Unexpectedly, Winter began to laugh, quietly at first and then so hard she doubled herself over. Raesinia watched her, concerned, as she finally subsided, wiping her eyes and gasping for breath.
“I didn’t think the idea was that ridiculous,” the queen muttered.
“It’s a fine idea,” Winter said. “But why?” She gestured down at herself. “What is it about me? Why does everyone seem to think I’m fit to be in charge of things?”
Raesinia cocked her head, puzzled. “Because you’ve been good at everything you’ve put your hand to, I imagine.”
“I—” Winter paused, then shook her head. “Never mind.”
“Will you do it?”
Winter let out a long breath, looking thoughtful. “I’ll have to think about it.”
Epilogue
Winter
ONE YEAR LATER
It was the first time Winter had worn her new dress uniform. It was elegant, dove gray with blue piping, the two silver stars of the new rank of commander on each shoulder. It was also well tailored, unlike the old hand-me-down uniforms she’d been making do with while the new organization’s look was finalized. This uniform actually fit, and the figure she saw looking back at her from the mirror was unsettlingly different.
“It looks good on you,” Cyte said, coming in from the living room.
She wore a blue army uniform, her shoulders bearing the new General Staff insignia, but the tailoring was the same and Winter had to admit she liked the way it looked on her, too. Winter slid a finger into her collar and tugged, awkwardly, then ran a hand through her hair. She’d started cutting it when it reached her shoulders, but she was still getting used to the feel of it against the back of her neck.
“Thanks,” Winter said. “Yours looks... um... good. Also.”
“You need to relax.” Cyte crossed the bedroom and put her arms around Winter’s waist, drawing her close for a kiss. Winter closed her eyes as their lips met, letting the world melt away. “We’re not exactly charging Borelgai lines tonight.”
“It’s worse than that,” Winter muttered, reluctant to pull back. “It’s a party.”
*
The Great Hall of Ohnlei Palace lived up to its name. Possibly the largest room Winter had ever been in, it was tiered like an upside-?down cake, with a dance floor in the center at the bottom and successive levels surrounding it, looking down. It had been designed to give maximum visibility to the royal family and whoever was lucky enough to receive an invitation to the bottom tier, and it certainly accomplished that task. To Winter, being there felt like being a lion on display in a menagerie.
Her arm through Cyte’s, she fixed the smile on her face as she came in, passing from the relative darkness of the corridor into a brilliant explosion of light. Candles were everywhere, glowing from mirrored sconces and shining in their hundreds from the glittering chandelier overhead. Every surface seemed to be either gilded or polished to a fine sheen, and reflections of the thousands of tiny lights danced and spun in every direction.
The candlelight also reflected from the attire of the guests, who were dressed in their finest. Soldiers from the Girls’ Own, now officially tasked with the security of the palace, stood at stiff attention in their dress uniforms, silver fittings gleaming bright. Winter felt her chest swell with pride at the sight of them, faces professionally blank, eyes alert.
As soon as they stepped out onto the floor, the hidden orchestra struck up a light, fast tune. Cyte spun in front of Winter, grinning devilishly, one hand extended.
“Now?” Winter said. “I don’t get to... you know, get my bearings first?”
“You can get your bearings later,” Cyte said. “When I need to catch my breath.”
Winter had confessed, at an early point in their relationship, that she didn’t know how to dance. It wasn’t a skill that she’d ever had occasion to learn, and frankly, she’d been at peace with that, but Cyte had immediately proclaimed it unacceptable. Tutors were procured and quite a few ankles kicked. Ultimately, Winter found the movements less alien than she’d worried they might be, and once she’d gotten over her fear of embarrassing herself in public, she’d actually rather come to enjoy it. Of course, I’ve never quite had the ability to embarrass myself in front of this many people.
Fortunately, Cyte didn’t give her a chance to overthink things. Her hands positioned Winter’s firmly at her waist and shoulder, and they were off, executing a step whose name Winter had forgotten but whose motions her feet thankfully recalled.
The dance floor was full of couples whirling, colorful dresses and dark suits, uniforms and polished gems. Winter recognized a few of the inner circle. Second Prince Matthew, the ambassador from Borel, grinned as he partnered one court lady after another, under the watchful eye of one of his Life Guards. Alek Giforte, in Armsmen green, danced with his daughter. Abby still wore a colonel’s eagle; she’d refused promotion and stayed in command of the Girls’ Own.
The Preacher danced with Viera, showing surprising grace. Given the thirty-?year age difference, the announcement of their engagement had surprised everyone, but when Viera’s father had objected she’d apparently threatened to blow the family home off the hillside with flash powder, and that had been the end of that.
After a few rounds, Winter managed to extricate herself, though a still-?grinning Cyte insisted she’d be back for more. Winter made her way to the edge of the floor, where a few tables and chairs had been set up in front of the royal dais, laden with fruits, confections, and wine. Give-Em-Hell was holding court, telling stories from the Khandarai campaign to a collection of young officers, with Val sitting nearby offering pointed asides. Winter spotted Alex, who wore the same dove gray uniform she did, sitting beside a tray of chocolate-?coated strawberries. She stood up as Winter approached, and they embraced warmly.
“I heard you were back,” Winter said. “Sorry I haven’t gotten the chance to stop by. You know how busy things are.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Believe me, I know. Where do you think all those reports you don’t have time to read come from?”
“How are things going at the Mountain?”
“Slowly.” Alex shook her head. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this liaison business.”
“You were the best choice—”
“I know. I know.” Alex sighed. “But you know how the Eldest loves to talk, and Feor’s just as bad. I swear those two are up every night debating... ethics, or the nature of demons, or something. Trying to get them to actually agree to do anything means going down a hundred blind alleys.”
“I’m glad they’re getting along, at least.”
Alex nodded. “Old metal-?face is as grim as ever, though. You’d think he’d take the chance to let down his hair a little.”
Winter grinned. It was hard to imagine the Steel Ghost ever relaxing. “When are you going back?”
“Another week.” Alex yawned. “The Eldest said you should visit, too, when you get the chance.”