“But...” Marcus blinked.
“Look.” Winter shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what to do with this any more than you do. I wasn’t sure whether I could tell you I was a woman, for God’s sake. I don’t know what this means, or how it affects us, but I just thought...” She paused for breath. “I thought you’d rather know than keep wondering.”
Abruptly, Marcus got to his feet. Winter stood, cautiously, eyes still on his pale face.
“Marcus?” she said. “Please say something.”
The last thing she was expecting was for him to lurch forward. At first she thought he was attacking her, mad as that sounded. By the time she realized he wanted an embrace, she was already twisting away, slipping under his outstretched arms, and backing rapidly against the wall. Her heart was pounding. Marcus looked at her, his arms falling to his sides.
“Sorry,” Winter said. “I’m sorry. You... surprised me.”
A log in the fireplace collapsed with a crackle. Marcus blinked, turned away, and left the room without a word.
*
A messenger found her not long afterward, and told her that General d’Ivoire was otherwise occupied for the evening, but would be available to see her tomorrow. In the meantime, the young ranker said, he would be happy to escort her to where the Second Division was being quartered.
“They’re here?” Winter said, her heart still slowing down. “In the palace?”
“The officers have quarters here,” the ranker said. “The rest are under canvas in the gardens.”
“Is Cyte—?is Captain Cytomandiclea here?”
“Of course. I can take you to her.”
Once again Winter found herself walking through the complex maze that was the palace, though this time they stuck to the lavish main passages instead of taking the servants’ corridors. Still as statues, the Grenadier Guards in the hall let them pass. Winter found herself subconsciously waiting for salutes.
She felt strange. Light, somehow, in the way she could be in dreams, as though each step might end with her floating away. Or like she’d walked off a cliff and was still in midfall, momentarily weightless until the ground arrived.
I told Marcus. My brother. It was strange to think that while the second half of her revelation had undoubtedly been what had shaken Marcus, it was the first half that had been the most difficult for Winter to nerve herself up to. I learned who Ellie d’Ivoire was only a few days ago. I’ve been hiding who I am for more than four years. Her mood shifted from a slightly hysterical calm to a certainty of imminent doom and back again every few steps.
Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I should find somewhere to sleep until I calm down. She wouldn’t, though. Not now. She’d already taken the plunge by talking to Marcus. Besides, it won’t be long before rumors that I’m back start to spread. The thought of Cyte finding out like that, before Winter had come to see her, made her quicken her steps.
The messenger left her in front of an imposing carved door, and bowed respectfully when Winter told him to go. His retreating footsteps matched the hammering of her heart as she raised her hand and knocked, almost inaudibly.
“Come in.” Cyte’s voice, harried and distracted. “If it’s a note, leave it on the table.”
Winter opened the door. Inside was a small suite, suitable for housing a minor noble and his servants. The main room had a large dining table, a sofa, and a couple of armchairs, all of which had been converted to serve as storage for stacks of paper and rolled leather maps. A big one, held flat by a pistol at one end and a sword belt at the other, showed the land north of Vordan City and was covered in grease-?pencil markings. Cyte stood in front of it, looking down, comparing the map with pages from a loose pile and scribbling notes on foolscap.
She was just as Winter remembered her, slim as a dagger in her blue uniform, dark hair falling to her shoulders over too-?pale skin. Her face bore the same signs of overwork and lack of sleep that it had in Murnsk, when Winter had left, though at least the weathering of the north had faded somewhat.
“Yes?” she said, without looking up. “Is there a message?”
Winter found that she couldn’t speak, could only stare greedily. The soft, pale curve of Cyte’s bent neck attracted her eyes like a magnet. A lock of dark hair slipped forward, and Cyte’s hand came up automatically to tuck it behind her ear, a gesture so familiar that it made Winter’s heart ache.
“If there’s no message,” Cyte said, turning, “then what’s... going... on...?”
She stopped, eyes wide, mouth open. Winter felt her cheeks flush under Cyte’s gaze.
“Winter?” Cyte’s voice was almost inaudible.
Winter nodded slowly. The air felt fragile, as though too forceful a movement might shatter the world.
Cyte crossed the room one step at a time, still staring. She stopped a few feet away, her throat working as she swallowed.
“I knew it,” she whispered. “Even before we heard from Janus, I knew you were alive.”
“I...”
Winter stopped. What am I supposed to say? That she’d felt no such certainty? That standing here, finally seeing for herself that Cyte had survived, released knots of tension she’d held for so long she’d almost forgotten it could be any other way? That I’m not sure whether I want to laugh, or cry, or just kiss her until I run out of breath—
Cyte solved that problem, stumbling forward the last few steps, wrapping her arms around Winter’s neck like she was clinging to a life rope. Winter had the presence of mind to kick the door closed behind her, and leaned against it for support. Her arms went around Cyte’s shoulders automatically, hands clasping at the small of her back.
They stayed that way for a long interval, the soundless shaking of Cyte’s slim body the only evidence of her tears. Her face was buried in the crook of Winter’s neck, and Winter gripped her tightly, as though sheer pressure could erase the time they’d spent apart.
“I’m sorry,” Winter whispered into the mass of Cyte’s hair. “I’m sorry I took so long.”
Cyte’s shoulders only shook harder. Winter held her close until the shudders subsided. Eventually Cyte took a long, slow breath and raised her head. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but her lips stretched in an awkward smile.
“God. I’m sorry.” Cyte gave a laugh that sounded more like a hiccup. “You step through the door and I just—”
“It’s all right.” Winter squeezed Cyte a little tighter, blinking away tears of her own.
“You’re okay?” Cyte said.
“I... think so.” Winter sucked in a deep breath. “It’s a long story. Are you...?”
“I’m fine,” Cyte said, when Winter trailed off. “It was touch and go a few times after Alves, but I’m still here.”
Silence fell, tight and awkward. Where they were pressed together, Winter could feel Cyte’s heart beating fast as a songbird’s.