The Infernal Battalion (The Shadow Campaigns #5)

“You probably want to know what’s happened to the Second,” Cyte said, her eyes never leaving Winter’s. “I have the... the strength reports, and...”

“What I want,” Winter said carefully, “is to kiss you.” And never, ever stop.

“Oh,” Cyte said quietly. “I would, um, like that? More than... you know. Anything at all, really.”

From the moment their lips met, it was as if Winter had been hit by a bolt of lightning, heat running through her body like a tide. Cyte’s breath tickled her cheek as they staggered together across the room, unwilling to part even for an instant.

When they reached the sofa, Cyte swept several piles of reports onto the floor with a soft susurrus of sliding paper, punctuated by urgent gasps that Winter no longer knew who was making. Cyte sat down, breathing hard as Winter’s lips slid down her cheek and along the delicate curve of her neck. One of Cyte’s hands worked its way under her shirt, slipping up the curve of her back, sending waves of fire along her spine.

How could I have considered not telling her I was here? The fear that had driven her seemed incomprehensible now. I might not come back from stopping the Beast. I might fail, and all of humanity might die with me.

But for the moment, at least, I’m still alive.

*

They’d made it to the bedroom, eventually, after knocking over a few more of Cyte’s carefully balanced piles of paperwork. After the initial rush had worn off, they’d had time for things like buttons. From the couch to the bed, the pieces of Cyte’s uniform made a kind of trail interspersed with Winter’s rough, dirty clothes. The bed was another big four-?poster, with a down mattress that felt far too soft to be real. Cyte lay in the center of it, where they’d come to rest, her arms spread wide and Winter’s head pillowed against her cheek.

Her breathing had soon taken on the soft rhythm of sleep, but Winter felt too keyed up for that. After a while she rolled out of bed as carefully as she could and padded naked across the thick carpet to the toilet. When she was finished, she ran hot water from the tap—?hot, running water, that unimaginable luxury—?and splashed it over her face and some of the more obvious grime. She went back into the bedroom, air cool against her damp skin.

Climbing back into bed, she paused for a moment, looking down at Cyte. With her eyes closed, some of the tension was gone from her face, making her look younger and more innocent. Her beauty brought a lump to Winter’s throat. She let her gaze run across her, deliberately—?milk-?pale skin; small, perfect breasts; stomach hard and muscled from life in the field; the thatch of dark hair between her legs. Watching Cyte like this, acknowledging her desire for her, felt wrong, vaguely obscene. It added a thrill of the forbidden that pebbled Winter’s skin into goose bumps.

She slid back into the bed, alongside her lover, feeling Cyte move sleepily as she draped an arm across her. Winter pressed her head against Cyte’s and let her eyes close.

Is it really okay to feel like this? On its face she knew it was a silly question. But she couldn’t help feeling like she needed permission, or else the universe was going to come down on her hard.

Well. If it does, then the hell with the universe.

*

When they awoke, it was well after sunset. Cyte got out of bed, stumbling and giggling in the dark, until she managed to find a candelabra in its nook and get it lit. From there, she bustled around the bedroom, lighting more lamps.

“Okay,” Winter said, eyes on Cyte’s naked backside as she bent over to retrieve her uniform shirt from the floor. “Now you can tell me about the Second.”

Cyte laughed, and obligingly gave an abridged recitation of the events of the Pale campaign. Winter winced at her description of the fighting at Satinvol and Alves, the long march that followed, and the death of Colonel Erdine.

“Damn,” she said. “He was a good officer, for all that he liked to puff himself up.”

“I know.” Cyte slid her trousers on. She still had her shirt hanging open, and Winter found the resulting half-?dress incredibly appealing. “I’m worried about Abby.”

“She’s not taking it well?”

Cyte shook her head. “I don’t know if they were... I mean, I don’t think Abby had any illusions about their relationship. But it was something for her to hold on to, and now she doesn’t even have that.” She sighed. “You should see her as soon as you can.”

“I will.” Winter shook her head. “Though I don’t know what I’m going to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Cyte said. “The Girls’ Own is going to go mad just hearing you’re back.”

Winter hesitated. “I’m... not sure we should tell them.”

“What?” Cyte turned. “Why?”

“There’s something I have to do,” Winter said. “It’s—

“The Beast?” Cyte said.

Winter blinked. “How do you know about that?”

“Marcus and I have been putting some pieces together,” Cyte said. “Not everything, but enough.”

“Then you know this is about more than whether Janus or Raesinia sits on the throne,” Winter said. “I may be the only one who can stop it.”

Cyte nodded. “And?”

“And... I might not be coming back.”

“You’re a soldier,” Cyte said. “So am I. So are they. We understand what that means.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Winter said. “Even if we win, even if I destroy the Beast, I don’t know...” She fought a sudden hitch in her throat. “I don’t want to hurt my friends more than I have already. I’m not sure I should have come here, but I... I couldn’t...”

Cyte crossed the room in a few determined strides and crawled onto the bed, shirt still hanging open. Winter sat up, but Cyte put a hand on her chest and pushed her flat, propping herself on hands and knees.

“Winter,” she said. “You are being an idiot.”

“But—”

“Stop.”

“You don’t understand,” Winter said, tears welling again. “My friends—?the people I’m close to—?they get hurt. They die. Sergeant Red, the women who followed me to look for Janus. The ones who came with me to Elysium. Leti and the Haeta.” She knew those names would mean nothing to Cyte, but she couldn’t stop them from pouring out. “Bobby. Bobby’s dead, Cyte. She saved me, and then she died. I don’t—?I can’t—”

“Please, Winter,” Cyte said. Her voice had gone from hard to gentle. “Stop.”

The words ran out. Winter lay still, breathing raggedly, staring up into Cyte’s face.

“Do you know why the people around you get hurt?” Cyte said. “It’s because they’re the same kind of person you are. People who put themselves in danger because they want to help others, or because they have a duty.”

“But—”

“You think no one got hurt after you left? No one sacrificed themselves when we were fighting Janus at Alves?” Cyte’s lip twisted, and she held up one hand, fingers an inch apart. “I came this close to getting my head shot off. You don’t get to take responsibility for that.”

“You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me,” Winter said.

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