There are enough spell components left in the workshop for Wellen to work a cleaning charm, or so Leah mentally classifies it; dust and dirt rushes out through the door, carried on a magic wind, and the bloodstains in the wooden floor seep back up and dry out, crumbling away. There is still some scrubbing and putting-away to be done, and Leah stays to help with it. As they work, she explains the past few weeks, starting from the very beginning.

Wellen is floored to realise that she was telling the truth under Eschen’s spell; immediately he begins muttering ideas, how the switch could have happened, how it could be fixed. “So I suppose that’s why you asked me all those strange questions?”

“Exactly,” Leah says, taking away broken dishes and stacking the intact ones back in their cupboards. “I wanted to be able to blend in, to try and uphold the old Leah’s life as much as possible. Of course, it all collapsed eventually.”

“I have to apologise for the part I played in that,” Wellen says, but Leah cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

“If there was anyone I should have trusted here with the whole truth, it was you. I was too stubborn, trying to figure it out on my own, or hoping it would fix itself spontaneously.”

“I can certainly agree with your being too stubborn.”

Leah laughs and picks up a pail to fill from the well. “I’ve been working on that,” she says.

Outside, the streets are getting busier; people walk around, checking in on neighbours, sweeping away dust and ash. Occasional city guards pass by, but not many; most of the military presence seems to be away to the north. Leah can hear activity from the far-off docks, and she thinks she sees another tall-masted ship coming into the river, the crow’s nest and white pennants all that are visible above the roofs.

The cleaning takes another ten or so minutes, during which Leah summarises the rest of her time here; seeking Seffon’s help for her memory, realising that the invaders were not legitimate, doing research into the wars and the nations. Wellen listens quietly, asking questions only to clarify certain expressions or vocabulary.

I’ve really been slipping in my attempt to blend in with this world, Leah thinks with humour. Seffon puts up with so much from me, in terms of references and dialect. Seffon…

“I ought to report in,” she says, when the workshop is looking liveable again, and no longer has a vague scent of stale blood permeating it. “I’ll check back in before I go home, I promise.”

“You don’t need to – ”

“I want to,” Leah says, with a clap on Wellen’s shoulder. “We’ve got several weeks’ worth of missed lunches to catch up on.”

Wellen seems surprised at first, but then settles into an easy sort of friendliness. “Well, I’m not sure what I’ll be able to make for us, but we’ll think of something.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Leah says, with a last hug.

Wellen returns it, then shoos her off. “You have important things to do, still! Don’t let me hold you up, I’ll be here when it’s all done with.”

Leah takes back her blood-stained armour and leaves the workshop. She says goodbye to Beeswax, who seems perfectly happy to remain tethered in Wellen’s garden with all its interesting plants. “You better not eat anything that will get you sick,” Leah says with a friendly pat to the horse’s shoulder.

She then turns north, heading to the docks. People give way for her, some with looks of respect or awe, others too tired to have any expression.

The marketplace is being cleaned, water from the river hauled up to slosh over its stones, running pink and muddy back into the river. Workers look up as she passes them, and a few smile at her or clap her on the back, recognising her.

“Etad na iebroe da?” A sailor calls out to her, from one of the triangle-sailed ships.

Bluenose, Leah realises, looking at the ship from up close. Same sort of shape as the Bluenose, and Algic apparently. Oh shit. Algic. Um.

The sailor calls out again as she draws nearer. “Ihai do Abrav et houue.” The ‘H’s are guttural, closer almost to ‘G’s.

“I…” Leah shrugs.

“Miss Talesh!” A booming voice calls out from down the dock.

Leah turns to see whether the speaker will save her from an awkward moment, or just start another one. A large man with a heavy sleeveless jacket in bright reds and oranges glides down the dock, the heels of his shoes clicking against the wood. The wind blows his wavy black hair away from his face, revealing very slightly pointed ears. He smiles widely, his chin hidden by a short pointed beard shot liberally with silver, and stretches his arms out, rings glittering on his hands.

“Oh?” Leah says, uncertainly. “Oh, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She forces a smile, and gives a little nod to him as he approaches. Who are you? Who the hell are you? Where’s a member of the five when I need one, I bet they’d know…

“Don’t be so stiff, Talesh!” he chastises, taking her by the shoulders and kissing her cheek. Leah tries hard not to flinch, reminded uncomfortably of some of her francophone relatives who simply could not understand boundaries. He turns to the Algic sailors with the same broad smile. “Avetad, iedomai. Hai do loertet esets ebar. Do av Leah na oiveshi etad na hevei!” He finishes with a laugh.

“Hai da oevar Leah!” the sailor calls back, friendly.

The man in the bright jacket turns to Leah with a raised eyebrow. “Oha?”

Leah shrugs. “I’d rather the people here not think I was trying to hide my conversations behind a foreign language,” she says, tilting her head back to the Valerin dockworkers. “The past month or so has been…rocky, in that regard.”

“Oh? That sounds like a story I must hear, eh?” He taps the underside of her chin as he says it, and he turns with a bow to the Algic ship. “Hai vatesh aier, tavalets!”

The man takes Leah’s arm and locks it in his, walking her down the stone steps towards a longboat from the newly arrived ship; its stern has the same square shape, with two short posts at the corners painted with spirals of colour and topped with unlit lanterns. He steps in first, and a sailor reaches up a hand to help Leah in.

“Hebetsed, hebetsed, egevith ihk oli’eta,” the man says dismissively, shooing away the sailor. “Join me, my fine story-teller.”

Leah walks over on unsteady legs, and sits at the back of the boat with him on a padded seat running around the three sides of the stern. The fabric is soft and dyed a bright green, and the walls of the boat are high, to protect it from spray. There is a canopy above of wood and white linen, blocking the heat of the rising sun.

“Such miserable humidity here, how do you stand it?” the man asks, snapping his fingers. A servant pours two glasses of pale pink juice, and hands one to each of them. Leah accepts hers with thanks, and the servant seems surprised to be addressed so directly. The drink turns out to be something vaguely reminiscent of lemonade, but with spice in it. Star anise, nice, and…oh, fresh ginger, Leah realises, feeling her sinuses start to burn a bit after the first sip.

“Where to, Talesh?” the man asks, gesturing out to the water. “Where does duty call our shield-maiden?”

“The main island,” Leah says. “The northern end.”

“Ahkiteth, edve’ig olo ekha. Abasedh, abasedh…” the man says, with the tone of an order. He turns back to Leah with a grin. “My dear Talesh, you have promised me a story, and we have barely five minutes for you to tell it.”

“Well…how much do you already know?” Leah says hesitantly, looking around the ship for clues as to the man’s identity.

He shrugs, arms spread wide. “I know that the Tribunal received a missive from the far south, informing us that there was reason to believe this war was a usurpation – and when we asked for the evidence, it was overwhelming. The nerve!” He gives an odd hand gesture, pointing towards the Devadiss and Cheden ships that remain. “Chemistry is not a discipline for the greedy; it is an art for the wise. To use it to such ends!” He sighs and turns back to Leah. “And you, dear Talesh; you have always been so humble, so true. How did you get embroiled in such a conflict?”

“Well,” Leah shrugs. He must be Bairish. Tribunal…the language…makes sense. And Seffon said Bair did a lot of medicinal stuff, so they would know chemistry too. They’re certainly not Nentish – they just don’t look like a Nordic culture. She looks up through the linen screen shielding them from the sun, planning how to tell the story without potentially giving away too much. “The five were hired here, in the wake of the wedding. Invaders sent against the Valerin border, a young future-Lady arriving, and a powerful alliance about to be forged; things were getting tense, and we were there to protect the border. I had a bit of a close-call during one of our missions, but it led me to asking some prying questions – questions that our employers thought were suspicious.”

“Ah, but that has always been your way of doing things,” the man says, reaching over to tap under her chin again. “Too curious, too watchful.”

“Only this time I was right,” Leah says with a shrug, taking another tiny sip from the glass. “The invaders were frauds, and when I asked too many questions Lord Valerid put me in jail.”

The man’s face falls into a cool, neutral expression. “Did he?”

“It was justified,” Leah says quickly. “He had reason to suspect I’d been compromised during one of our missions, and he wanted to put me somewhere I could do no harm. I escaped and went to seek answers from Lord Seffon, and there I started realising the darker truth of what was going on in this conflict. I heard that the Auzzos and Valerids were trying to execute the Auzzo’s daughter on false charges, and it all fell into place; that the war was orchestrated, and for some unpleasant purpose which would never be known if the girl died.”

“So you broke into their prisons again and saved her?” he prompts with a wide smile.

“Oh, where’s the drama in that?” Leah teases. “I stepped up to the executioner’s block and told the assembled crowd what I’d learned, and how they were being mislead. I cut the girl loose, challenged a warrior-mage to a duel, and just barely escaped before chaos broke out and the siege began.”

The man laughs and claps his hands together. “You are the most magnificently foolish person I know, dear Talesh.”

“Thank you sir, I think,” Leah says with a smile.

“Pfft.” The man raises his chin. “What’s this ‘sir’ nonsense? We know each other well enough for that to be unnecessary. Don’t call me sir, Talesh.”

“Well, don’t call me Talesh, then, sir,” Leah says, half-regretting it even as she says it.

The man appraises her carefully, over the top of his glass. “It is only a sign of respect, dear Leah.”

Hmm. That’s one too many times he’s said ‘dear’ to me. How far are we from the mainland?

“I’m glad that I still have your respect, after confessing to running from my employers to their enemy’s side.” The diversion works; his smile returns and he shrugs broadly.

“If you hadn’t, the Gulf would never have found out about the snivelling behaviour of the war-mongers. A bit of foolishness can be forgiven, if there is justice at its heart.” He reaches out to tap under her chin again.

Okay, and now that’s one too many times he’s touched my face. “I should say, before we go any further – ” Leah pulls her hair away from her face as a gust of wind sweeps up and billows the curtains around them. “ – that the close call I mentioned before, during one of our missions?”

“Yes?”

“It was a very close call. A bit of magical strangeness happened, and it, uh,” Leah gestures to her head. “I lost my memories.”

The man lowers his glass. “How much of your memory?”

“All of it. My whole life, up until about a month ago.”

He leans over and looks into her eyes, face serious. Leah tenses but does not yet pull away. Whoever he is, he seems to believe he is powerful. I’m not going to insult him if I don’t have to. Especially when he’s likely bringing aid to Valerin.

“My dear Leah,” he says, laying a hand against hers, cool from holding the glass.

“But that means, you realise,” Leah says, taking his hand and gently pulling it away. “That I don’t remember faces, either. Or names. Or…anything.”

The longboat slows to a stop, and ropes are thrown to a dock; workers scurry to tie them to bollards and draw the longboat close in, the waves making the boat bob roughly.

His face falls. “Of course. My apologies, I must seem quite forward to you.”

“I’m used to it, at this point,” Leah says with a shrug. “And I’m working on a way to get my memories back, with Lord Seffon’s help.”

“Thane Seff?” The man raises an eyebrow. “Well then it should only be a matter of time. Will he be here?”

Leah hesitates. “I believe so, yes. Do you know him?”

“By reputation only, and as a fine caster.” The man stands and offers Leah a hand up, which she accepts. He precedes her onto the dock, and steps aside to wait for her at the top of the ramp.

Leah recognises the docks dimly, though they look different in the peaceful daytime than they did when running for her life in the night with the Baroness. Her stomach churns at the memory. Evedeer…no, Edeveer. His was the manor we passed, not far from here. With all the Cheden soldiers inside. I wonder how Borbrick is doing? Has anyone taken him out of his cellar?

“I know the way from here,” Leah says, and the man waves his hand with a scoff.

“I won’t have you wandering around lost in a strange city, your memories forsaken you. Where to, my dear Leah?”

“Uh…” she gulps.

“Fake Leah!”

“Thank god,” she whispers, barely over a breath, turning to see Vivitha running down the forested slope, slowing to a walk on the dock.

She smiles broadly at Leah, but then her eyes flick to the boat behind her, and then to the man standing at her side. “Oh!” she slows, eyes wide. “Goodness. Goodness! Mr. Edvellu, it’s been so long,” Vivitha smiles as she says it, but her eyes are still confused.

“Indeed it has, Miss Chevin,” he says with a rumbling laugh. “Especially if you’re still calling me ‘Mister.’ Do the south lands not pay attention to the news outside their borders?”

“Oh Gods, I’d forgotten.” Vivitha gives a hurried half-bow. “But the meeting will be held on the estate’s island, not the main one – ”

“I know, Miss Chevin; I’m just delivering Miss Talesh to her destination.” Edvellu turns to Leah and takes her hand, bowing over it. “Will I see you there tonight?”

Leah looks at Vivitha out of the corner of her eye; Vivitha looks floored. “I suppose it’s possible?”

“Then I will pray it becomes certain,” he says with a smile, “And for your memories to have returned to you by then.”

Edvellu smiles back to Vivitha, then descends to the longboat, calling out orders in Bairish in a carrying but not loud voice. He accepts a fresh glass of the spiced lemonade and retires to the back area.

“Leah!” Vivitha says, her voice hoarse. “Gods, fake Leah, what did you tell him?”

Leah turns back to Vivitha and laughs quietly, baffled. “Who the fuck was that?”

Vivitha stares at her in silence, then joins her in laughter, stifling it so it doesn’t carry over the water. “Meredith’s going to have a fit,” she says, choking on the words.

“Why?”

“That was Lev Edvellu, fake Leah.” Vivitha starts leading her up the hill. “Master of the Tribunal in Bair, and one year ago our boss.”

“Oh, so not too bad,” Leah says with a shrug. “Although he seemed awfully…familiar, for an old boss.”

“Well, if rumour holds true, that’s because he asked you to marry him when your contract was up.”