Page 170 of The Infernal Battalion

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.

“You may have started me on this path,” Cyte said, real anger in her voice now. “But I didn’t have to keep going. Give us some fucking credit, Winter!”

“I’m sorry,” Winter said. “You’re right. I know—”

“You don’t,” Cyte said. “But I’m going to keep pounding it into your head until you do. You’re a commander, but that doesn’t make you a god. You can only do what you can.” She took a deep breath. “You’re going to stop the Beast, and you’re going to come back. Just like you came back this time.”

There was a pause. Cyte shifted and rolled onto her back, next to Winter.

“Okay,” Winter said.

“Good.”

Another, longer silence.

“When I was riding away from the cavalry at Alves,” Cyte said, quieter now, “I could almost feel them coming up behind me. I heard the shots going past. And...” She swallowed. “All I could think was that I couldn’t die, because I had to be here when you got back.”

“Oh, Cyte.” Winter rolled onto her elbow, leaned over Cyte, and kissed her. “I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

“Good.” Cyte grinned. “Now. Did you say you went to Elysium?”

Winter flopped back. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cyte said. “Get started.”

27

Marcus

There hadn’t been any bottles of flaghaelan in the palace cellars, but Marcus had found a quite respectable brandy from the Transpale tucked in a cabinet underneath a stairway. He’d liberated the whole bottle, despite the scandalized look he got from the steward. Once the world had a pleasant rubberiness to it at the edges, he’d made his way to the Prince’s Tower, where Raesinia had once had her chambers. It was dark and silent now, having been looted during the revolution and not yet refurnished, and he slunk through the too-​empty rooms to the roof. There, on the chilly flagstones, was where Raesinia had regularly “escaped” from her own palace by throwing herself to the gravel below.