“Hear you well, O perilous warriors, people of mettle,

Who in bright halls danced and drank and played –

Many colors flashed over your heads –

And on your lips was death and the joy of virtuous hate –

Your struggle is vain –

You bloom –

You grow strong –

And you are destroyed.

In the Age of Glass you’ll be left bereft, alone,

Your love forsaken, your magic dead on your fingertips.

And mind is driven away from mind again,

And the people raise their old towers again,

And –

What is this? This ending, this peace… this world will have no need of me, of any of us.

Me and mine – we are of no use any longer, so let us disappear in peace.”

-From the Prophecy of Hilda, given 291 YT

245 YT, Winter

“It is for that reason that further cooperation, though necessary, between the Adma and us must progress in secret. So that is where you come in, of course.” Antonin nodded to Lucian, then glanced over each shoulder in turn, checking that no one was watching from behind.

No one was, indeed, watching from behind. But further down the road, Hilda sat with her accordion in her hands, the bellows sagging down into her lap, playing a jaunty melody as if to defy the spirit of winter and the pall of violent death that hung over the entire city with a few tunes. On her shoulder the little falcon sat, whispering silently into her ear everything that was said between the two men standing in the road before the watchtower. Hilda tried not to let her face flush with anger and shock, tried to focus on keeping the bellows of her accordion in motion and her melody going.

She skipped a note by accident, and her song stopped a moment.

Antonin stilled, frowned, and glanced over at Hilda. Only in passing. Hilda deftly avoided his gaze. Antonin seemed so distant now, with weeks of war behind the both of them – of course he no longer had time to train with Hilda, and Hilda, for her part, was well enough trained by now that she didn’t need much of Antonin’s active attention. But it was the absence of their training sessions that made Hilda realize just how little the mentor she’d known all her years seemed to know her now. Either she had changed, or he had changed – perhaps both.

Hilda picked up the melody again, keeping her eyes studiously away from where Lucian and Antonin stood.

And Lucian! Hilda’s lip curled in frustration even as her heartrate picked up its pace a little. Never had she known someone so… confusing. And he’d told her so much, hadn’t he? About his life, about the Hunters – the plan. She knew that he didn’t want to leave the city, but the she also knew that if she were in his place… duty before all else, isn’t that what the heroes in the stories always said when they had to weigh their own desires, the hope of happiness in their own lives, against the safety of all? And when they did, they always went with a smile, stepping out into the breach with defiance in their eyes and a song on their lips. It was the right thing to do, of course it was.

But.

She didn’t want him to go.

Not any more than he wanted to go.

“Why all this subterfuge?” Lucian asked. “We are at war. Why must we keep up appearances, when the enemy is at our doorstep? Why let some ideological feud with the Adma – one that clearly isn’t severe enough to prevent us from working with them – from working openly with an organization that’s helping us, one that we’re supplying information and gear to?”

Antonin let out a long, slow sigh, bringing his hands together. “Lucian,” he said, “you are a valuable resource and a good man. And I understand your desire to do things in the open. But that is not always what we’re destined to choose.” He inhaled and tipped his head toward the north. “You’ve been in Kivv so long you’ve forgotten that we must maintain our presence throughout the world. Everywhere the Aether touches, Mirshal must be there to guide the path, to hopefully show people the right way, the safe way.” The falcon on Hilda’ shoulder made clear Lucian’s frustration, the sound of grumbling deep in his throat, the quiet grinding of his teeth together. The whispers were not words, exactly – but the transmission of the sound itself, or at least those sounds the falcon selected to draw Hilda’s attention to. It didn’t seem to think the howling of the wind – now more of a whistling to Hilda’s impaired ears – important enough to relate.

“You must understand,” Antonin continued, “that the situation in the rest of the world does not cease to be delicate simply because there is fire on our own city’s borders. Every day there is a threat, everywhere there is a threat, and for everyone, the potential of catastrophe. While I personally believe that the Adma’s activities against the Invictan Empire are justified… we cannot be seen to be supporting an organization that names itself sovereign not within a territory, but for all of the earth. Have you read their statements?”

“I have,” Lucian said, “and while I might not personally –“

“Across the western ocean, there’s a place –“

“The western ocean?” Lucian laughed. “What does that matter for what we do here?”

“You think too provincially. Across the western ocean, there’s a land called Rivenstad. And the Invictans have friends there – a man named John Seid, the rumors go, has been gaining in popularity. They say that one day he’ll become an emperor in his own right.”

“Then the Adma should fight him, and we should support them!” Lucian’s breath quickened, but steadied – determination.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Antonin said. “The people of Rivenstad, mostly, want nothing to do with John Seid – nor with the Adma. Yet they face violence from both. And as for us? We would like to be their friends, albeit now they have little trust or love for us. The land of Rivenstad is rife with practices and technologies that pose a high risk of manifesting Aether-Touched. It’s vital that Mirshal is able to maintain a presence, to at least be tolerated by the people there, lest an all-out war break out and anyone associated with Mirshal should be driven from the area. Do you begin to see the conundrum?”

A pause.

“Indeed, if it were up to me, this would not affect us. But Mirshal is not a league of Valers alone. It is an order with a purpose – to safeguard the world from the consequences of past mistakes. You understand your place in this?”

A stirring in the air – Lucian nodded.

“Then carry it out. And…” Antonin Voloshko’s voice softened. “Don’t forget your reasons for staying. If that is what you wish.”

“I will have a lot to think about,” was all Lucian said before he turned, adjusted his coat, and strode down the street.

When he passed by Hilda, he stopped, glanced over his shoulder. Hilda, still playing on her accordion, glanced toward Antonin as well – he was already turning away, re-entering the Reaper Monastery.

Lucian sat down next to her, and slowly, she quieted her tune. Lucian whispered over the vestiges of melody that still drifted from Hilda’s accordion – semi-idle hands pressing the keys and pushing the bellows. “You heard it all, didn’t you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Hilda said, tilting her head slightly to the side, toward the falcon on her shoulder. She reached behind her head, tugged on the hanging scrap of fabric that made the crest of her garment’s hood, and laid it over her head, pulling the flat cap down in front of it. she pushed back her hair into the hood and folded the accordion, then slowly began to unlatch its case.

“So what do you think?” Lucian asked while Hilda worked. Prodding. Hilda folded the accordion to its smallest size, letting all the air out of the bellows, and set it in its case. Then she raised the lid, closed the first latch, then the next, until all six of them were closed. She stood up slowly.

Lucian was still looking up at her expectantly, so she sighed and sat back down, checking the road to make sure it was clear. “What is there to say?” Hilda asked. “You have your orders and I have mine. The army’s at the gates. We’re under siege. We’ll defend this city until either the army leaves, or we die.”

Lucian’s exhaled, a long and hurt breath. “You know that isn’t what I mean.”

“I don’t have any wish to work with the Adma,” Hilda said. “And it seems like, even though – it’s like Antonin said. Officially we’re not their ally. In reality, we serve them. Not that I don’t appreciate their help, but…”

“They’ve been instrumental in keeping the countryside safe during this siege,” Lucian said. “All the villages that survived the Invictan army’s march north – it was because of their help. Do you know how many people could have died, who are now alive because of the Adma? I understand that you don’t agree with their beliefs, but what does that matter right now?”

“It doesn’t!” Hilda snapped, picking up the accordion case. “But what do you expect me to do? Say ‘oh, yes, now I realize that you were right the whole time?” She waved her hand near her shoulder and the falcon took wing, lifting its eyes toward the sky. The whisper of the wind faded in the background of Hilda’s ears, muffled by her injuries and by the soft fabric of the hood against her head. “I’m no fool. And my Reading improves by the day, you know. I’m well aware of what Kamila is doing alongside those people. And I’m well aware that you support her. You don’t need to go behind my back about it –“

Lucian sputtered, stepping off the road and glancing both ways along the path. “I’m not going behind your back, Hilda. I told you about this meeting for a reason.”

“And the coded messages you and Kamila have been exchanging with Adma fighters every week for a season?”

Lucian’s breath caught. “That… I didn’t know she told you about that.”

“She didn’t,” Hilda said. “At least she didn’t mean to.” Hilda’s heart was beating fast now, and she stood up as tall as she could (which wasn’t very), but her voice was steady. “And those people meeting the two of you at the walls were definitely Adma – they didn’t wear anything identifying but I’m not a fool. And I’m not some child you can keep things from –“

“I would have told you,” Lucian said. Hilda couldn’t help but tap into the Reaper’s Gift when Lucian said that. There was a twinge of guilt, but she felt it necessary all the same. The Reading was not, in its core substance, different from what she’d learned over these many years – but in practice, she had found, there were certain tricks that could be pulled which one might not initially think of. And in studying the little pieces of thoughts – links in the web of chains – which made up every human being’s decisions, she had learned to recognize the patterns. Sometimes, when people lie, it is by impulse, not a plan. Those lies are difficult to detect on the face of them – there is no real decision to lie, sometimes, only the ghost of panic at the thought of the truth coming out. But there is a scramble in the mind after the lie is said – how do I avoid getting tripped up in my own web? Have I contradicted something else important I’ve said? Will I be discovered in my lie?

The pattern was not there. Not now.

“I believe you,” Hilda said. “But why didn’t you?”

“Kamila,” Lucian said. “You know she doesn’t want to endanger you any more than she has to –“

Hilda growled. “Then this is because of her, is it?” The impression of her own sister’s face burned in her mind – a distant, rage-filled, half-crazed grin staring out at the world. Hilda could hardly bear to look at it anymore.

“Oh, come on.” Lucian grumbled. “Do you think I do what I do just because of your sister? She’s a Hunter like me. We work together. But we each make our own decisions. But I didn’t tell you about the meetings with the Adma because I knew she didn’t want me to. She cares about you, Hilda – in her own way. I know she doesn’t do a very good job of showing it sometimes –“

“She nearly killed me, Lucian! I know, I know it’s been seasons, and I should have moved on, but –“ the face of Kamila was still in her mind, teeth gritted, fists clenched, the smell of sweat in the air around her sticky matted hair and red-shot-through eyes. “I guess I’m just weak.”

“You aren’t weak, Hilda.” Lucian shook his head. “Never say that. You’re conflicted. It’s normal. Our line of work isn’t simple. What I do isn’t simple, and it’s the same for you, and –“ He leaned over and put an arm around Hilda’s shoulders. Though she flinched, she did not pull away, but leaned into the hug. It calmed her – a little.

“What do you want to do, then?”

Lucian didn’t reply for a few seconds. Finally he said: “I think you should come with me the next time I go to meet with our contacts in the Adma. We should work with them, put together a plan of attack against the Invictans.”

Hilda leaned away slightly. “But I can’t be seen working with them,” she said. “Word might travel. And you heard what Antonin said.” She glanced down. “Besides, I don’t want their help. I can handle myself.”

“Hilda –“ Lucian cut himself off so that he would not howl in frustration, and then he lowered his voice. “How many Reapers are there currently in this city aside from you and Antonin?”

“There’s… two others…” Hilda said.

“And how well do you know them? Do you work together with them as a team?”

“I’ll have to.”

“Do you know them?”

Hilda slowly shook her head.

“Hilda, you’ve been living here for over a year, isn’t that right?”

Hilda nodded.

Lucian didn’t need to say anything – the point was made clearly enough. Instead he just tightened his one-armed hug around Hilda, just a little, before relaxing again. “You don’t have to be seen with them. We’ll put together a plan, involving you and the other official representatives of Mirshal as one flank. As far as any nosy fool is concerned, you just happened to be operating near each other. And that’s all anyone needs to know.” He relaxed and pulled away just slightly. “Okay?”

“I’m not so sure,” Hilda said. “If anybody finds out –“

“They won’t.” Lucian made a quiet growl, almost inaudible. “What are you afraid of, Hilda? There are lives at stake. I thought you wanted to do what was right, not just what you’re told –“

Hilda pushed Lucian’s arm back against the ground, felt a sympathetic pulse of pain as his hands raked through the rose-thorns and came away bleeding slightly. “I thought you knew what was the right thing to do!” Hilda exclaimed, stepping away. “I thought, maybe – we could do the right thing without having to worry about what people halfway around the world would think, or whether we’re going about things the right way, or whether I’m supposed to listen to that little voice in my head that says ‘maybe the people who think they can burn Kurikuneku to the ground have the right idea’! I…” She stopped, took a breath, leaned down and picked up the accordion case. “I think I should handle some things on my own.”

“Hilda…” Lucian’s eyes were watery and worried, but he leaned away from her. “Please think. Please.”

“I am thinking,” Hilda said. “I have things to take care of.” She turned and walked away.

First Hilda stopped in the Reaper Monastery. She stayed just long enough to drop off her accordion. She set it on the chair by the window, then walked across the room to the bed. The covers were still not made properly – if anyone were to walk in, it might look as though Hilda had just woken up. Twin impressions, still depressed the mattress. Hilda knelt by the bed for a while, breathed in the scent of old stale sweat and the frost on the windowpane. In the distance, she knew, there would be the sound of movement – the Kivv militia, or more the further-away, more metallic clinking of the Invictan soldiers – their shouts, their drums. Hilda heard none of it, yet her mind did not hesitate to fill in the space where sound should have been.

She took the hat tucked under her arm and walked to the head of the bed. There she laid it on the pillow, just above the smaller of the two impressions. She walked slowly around the bed – each step a jolt of dull pain through her. Then she leaned down, reached under the bed. It was dusty beneath, but there was a part of the space under the bed that was almost clean – her hand tapped around the floor for a while until it found what it sought. Cold, winter-cold metal. She pulled it out slowly.

Adjusting her cloak so it billowed and concealed the shape of the weapon, Hilda belted Melik Shachar’s sword to her and turned to the south. She pulled up her hood, smiling softly to herself, opened the door of her room, and stepped out into the hallway. It was cold in the Reaper Monsatery – so she let the gift, with its double-edged blade of sensitivity, slip a little. She made her way to the outside, and began to walk toward the south. The falcon came and landed on her shoulder again. Overhead, an irregularly timed blast of the Invictans’ artillery streaked overhead. She accepted the cold biting into her bones and pulled the Gift a little tighter around herself – just for the knowledge of safety it granted her. She knew five seconds before it occurred that the shell would be intercepted by one of Aleks’ customized turrets, and that the shards of it would rain all around the southern wall – half of them would fall uselessly on the Valer side, and the other half would fall uselessly on the side controlled by the Invictans.

To the east of the city, there stretched a length of ancient railroad. Hilda well remembered – the taste of ice and berries on her lips, the warmth of another hand in her own, and the sense of connection to something older than she could imagine when she walked along the rail’s age-reddened steel.

Beyond that railroad, there were woods. Places to hide, places to strike from the shadows. Places where, Hilda knew, she could operate safely alone. Without the help of those she could not help but scorn, and of those who could not help but scorn her. Perhaps in the space between, after all the bloodshed and pain was over, she’d find some measure of peace.

Perhaps.