“I am confident you will come to an understanding.”
“Assuming any of us survive the next few days, you mean?”
“Yes. And that is why I have come.” Sothe shifted, one hand on her hip. “You are looking for a host for the Caryatid, Feor’s power, to help you find and destroy the Beast. I volunteer.”
Winter stared at her. Of the hundred questions she had, she blurted out the first that came to mind. “How can you know that?”
“Deduction, for the most part. I have heard you tell your story of what happened in Elysium, and I knew of Bobby’s unique condition. When you went to see Feor...” She shrugged. “Information is my stock-in-trade, after all.”
“Then you know what we’re asking,” Winter said.
“You need someone to undergo the same ritual Bobby did.”
“And there’s no coming back. Bobby...” Winter hesitated. “When Bobby was transformed, she saved my life. By the time I woke up, she was... gone.”
“I suspected as much,” Sothe said, her face impassive. “I understand the risks.”
“It’s not a risk,” Winter said. “It’s a certainty.”
“The certainties, then.”
There was a pause. Sothe shifted slightly.
“Why?” Winter said.
“Because I am the logical choice,” Sothe said. “I am highly skilled in combat, I do not have my own demon, and I hope that my loyalty is beyond question.”
“What about Raesinia? Have you told her?” Winter watched Sothe’s face and saw the tiniest flicker. “You haven’t, have you?”
“She wouldn’t understand,” Sothe said. “She believes she cannot do without me.”
“I’ve seen what you can do,” Winter said. “Are you sure she’s wrong?”
“Yes.”
The word was a hiss. Sothe retreated a step, her face shadowed.
“I’m sorry,” Sothe said, into the silence that followed. “But you don’t understand, either. Not really. You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“I’ve done things I regret,” Winter said.
“But at the time, you believed they were necessary. Even if you turned out to be mistaken.” Sothe shook her head. “I have no such defense.”
Winter regarded the assassin curiously. “I didn’t think you had pangs of conscience.”
“I spent years rooting them out. When I left the Concordat and joined Raesinia, I... worried. She looked up to me. I didn’t want her to become... like I was.”
“She’s not,” Winter said. It was strange, hearing Sothe talk like this. She could feel the emotion in the words, trapped behind her flat affect and iron composure. “You know she’s not.”
“I know. Instead I have become more like her. Better. But it leaves me... torn. For a time I thought I could make amends.”
“Like by finding me for Marcus?”
Sothe nodded. “But I was wrong. There are no amends, no cleaning of the slate. Only doing the most you can do, beginning now. And this is something I can do. If we win, Raesinia will not need me at her side any longer. And if we lose...” Another slight smile. “Then it won’t matter.”
“It doesn’t have to be you,” Winter said after another silence. “We could find—”
“Who? Some poor woman from the Girls’ Own, who’d do it out of devotion to her general?”
Winter winced. “I didn’t mean—”
“Someone who doesn’t believe in magic?” Sothe went on inexorably. “Someone who might panic at the very idea of the Beast, let alone transforming herself into—”
“All right,” Winter said. “I get it.”
“Good.” Sothe straightened. “I apologize again, for my... outburst.”
“I suppose I never thought about things from your perspective,” Winter said, scratching the back of her neck.
“I have never required sympathy,” Sothe said. “Nor do I need it now.” She paused. “But I do request one favor.”
“Favor?”
“Do not tell Marcus.”
“Why not?”
Sothe sighed. “Because he will convince himself my decision revolves around him and the debt between us. He will think he should have... protected me.” She pronounced the word with distaste. “He is a good man, and he will do well by Raesinia’s side. But some habits of mind are hard to break.”
“I understand,” Winter said.
“He is not angry with you, you know. Just working things out in his own mind. I meant what I said about giving him time.”
“I know.” Winter looked down at the papers. “To be perfectly honest, I’m still working it out myself.”
When she looked up again, the slim shape of the assassin was gone.
*
As Marcus’ assistant, Cyte had quarters in the palace proper, but the majority of the soldiers were camped a few minutes’ ride to the north, where some of Ohnlei’s lawns had been converted into a mustering ground during the revolution. Neat lines of weather-?worn blue tents alternated with clear avenues, and in between regiments larger spaces had been left for drills and assembly. Muskets were stacked beside each tent, and jackets, shirts, and trousers dried in the breeze as the soldiers took the rare opportunity to launder their uniforms. At the intersections, big campfires blazed, heating the copper pots used to make the ubiquitous army soup. It was late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun gleaming off buckles and bayonets. The soldiers sat in front of their tents, waiting for dinner, playing dice or cards or just telling tall tales in the oldest traditions of the army.
It was all so familiar that it brought an unexpected lump to Winter’s throat. This was home, if anything was. A strange, transient kind of place, constructed every day and torn down every morning, lugged across the landscape in wagons and backpacks.
The sentries were the first to recognize her, snapping stiff salutes at the sight of her uniform, then drawing themselves up even further as they saw her face. She left her borrowed horse with a corporal, a young woman who looked like she was about to burst with pride. As Winter walked down the aisles of tents, she could almost feel the rumors running ahead of her, spreading with the lightning speed of gossip. Women in blue uniforms soon lined her path, coming to attention as she came abreast of them, a wave of salutes that seemed to go on forever.
The lump in Winter’s throat got thicker. She felt like she should stop, say something, acknowledge the pride and relief she felt from every quarter. But what the hell can I say to them? She didn’t trust her voice, in any event, so she merely nodded, and from the looks on the faces of the rankers, that seemed to be enough. After she passed, she could hear the storm of quiet chatter that followed in her wake.
The command tent was just where she remembered it, as though the camp had remained still while the world moved underneath it. Two guards came to stiff attention, and Winter stepped between them and scratched at the flap. At the barked acknowledgment, she ducked inside.
Abby sat at the map table, scowling at a sprawl of papers. At the sight of Winter she came to her feet, her salute precise. Winter waved it away.