The only thing she has that doesn’t feel homespun and utilitarian is a light green and brown dress, the same as she wore for Jeno’s engagement announcement, and a little ring in twisted patterns of narrow silver wire. Leah fusses endlessly with her hair before finally brushing it straight down and crimping it with her hands, letting it dry into little waves. She folds the ribbon of the pin how the Baroness had shown her, and pins it over her chest.

She can tell by the noise in the halls that it is getting close to time for the meeting. Seffon had given her a vague explanation of what it would entail – discussions of port fees for ships of war, overland passage routes for armies, release conditions for prisoners of war, promises of aid, and affirmations of alliances for the first part; followed by drinking, dancing, boasting, and storytelling for the second part. Leah isn’t certain what she can contribute to either, her memory being what it is, but the letter from the Baron was very clear that she was to be part of the Contested Lands party.

We need a better name, she thinks grumpily, fixing the laces. ‘Enterlan’ is lovely. ‘Contested’ sounds so…passive.

She fusses some more with her outfit before it is time to join the rest of her party. Something about Solace’s comments has made her nostalgic for home. I spent enough time around the scene kids; I know some interesting lacings. If I’ve got to show up there, I want to at least bring a smidge of home in with me. Do I still remember zipper laces?

Leah does up the lacings in a chevron twist, something between weaving and actual lacework. It uses up enough of the string that there’s just barely enough to tie the knot at the end, but it gives her some reassurance to have something of her own. Not my clothes, not my jewellery, not my homeland, not even my language technically. But I’ve got my know-how.

She leaves and loiters in the hall. Seffon joins her eventually, dressed in black and dark red with bronze thread and green silk at the seams.

“Oh, so you packed that in your belongings, but you didn’t tell me to pack anything nice in mine?” she says, pouting exaggeratedly.

Seffon straightens the collar, and brushes the hem flat. “Oh, did you have anything nice you would have packed if I’d told you to?”

“Wow, rude,” Leah scoffs. “Asking the cook why she doesn’t own nice clothes.”

“The unemployed cook,” Seffon corrects her, and Leah slaps his arm.

Adan emerges to lead the way, still in her armour but unarmed; it glints, cleaned and polished, and the bronze lines seem to burn with light. Solace joins them in her freshly pressed robes, the whites crisp and the blues shimmering and rich. She has a bit of gold powder daubed on her eyelids that sparkles when she blinks. Together they leave for the dining hall.

“Illusion?” Leah whispers to her as they walk, tapping her own eyelids to clarify the question.

“Pigment,” Solace says dismissively. “I do own some physical things.”

“How come everyone was bringing all their nice things into a warzone except for me?”

Solace clicks her tongue. “Well, I was invited along as a Bairish translator, as you’ll recall. If I knew we were going to be fighting a war I’d have brought some weapons.” When Leah rolls her eyes Solace huffs a little. “Do you think you’re worse off, going to a formal event in plain clothes, than I was going into a battle unarmed against someone like Eschen?”

“Point taken,” Leah says, withdrawing a bit at yet another reminder of the failed plan.

Solace seems to sense her thoughts. “A word of advice; the tone for this will indeed be solemn, and the Baron will be in Volsti grieving colours. You, however, are not Volsti – nor of the Enterlan. You are Algic.”

“Debatable.”

“Bear with me.” Solace links her arm in Leah’s. “In Algi, the tradition is not to grieve a passing, but to work through it. The gods are invoked, the grieving songs are sung, the call to return home, all that – but then life goes on. It will look appropriate for you to be dressed in hardy clothing, in one of the Algic colours; you are in mourning, and you are carrying on.”

“How British.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Leah snickers, and does not have the time to answer before they enter through the double-doors to the dining hall.

The hall is bustling. Representatives from Algi, Bair, Nent, and even some newly arrived from Volst all stand in clumps, discussing in their various languages. Leah looks around for the Bairish man – oh Gods, I’ve forgotten his name, that’s not good – but cannot find him.

Meredith stands in her captain’s armour, just as polished as Adan’s is, though in shades of blue and white. She has taken up a position along the wall, looking over the proceedings with a careful eye, professional and impressive. Leah feels a strange stirring of pride.

Almost immediately someone speaking rapid Devadiss approaches Seffon and begins a conversation; Seffon responds easily, walking with the man over to his group. They all seem to be wearing white and orange colours, somewhere in their outfits.

“Oh great,” Solace says, turning her head to the side.

“Oh?” Leah asks with a grin.

“They’re from the Delta Islands.”

Leah sighs. “What did you do?”

Solace shuffles. “I might have gotten arrested there for burglary, four or five years ago.”

“Wearing this face?”

The bard blinks a few times. “Ah. I’m dumb.” She turns with a broad smile and joins the group, slipping into the Devadiss conversation with no hesitation as all.

Leah watches her go then curses her mistake. “Great. Now I’m alone.” She trades a look with Adan, who shrugs. “Food?” she says, pointing to the table set up along one side of the hall.

“Sữ,” Adan shrugs, following along beside her.

They accept a few morsels of food – nibbles, mum would have called them. Appetisers. Ugh, tapas. “Do you not speak Devadiss?” Leah asks Adan.

“Devadess? Of course I spy e.” Adan looks over her shoulder. “B I have no enteres en byeng pã of d poletes hỹ.”

Leah tilts her head over to an emptier corner of the room, and they hide there for a few minutes, eating their food and observing. “Just a couple of wall-flowers, eh?” Leah says with a smirk; Adan looks at her blankly. “I’m happy I don’t have to be part of these discussions. I’d be too intimidated.”

“Ah,” Adan nods, though Leah can’t tell if her point was successfully understood. “Honesly I fou radẽ aun by d falls. I likenau da dẽ ã en so many ses d ʁarbõ. Anyfon cou sny en aun bõ fon.”

“Cool cool,” Leah says, nodding. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I may zus by teu nervous, bi naceữ,” Adan says with a shrug. “I au teu retĩ, learn teu unfin. Ge a hobby.”

“Retire?” Leah asks, and Adan nods. “I was just talking about that, with Meredith.”

“Fi fou Meredet retĩ? Sy’s a d hie of hẽ carỹ.”

Leah takes a bite out of the fried-dough thing she was given, and winces at how unseasoned it is. Don’t be judgmental, they just got out of a war. “Frankly I ought to retire from fighting and get a job. Well.” Leah swallows and grimaces. “No, that’s not entirely right. Not inaccurate either, but…”

“Miss Talesh!”

She turns to the voice, and sees a familiar face – moderately familiar, at least. More familiar is the bright orange and red sleeveless jacket. Oh dear, I forgot to ask his name. Ed? I feel like it wasn’t Ed, but it’s all I can think of. Lev! That’s it. Lev something. Lev Ed…Ed Lev…

“I was certain you would be resting tonight, recovering from the ordeal. My party has told me much,” he says, taking her arm and leading her into the crowd. Leah spares one last desperate look at Adan, who seems just as confused and overwhelmed as she is.

“Have they?” Leah asks, at a loss.

The Master of the Tribunal leads her over to the ‘Bairish’ side of the room; the noise level is moderate but unwavering, dozens of strange voices speaking the strange language. “The usurpation is confessed to, and the perpetrators are dead or fleeing. The punishment will fall upon their heads, whether it be military or economic – and I personally find the latter to be far crueller, when it comes to cowing a government rather than its people.” He hands her a white ceramic teacup, painted with a pointillism image of a mountain-filled horizon, blues and greens and silvers. The smell that rises from it is dearly familiar and long-missed.

Leah takes a small sip, and smiles privately. Oh my friend, it has been too long.

“You have already received the report from the woman at the interrogation?” Leah asks, and Lev nods gravely.

“A grim fate, but not undeserved. I hear his last words were quite memorable.” Lev watches her over the edge of his own cup, and Leah hesitates. Lev notices and chuckles. “You are frozen like a doe seeing the arrow flying to her side. You have nothing to fear from me, my dear Leah.”

Distantly she remembers Sewheil’s reaction, saying that being gay was not a crime in Bair. Certainly Solace seemed fine with it – more than fine, she seemed smug. Just as smug as when she brought Jeno to Kain. Hm. Not the time to be thinking about that. “Not everywhere is so tolerant,” Leah says instead.

Lev brushes this off with a wave of a ring-bedecked hand. “I don’t speak for everywhere; I speak for the north of Bair.” He narrows his eyes and looks her over. “But I suppose no-one has explained this to you, have they?”

“Your rank?” Leah guesses.

“This meeting. You are not at home in the world of politics and nobility.” Lev sighs. “My dear Talesh, I have not asked you here for personal reasons; until the business is concluded, there can be no personal affairs discussed here.”

Leah relaxes a smidge. “Then you have asked me here as a representative of the Contested Lands?”

Lev smiles. “Your Lord Seffon is quite occupied at the moment with his translator Miss Avaresh, and his guardswoman speaks no language that I know.” He shrugs. “You are the one I must ask for your opinion – and, between us, the most qualified.”

Leah swallows her excitement at this accidentally revealed bit of lore and nods sedately. “Then I am at your service.”

“The young Lady Valerid, previously Auzzo.” Lev’s tone is suddenly quite businesslike. “Her parents asked you to see to her safety.”

“They did. She has been with us in Seffonshold for some time now, to keep her safe from the influence of captain Eschen.”

“And will she remain there?”

Leah blinks. “I – Lord Seffon and I had discussed it, previously, but the decision we reached was from before we understood Cheden’s role, and the Auzzo’s ignorance of most of it.”

“It remains to be seen how the Emperor will react to the accusations levelled against him,” Lev says, taking another sip of his tea. “But he may decide to continue his vendetta against his cousins. Is Lady Jeno content where she is? Is she safe?”

Leah swirls the cup. “We of course can’t send her back to Cheden yet. She must seek asylum somewhere, but I feel it is up to her to decide where she would go.” She sips. “I take it I may offer north Bair as one option of such a place?”

“Please do,” Lev says solemnly. “Not only is she sought by her enemies in her homeland, but now that it is known she is an invert, she will be rejected by many who ought to be her allies.”

Leah nods uncomfortably, and Lev frowns.

“Ah,” he says, clicking his tongue. “You feel the words apply to you as well?”

Leah grimaces. “When I was first trying to find my way around this world, without my memories, the one luckiest thing was that I managed to keep my ‘inversion’ a secret. I almost managed to make it all the way…but I suppose now everyone will know.”

Lev taps under her chin with a smile. “A better actress I never knew. If he hadn’t spoken, you’d never have been discovered – certainly not by my indiscretion.”

Leah raises an eyebrow. “I don’t follow.”

He chuckles warmly, then reaches out to take her hand and examine the ring. “You were so very much the same, when we first met.” Leah’s stress mounts, but she keeps her face even. “So desperate to pass unnoticed. Fame never sat easily on your shoulders, though it never found a worthier shoulder to grace.”

Leah blushes a bit but does not comment.

“I have experience in discretion, and furthermore, I have experience in hiding the indiscretions of others.” He finishes with a wink, and Leah’s blush turns burning hot.

“I – uh – please recall that I do not have my memories back,” Leah says, a little desperately but trying not to sound too affronted.

Lev laughs lightly and gives her hand a squeeze, then lets it fall. “Frightened doe,” he smiles warmly. “I will elaborate; when we last met, you ended up growing exceptionally fond of one of my caravan guards, and she of you. Being ever-unwilling to stand in the way of a bittersweet story, I arranged for you two to have some privacy from the rest of your team.”

“Oh,” Leah says, her blush not fading.

Lev shrugs expansively. “People work better when they are happy, and a secret happiness can be among the sweetest – and dear Heketsi was overdue some happiness.”

“Oh.” Leah takes another sip. “My teammates…had a different understanding of the events.”

He frowns in thought, then nods. “Ah, and they told you our cover-story before you ever knew the truth?” He clicks his tongue again. “We never anticipated such a thing. How long have you thought I was here chasing a lost flame?”

Leah snickers. “Only a few hours, I suppose.” Pretty much as long as I’ve known you.

“Then our friendship has not been spoiled by wagging tongues.” He raises his cup in a toast and clinks it against hers, and they sip. “But you worry me, dear Talesh.”

“How so?”

“Your memory,” he says, setting the empty cup aside. “How long have you been lost in this world?”

“Over a month. Almost six weeks, I’d guess.”

He hums and narrows his eyes in thought, then snaps his fingers. A servant approaches through the crush of bodies, and Lev rattles off a string of Bairish, finishing with a hand-wave; the servant scurries off into the crowd before Leah can even get a proper look at him. “I have a medical mage among my party; I may not know the magics myself, but our nation excels in the healing arts,” he explains. “I am interested by your research so far, and if there is any advice the Bairish traditions may offer.”

The servant returns, and Leah turns to greet the mage he leads to them. Instead, the flash of blonde hair makes her look to the servant at his side. The teen’s light brown eyes watch her curiously from under a flop of golden hair. Everything…the pointed chin, the height, the build…

“Kimry,” Leah prompts, watching the teen’s face. His eyes fly wide with recognition but he does not speak. Leah feels her blood turn cold.

“Divek,” Lev says, a little uncertainly. “He came to us not long after you left our caravan. He doesn’t speak Algic, though, he’s – ”

“Nentish,” Leah says, already nodding, voice carefully even. “Lev, how much do you mean that you are unwilling to stand in the way of bittersweet happiness?”

Lev’s expression does not change, and he looks her over carefully. “My dear Leah, it is one of my fondest joys to see others cry in joy.”

“Do you really mean that?”

He finishes his appraising look with a graceful smile and a nod. “Money can buy every luxury but one; and I am a man of luxury.”

“Then will you excuse me a moment?” Leah says, with a quick bow, handing him her cup; before he can respond she has run off, heading to the nearest of the servant’s passages.

I haven’t seen her since before I left to talk with Eschen…but when I got back Vivitha had said she was looking for me, so she was still alive then…and then Eschen knew about her, so unless he did something unspeakable she was alive a few days ago…

She bursts into the kitchen, frightening a number of the staff and causing the cook to whip around and brandish her knife.

“Gods above, Miss!” the cook yells, grabbing her chest. “Has something happened upstairs?”

“Where’s Kimry?” Leah asks.

The cook narrows her eyes. “If you’ve been steering her foul – ”

“Where is she?” Leah takes the cook’s shoulders and stares her down, giddy and tense and daring to hope – yet also filled with a building sense of injustice.

“Leah?” Kimry enters from the larder, a basket on her hip, the brown bandage still on her arm.

Leah turns at her name and pulls the basket from Kimry’s hands, setting it on a table. “Come,” she says, and starts running back up the stairs, pulling Kimry behind her by the hand.

Back in the dining hall, Kimry hunched small behind her, Leah looks around to try and find the northern Bairish party. Lev’s tall figure, in piercing orange, stands out clearly. She beelines towards him, dragging Kimry behind her.

He turns and sees her returning, his expression baffled. “Dear Leah, you have never been quite so short on words,” he says, trailing off as his gaze passes to Kimry.

Leah stumbles to a halt beside him and the servant, and Kimry stops a half-second later. The high-pitched gasp from beside her is all the confirmation Leah needs. The blonde teen’s hands fly to his mouth, and before he can say anything Kimry has lunged forward and swept him up into a hug, picking him up off his feet.

“Divek!” her voice is choked, but it carries. A few heads turn, but none interrupt. The hug lasts a long time before the boy finally pushes away and holds Kimry’s face in his hands, taking it in, his eyes overflowing with tears and Kimry’s the same or worse. They begin talking in a rapid-fire stream of Nentish, talking over each other and saying things at the same time, falling in and out of the conversation like twins despite the many years of separation that have clearly just come to an end.

Leah spares a glance up at Lev. He looks down at her, a muscle twitching in his jaw, then looks back to the two Nentish siblings in front of him. Kimry has once more wrapped her brother into a hug, rocking back and forth and heaving quiet sobs.

“My dear Leah,” Lev says, quite softly. “You may have lost your memories, but you have gained a king’s ransom in wisdom.”