“Never go to Khandar, then,” Winter said. The month?long 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.”