“Damn.” Winter put the empty mug down and took a deep, clean breath. “You weren’t kidding when you said it was smart.”
“It is also looking for you,” the Ghost said. “I could sense it, faintly. Most of its forces have departed, but it has not abandoned the hunt.”
“Nor will it,” the Eldest said. His voice was quiet. “You hold the Infernivore. The tool our order”—?he glanced sidelong at the Ghost—“has sought for a millennium, capable of destroying the Beast once and for all. It cannot afford to let you live.” He paused for a moment to sip his tea, his ancient eyes finding Winter’s. “What will you do?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” the Ghost said. “She must destroy it. Nothing else matters.”
Winter opened her mouth to speak, looking from the Ghost to the Eldest, and stopped. Her fists went tight, and there was a long silence.
“I think,” the Eldest said, “that it would be best if I spoke to Winter alone for a moment.”
He glanced at Antov, who obediently scurried out of the chamber. The Ghost sat silently for a few seconds longer, his expression invisible behind his steel mask, but in the end he nodded and rose. When he was gone, the Eldest let out a heavy sigh.
“They have been interesting, my conversations with our friend,” he said, indicating the direction the Ghost had gone. “I wish I had more time to question him about the history of his order, although he admits his knowledge is limited. They are surely the descendants of the Mages who fled to Khandar—?intellectually, if not physically—?but his conception of our mission is somewhat different from my own. At another time, it would make for an interesting debate.”
“You think he’s right?” Winter said. “That I should go after the Beast?”
“I would not presume to make such a decision for you. The primacy of an individual’s will is paramount in our philosophy. It is part of why we find the Priests of the Black and their Penitent Damned so abhorrent, this notion of sacrificing oneself completely being the highest virtue.” The Eldest leaned closer. “What do you want to do, Winter Ihernglass?”
“I... don’t know.” She shook her head. “If you’d asked me an hour ago, I would have said I was happy to stay here and plant potatoes.”
“Unfortunately, that cannot be.” The Eldest sighed. “The longer you stay at the Mountain, the more likely it is that the Beast finds its way here in search of you. I must think first of those who are in my charge.”
“I know.” Winter’s arm was aching again where Abraham had repaired the break. He’d assured her the pain was only in her mind, but it was no less real for that. She clutched the spot tightly with her other hand. “What I want is to go home.”
Home. What did that mean, anymore? Surely not Mrs. Wilmore’s, where her real memories began. Not Khandar, for all that she’d felt comfortable there. For a moment she’d thought she’d found her home with Jane, in Vordan, but that was gone, too.
Home meant her tent, her soldiers. The Second Division, the Girls’ Own. Abby, Graff, Folsom, all the rest. The routine of marching, cooking, laughter and tears, new recruits and battlefield burials. Is that my home?
It meant Cyte. Her bright eyes, her razor wit. The softness of her lips, the swell of her breasts, the delicate touch of her fingers. Oh, Cyte. Winter swallowed through a sudden knot in her throat.
The Eldest waited for a moment in silence.
“If the Beast is using Janus as a figurehead,” Winter said, voice husky, “it will move on Vordan next.”
“Not the rest of Murnsk?” the Eldest said, cocking his head.
“In Vordan it can kill two birds with one stone,” Winter said. “It can gather all the bodies it wants, and it can find the Thousand Names. Janus brought the archive to the city.” She took a deep breath. “If it kills me, that’s the last thing it needs, isn’t it? To destroy the name of Infernivore, so there’s no chance it can be resummoned.”
“And if it has indeed taken Vhalnich, the Beast will know where the archive has been hidden.” The Eldest nodded. “It does seem logical.”
Raesinia will fight. She might not know it was the Beast she was up against, but she’d never simply yield the throne to Janus. That means the Second Division will be stuck in the war, on one side or the other. Her guess was that they’d stand by the queen, especially if Marcus d’Ivoire was in command.
In a way, it made things simpler. Whatever home was, whatever it meant, all of it was standing directly in the path of the Beast. If there’s a chance I can help them, I have to take it.
Winter looked at the Eldest. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”
The old man smiled. “I fancy myself a good judge of character. Under the circumstances, I could probably hazard a guess.”
“So much for the primacy of the individual will.”
“Will is just another word for who we are,” the Eldest said. “Sometimes a choice may be so finely balanced that we waver between the alternatives. Other times, our basic nature drives us in one direction whether we like it or not.” The Eldest spread his hands. “Philosophers have debated for centuries on the question of whether this means we are not truly free. Personally, I don’t think there’s a lot of point to the argument.”
“So what’s my basic nature?”
“A question I wouldn’t attempt to answer, Winter Ihernglass.” The Eldest’s smile widened. “But I can say this much: you are not someone who would abandon her friends, no matter the cost.”
“No,” Winter said, looking into her empty mug. “I suppose I’m not.”
*
The Ghost, waiting outside the high chamber, bowed deeply when Winter emerged.
“My apologies,” he said. “I was inconsiderate of your feelings.”
“I understand,” Winter said. “And you’re right. There’s really only one choice.”
“So I believe.”
Winter looked at the impassive mask and frowned. “What, exactly, do I need to do? I tried to use Infernivore on the Beast at least twice. The second time, it just abandoned the body before I could get a hold on it. The first time, though...” She thought back to that moment, when she and Jane had gripped each other, two demons thrashing in invisible coruscations of power. “It felt as though the Beast was devouring Infernivore as fast as Infernivore was absorbing the Beast. Like two snakes eating each other’s tails. I don’t know if Infernivore is strong enough.”
The Ghost nodded. “The Beast has a... core, one might say. The body into which it was first summoned. That is the center of its power. If that body is killed, another will take on the role, but the process would be inconvenient, so the Beast will keep the core safe as long as it can.”
“That’s Jane,” Winter said. The woman she’d loved, and who had betrayed her. “The Priests of the Black made her read the name of the Beast.”
“You must use Infernivore on her,” the Ghost said. “And at the same time, you must invite the Beast into your own body.”