The city has recovered a surprising amount by that evening; the streets are swept, the bodies removed to be burnt, the ransacked houses cleaned, the rope bridges reinforced, and the cellars stocked with food brought in by Algi and Bair. Even the sulphur spring has been un-blocked and the baths are returning to normal.

Solace passes by in the afternoon, in the guise of the servant girl. “They’ve put aside a room for me,” she says in a frail, shy voice, heavily accented. “I’m not sure how to accept.”

“Will you be going to the meeting in that face?” Leah asks, smirking.

Haybree tilts her head and considers. “It might be funny…” She shakes her head. “But it would shock Volst. No, I’ll be my usual self, now that I’ve been pardoned and all.”

“Yes, about that…” Leah steps in closer, despite the fact that they are in a closed room and no-one can overhear. “What the fuck was that spirit-gold-thing?”

Haybree chuckles. “I’m not allowed any secrets?”

“Lord Valerid said you were a cleric.”

“I’m not; I’m a bard.”

“Yes, and you’re also a servant, and a student at Seffonshold, and a number of other things I don’t doubt.” Leah’s eyes are focused on Haybree’s face, but the illusory eyes give away nothing. “So what was that thing?”

“A spell, my dear,” Haybree says, in Solace’s voice. “Surely that much must be obvious. A rather tricky bit of magic, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“But – ”

“The Baroness was dead.” Haybree raises a hand to Leah’s face. “Your misguided mixing of magics did an impressive job of trying to undo that, but it would never have worked. All that could be done was to help a grieving husband find some sense of peace.”

Leah sighs. “But the voice…”

The servant girl’s face scrunches up haughtily. “I think I can do voices quite well,” she says, in a formal Valerin accent, rich and sweet like the Baroness’s. “And the fog of grief can cover for a lot of slip-ups, frankly. Not to be belittling the tragedy.” She straightens and clears her throat; within a second she has shed the illusion, and once again she looks like her usual self, hair bouncing around her as she shakes her head. “Now, I’ve only got the one set of these robes, and while I can illusion them to look as pristine as I want, sometimes nothing beats a good bath and the work of a laundress. Will you join me?”

“No,” Leah says, a little quickly. “No, not after…I escaped with the Baroness through those tunnels. Not sure I want to go back just yet.”

Solace accepts this with a nod, then whisks the towel out of Leah’s cupboard. “Just so you know,” she says over her shoulder. “You do sort of smell.”

Leah sighs and takes the towel from her. “Fine.”

“What wonderful enthusiasm! Should we invite Adan as well?”

Leah ignores her and brushes past, heading down to the baths. The bathing room is not empty, she realises as she nears it; the sound of voices extends past the door, friendly and casual and echoing. Before Leah can chicken out, Solace has pushed open the humidity-warped wood door and started stripping down, putting her things in a cubby and looking around for an empty pool.

“Come along,” she says brightly, setting off to claim a small pool off to the side, while Leah is still trying to remove her last layers. Solace sinks into the water easily, reaching for the soap, and Leah joins her as quickly as she can, trying to minimise the time spent above-water. The bathing room is not segregated by gender, she realises. I guess I never had the opportunity to realise…it’s never been this busy, with so many foreign guests all at once.

Solace passes her a bar of soap. “Better than last time, no?”

Leah flinches a bit. “Huh?”

“The creek, remember? We had to bathe with saddle soap. Ugh, greasy.” Solace dips under the water and emerges, water trickling off her barely dampened hair. “This is much better. Warmer.”

Leah tunes out the sound of trickling water. “Yeah. Yeah, better. Less private, though.”

Solace hums. “Leah, you’re a dear, but you’re not the prettiest person here. If anyone’s going to break the social rules and stare, it won’t be at you.”

That snaps Leah out of her memories enough to elicit a chuckle. “Fine, you’re right, you’re right. A bit vain of you to say, though.”

“Pfft, I wasn’t talking about me. I was talking about her, on the far left.” Solace nods her head towards one of the other pools, where a bunch of lighter-haired people with loud voices are relaxing, talking, and bathing. “Looks like Nent sent some people after all.”

“Oh?”

“Haven’t you realised that by now? You’ve been here long enough. Hair that light is only found in Nent and Algi, and very rarely in Bair. Even your weird little watery eyes are Algic.”

“Hey!”

“What? They are.” Solace splashes her. “It’s like someone forgot to put the chocolate in their chocolate milk.”

“Are you calling me warm milk?”

Solace raises an eyebrow, then grabs Leah’s arm to do a colour comparison. “Would you like that to be your new nickname? I’d be happy to make it your new nickname.”

“Nah, I’m rather a fan of ‘fake Leah’ at this point.”

Solace’s face falls for a moment, and Leah raises an eyebrow. “It just seems a little mean, is all,” Solace finally says.

“I don’t think it’s meant to be.”

“But it implies you’re not as real as the other Leah. Do you think you’re real?”

Leah freezes mid-wash. It’s been a long time since I had a really existential moment here. It just seems so…real. I know it is. This feels like a place I could live a hundred lifetimes and never find a dead-end. But…but what about home? Does home feel that real too?

Don’t be a fucking sentimental idiot, Leah, of course it does. I have a full twenty-six years of memory of that place. Well, not of the first few years, obviously, but still.

“I know I’m real,” Leah finally says. “But I’m not the Leah who’s supposed to be here.”

“That’s too bad,” Solace says, working a lather over her scalp with a pensive expression. “I think you fit in beautifully.”

Leah finishes washing in silence, a growing knot of dread in the pit of her stomach.

*

Back in her room, she dresses in her old clothing – brown and green linens and wools, heavy yet supple, now unfamiliar after so long in the suedes of Seffonshold. The laces come naturally to her, though, and she finds herself admiring her silhouette in the tiny mirror on the dresser.

A knock at the door, and at her welcome Seffon enters. His face is grim, and Leah tenses even before he speaks.

“I have indeed been requested to join the meeting tonight,” he says, dropping a folded letter on the bed. “As representative of the Contested Lands.”

Leah raises an eyebrow. “Nobody calls them that. You’re part of Devad.”

“I know. But apparently, the other nations are willing to give us the benefit of the doubt, due to the…irregularity of the situation.”

Leah nods hesitantly, towelling dry her hair. “How is that…how does that not contradict their aversion to usurpation?”

“Because if ever there was going to be a time to secede, this would be it; right after they’ve been accused of usurpation, but before the counter-attack hits.” Seffon slumps onto the bed, head in his hands, staring at the far wall. “I never thought in my lifetime…”

“You mentioned that before. Is secession not the same as a usurpation?”

Seffon groans. “Leah…”

“I’m new to this, remember?”

“No, it’s not the same. It’s not easy, and it’s not without risk, but it’s not an affront to orderly life.”

Leah sits down next to him. “So you’re going to be there as the leader of a whole entire nation, not just of a little corner of someone else’s land?”

Seffon moans a little. “I’m not cut out for this…”

“Should we send Solace to fetch Sewheil? She seems like she has the necessary grace to befit the leader of a country.”

“Gods, if only…but no.” He breathes deeply, drawing his hands down his face. “I’ve got the language skill, and the status, and the benefit of being the ‘liberator’ of Valerin.”

“Is that what they’re calling you?” Leah snickers.

“Apparently?” Seffon sighs. “All I did was set off the final battle, and indirectly get the Baroness killed…”

“Hey now. The prisoner swap was my idea. Only one of us is allowed to be chewed-up by guilt about her death.”

He snickers hollowly. “Ah yes, and you…”

Leah tenses. “I get the awful feeling I know what you’re about to say.”

Seffon picks up the letter again and passes it to her. “I hope you have some nicer clothing than this, Miss Talesh; you have been invited as one of the representatives of the Contested Lands, to attend the celebratory supper of the liberation of Valerin.”

“Oh balls,” Leah mutters, and Seffon chokes on air.