***
Sigrud lies in the dark in the hatch of the yacht, unable to sleep. The waves toy with the boat mercilessly, but it took almost no time at all for his head to readjust, learning to move with the waves and the vast ripples of the ocean. He narrowly avoided a storm this morning, which was lucky as he doubted not only his arm but the quality of the ship’s jibsail. He’s not sure how his daughter managed to pilot this thing out to the Teeth of the World so well.
He does some calculations in his head about the time. Then he rolls over to the tiny porthole beside him, licks his finger, and begins to write upon the glass.
Frost creeps across the window, then recedes, leaving behind the moving image of a woman seated at a desk, staring at a sheet of paper in her hands.
She looks old, worn, and yet blearily noble, the look of a woman prepared to speak but no longer quite capable of believing what she’s about to say.
Shara Komayd glances at him, then does a double take. “Sigrud? Sigrud! What are you…My word, you look terrible.”
“Hello, Shara,” he says hoarsely.
To his surprise she appears to pick up the edges of the image and carry it away with her. He must have wound up appearing in a hand mirror of hers by mistake, rather than a windowpane. “You can’t do this, Sigrud. You can’t contact me, not now. They’re looking for you, all of them! And I can’t intervene, not this time!”
“I know,” he says. “I…I just wanted to talk to you.”
She carries him into her bedroom and sets him down on the bedside table. It’s evening there. The four-poster bed sits behind her, its curtains drawn. “I’m…I’m so sorry about what happened, Sigrud. Your daughter…Her presence in the city was wholly incidental to why I sent Mulaghesh in the first place. Are you healthy? Are you safe? Don’t tell me where you’re going.”
“I won’t. I am…I am all right. I can’t tell you where I’m going, because I don’t know. But I will take your counsel. Shara…what should I do?”
“I’m afraid you must hide, Sigrud. I’m sorry, but…I don’t have the clout anymore to change the minds of the military. To attempt something like that after what I’ve done so far—it would cause considerable problems.”
“So I must hide,” says Sigrud.
“Yes. You must run, and hide. Be someone new. Use an identity you’ve never used before or never even had before. One that you can use for a long time.”
“A long time?”
She nods. “I’m afraid it must be so. You killed five soldiers, Sigrud. You killed them brutally during one of the worst assaults in Saypuri history. Those in power—or those who are about to be in power—will not be forgiving of that.”
“So I am alone,” says Sigrud softly. “Again.”
“I’m sorry. The United Dreyling States are in no position to shield you. They depend wholly upon Saypur just to stay solvent, and there is an inquiry into what happened at the harbor. I am already in conversation with your wife about…about how to distance herself from this incident.”
“From me,” says Sigrud. “To distance herself from me.”
“Yes, from you.”
He sighs. “When I first came to Voortyashtan, I wanted nothing more than to make the world leave me alone, to leave the trappings of power behind. But now to actually do it…” He shuts his eyes and shakes his head, fighting tears. “I wish to see my family so much.”
“I know,” says Shara. “When it is possible, I will do what I can. I’m so sorry, Sigrud. I’m so sorry.”
He sniffs and wipes his nose. “Did…Did you know about the swords? About Voortya? About the City of Blades?”
“No, I didn’t. I assumed there was malfeasance and corruption taking place at Fort Thinadeshi—but I had no idea it would spiral into something like this.”
“In that case, I must ask…Why did you send Mulaghesh?”
“Why? What do you mean, why?”
“I mean…I know you, Shara. I know you never play the short game. There is always a bigger objective when you do anything. So why Mulaghesh? Why pull a general out of retirement and send her to Voortyashtan if you thought it was just common corruption?”
Shara sighs deeply. “Well. If you really must know…You are aware, of course, that my term in this office is not long for this world?”
“It would be hard not to know this.”
“Well.” She clears her throat and adjusts her glasses. “The incoming party is riding quite high off of a wave of anti-Continental sentiment. They do not like my policies and programs. They wish to see them end. So if they win, then the harbor will likely be much reduced. Financial support will be cut. All aid to the Continent—that will be cut. Any programs encouraging the participation of Continentals in their own politics—those will be cut. Basically anything Saypur sends to the Continent, except for guns and the soldiers to point them, will be cut.”
“So…what does this have to do with Mulaghesh?”
Before Shara can answer there’s a noise from behind her, from the curtains of the bed: “Momma?”
Shara freezes and turns around just as a small, round face pokes through the curtains of the bed. It’s the face of a young Continental girl, perhaps no older than five, and she blinks sleepily at Shara and rubs her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Shhh, my dear,” says Shara. “It’s nothing. Just talking to myself. Go back to sleep.”
“You’re talking to that mirror.” The girl looks at Sigrud and frowns. “You’re talking to that man in the mirror.” She pouts and holds out her arms to Shara.
Shara sighs, holds out her arms, and the girl jumps into Shara’s embrace—perhaps a little too hard for Shara’s comfort, judging by her face. Then the girl lays her head on Shara’s shoulder and turns just enough to stare at Sigrud quizzically.
“Did she say…Did she call you momma?” asks Sigrud, astounded.
“Yes,” says Shara quietly. She strokes the girl’s hair and chin. “Sigrud, this is my daughter—Tatyana.” She leans in close to speak into the girl’s ear. “Tatyana, this is an old friend of mine.”
“How is he in a mirror?” the girl asks.
“It’s a special mirror,” says Shara.
“Oh.” She appears to accept this explanation wholeheartedly.
“You…You adopted a Continental?” says Sigrud.
“Yes,” says Shara. “When revisiting Bulikov. There was an orphanage. It was”—she glances at the girl—“not in the best of conditions. She asked to come with me. I took her. I’ve kept it quiet, you see. Maybe because I didn’t need to be linked with the Continent any more than I already am—and maybe because I am unwilling to allow the public to know anything of my private life. When I am voted out of office, I will retire with Tatyana to the countryside, and attempt to live a quiet life. The worst thing I can do for my policies is come near them. My very presence is toxic to my own goals, you see. But I must leave someone behind to fight for them, and for the Continent.”