“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.”