went pale, and swallowed.

“You want to use my naath,” Feor said quietly. “What your priests call the Caryatid.”

“Bobby saved me when the Beast ambushed us at Elysium,” Winter said. “She had wings, and she flew. It was...” Her throat went tight, and she forced herself to stay calm. “She was beautiful.”

“Before that happened,” Feor said, “she burned, didn’t she?”

Winter nodded, not trusting her voice for a moment. Feor cast her eyes down.

“I have learned... a great deal since we left Khandar,” she said. “There are more than just the naath in the archive. Mother never told me the true purpose of my power, only the barest outlines of what it could do.”

“She hoarded knowledge like precious stones,” the Ghost said. “A legacy of so many years in the shadows, perhaps.”

“The naath I bear was once used to create temple guardians, in times of direst emergency,” Feor went on. “A worthy woman would submit to the ritual, as you saw me do for Bobby. And then... before battle, she would step into the flames and emerge transformed. Endowed with great power, her mortal body purified.”

“And then?” Winter said quietly.

“Such power cannot last. The life that flares so bright soon burns out.” Feor’s eyes were fixed on the floor. “I swear I did not know when you brought Bobby to me. I...”

“It’s all right,” Winter said gently. “She would have died if not for you. You gave her another year.” She blinked away tears. “That has to be worth something.”

“I’ve never heard of a demon that bestows power on others instead of the host,” Abraham said. “But if they don’t live long, it makes sense. The demon wouldn’t want its own host to die.” He shifted as Alex elbowed him in the ribs. “Apologies. I...”

Feor waved it away, looking up. “I felt it, when Bobby’s power rose and died away. I wondered if it meant you had died with her.”

“She saved me,” Winter repeated. “And now that she’s... gone, you can use the ritual again, can’t you?”

“I... can.” Feor bit her lip. “But as I said, if done properly, it means death.”

“Can you make me into one of these guardians?” Winter’s heart skipped a beat as she voiced the question, but she had to ask.

“No. Naath are jealous things. They will not coexist in the same body.”

Winter let out a breath. “Okay. So we need someone who doesn’t have her own demon.”

“Is there not another way?” Feor said, looking around the circle. “I... do not wish to condemn another to death.”

Winter closed her eyes for a moment. Sometimes, she thought, it would be nice to be able to pray and mean it.

“In a few days,” she said, “thirty thousand men and women are going out to fight. Whatever happens, however clever Marcus’ strategy is and however brave we are, people are going to die, by the thousand. Every time I give the order to take a hill or charge a battery, I know that some of those soldiers are not coming back. I’m not going to pretend it’s an easy thing. But if we have a weapon that might save some of them and we have to sacrifice one life to use it, then I don’t see how we can let it lie.”

“You cannot order them,” Feor said. “Not for this. I will not do it.”

“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 with 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, and 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.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Winter was always a little uncertain around Abby. The girl had been Jane’s lover after Winter had run off to Khandar, and though Jane had returned to Winter’s bed when she’d come back, there had always been tension between them. Then Jane had betrayed them both, and neither Winter nor Abby had taken it well.

“Will you be assuming command?” Abby said. “I’ve been running the Second Division since Marcus took overall command, but I’m sure the soldiers would be happy to have you back.” She gestured at the papers. “God knows I’d be happy to have someone to push this off on to.”

“No,” Winter said. “That’s what I came to talk to you about.”

“I should have known I wouldn’t get off that easily.” Abby gestured at the chair across from her. “Sit, if you like.”

Winter cleared a stained tin plate out of the way and sat down. “There’s an... assignment,” she said carefully. “Something I need to do. It’s important.”

“Yours always are, sir,” Abby said.

“I won’t be back until after the battle,” Winter said. “Assuming I make it back at all, of course. And—”

Abby sat back in her chair. “You’ve been talking with Marcus.”

“I’ve been talking with Cyte,” Winter said. “She’s worried about you.”

“And you’re wondering whether you can trust me with the Second.”

Winter closed her eyes for a moment. “When I left the division, in Murnsk, I would have trusted you in a heartbeat. I need to know if anything has changed.”

“A lot of good men and women are dead,” Abby said. “And Parker Erdine, too, I suppose. Does that count as a change?”

“You know what I mean.”

Abby’s freckled face colored slightly. “What do you want me to say? That it hasn’t affected me? You know that’s not true. We fought our way back from Murnsk, and then after Alves...” She shook her head. “Sometimes it feels like not going mad takes everything I have.”

“I know,” Winter said. “Believe me, I understand.”

“When Parker died...” Abby swallowed. “Stupid, pretty boy. He didn’t have any illusions about what we had. It was... just comfort. I wanted to feel something that wasn’t fear or anger, that’s all. And I couldn’t even have that.”

Winter’s throat was thick. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have been there.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault but mine.” Abby looked down at her hands. “I just started thinking... what am I even doing here? I joined up with Jane because... because I loved her, or thought I did. And when I realized she’d turned into someone I couldn’t love anymore, I stayed because I felt like I had to keep her girls safe. That was all she ever wanted, really. She just lost sight of it sometimes.”

“You’ve done a good job,” Winter said.

“Have I?” Abby looked up. “How many of the old Leatherbacks are left? How many arms and legs are rotting away somewhere? Am I doing them a favor by leading them into the fight, or am I just lying to them to get them to make one more charge?” Her lips tightened. “I told Marcus we wanted to fight, you know. I was afraid he’d stick us off to the rear somewhere. The girls wanted me to do it, but if I hadn’t said anything, some of the ones we buried might still be alive.”

“And someone else would be dead,” Winter said gently. “That’s why they joined up. To take danger on themselves and away from others.” She remembered Cyte’s angry retort and found herself smiling. “Give them some credit, Abby.”

Abby took a deep breath and blew it out in a rush. She nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Cyte’s right. I’ve been...”

“It’s all right.” Winter paused. “If you want, I’ll find someone else to take command. There’s no shame in it. You’ve given more than anyone could ask for.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Abby said. “I’ve gotten the Girls’ Own this far. I’m not going to abandon them now.”

That felt more like the Abby who Winter remembered. She smiled.

“This really is the last time,” Winter said. “I can’t explain everything, so don’t ask me. But if we win this time, the war will finally be over.”

“There’s never a last time,” Abby said. “But at least we’ll get a chance to rest.”