Chapter 29: Working Out the Kinks — The Key of Oslov

Volume 11: Crosscurrents and Consequences

Chapter 29 Working Out the Kinks

Chapter Notes

Tiny bit of F/F in this chapter. I’ve adjusted the tags...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Notes

Tiny bit of F/F in this chapter. I’ve adjusted the tags...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Einara was summoned to the Brothel director’s private suite, her first reaction was relief. Anything was better than another day of waiting.Then cold terror washed over her. Her fingertips went numb. She closed her eyes and counted to seventeen, breathing deep and evenly.As a child, she’d been fascinated by numerology, the lore of prime numbers in particular, and some superstitious part of her still believed they were good luck. Over the past two ten-days, she’d had trouble concentrating on much of anything. But whenever her mind wandered—in the warm steam of the showers, or under a patron—she counted to seventeen or twenty-three in her head, over and over, to keep herself from remembering Irin’s dead eyes.Now she opened her eyes and retrieved the stolen kitchen knife from its hiding place inside the mattress lining. Since Irin went missing, the Brothel had had an unprecedented three unannounced room searches—“inspections,” they were called. But the searchers had been careless, and the knife remained hers.She tucked it in the inner pocket of her fleece, close to her body. This time, the blade could only be for herself. Dragging Irin out of the basement was one thing, but Hulda Dartán’s suite was centrally located at the entrance to the Brothel dorms, which saw foot traffic all night. Even if Einara had the stomach for killing a second Oslov so soon after the first, there was no way to smuggle out a corpse.She’d just have to hope Irin’s aunt wanted her for something else.She was proud of her placid face as she walked up the corridor and knocked. Why shouldn’t she be calm? If Irin had been found, and Einara had been implicated, she would be sitting handcuffed before a Constable right now. The likeliest scenario was that Irin had told his aunt something vague that aroused her suspicions.He couldn’t have told her about Einara’s true identity, the Verses, or his plan to extract them, because then Hulda wouldn’t have waited this long. Einara had never exchanged more than a few words with the Brothel keeper—always keeping her eyes down—but she knew the woman was no pushover. The staff were always complaining about her edicts.So, in addition to playing very dumb, Einara might need to deploy some seduction. That was nothing new.The door opened to reveal the old woman in a soft white dressing gown, her iron-gray hair braided around her head. “Come in, dear.”Einara stepped in, suddenly aware of how she towered over the slight little Brothel keeper. She was tempted to laugh, but kept her face blank. “Lars said you wanted me, Fir’n Director?”“Yes, yes.” A tea kettle whistled, and Hulda stepped into the adjoining kitchenette. “Could you help me carry in the tea, dear? What is your name again?”“Derán, Einara.”“Oh yes, of course.” Hulda poured the tea, then arranged the pot and tumblers on a tray and handed it to Einara. “Our statuesque beauty from the Wastes. You know, I’ve been hearing from some of your patrons that you’re an excellent masseuse. I wonder if you could help me with some kinks in my lower back.”“Of course.” Weak with relief, but reminding herself not to get comfortable yet, Einara set the tea tray on the low table and knelt to pour. “Whatever I can do, Fir’n.”“Excellent.” Hulda settled herself on the couch and took a sip. “We don’t have a proper table here, but I’m sure you can improvise.” She peeled off her robe and the loose shirt under it and lowered herself onto her stomach on the couch, stretching her legs out. “Is there room for you? Ah, yes, that will work.”Kneeling up beside the director, Einara began gingerly to knead on either side of the woman’s spine. Old people had such loose skin, you had to be gentle. “How does that feel?”“Nice. A bit to the right, please—ah, yes. That’s a trouble spot.”Keiran, one of the other girls here, had told Einara that Hulda sometimes chose a female favorite to share her bed. Please, let her just want that. The memory of her fears, her superstitious counting, the knife tucked in her fleece, made Einara lightheaded.Or maybe she was reacting to the hint of sap she could taste in the tea. Hulda must have slipped it in while she was distracted, trying to soften her up—the sly one!The woman murmured with satisfaction. “Oh yes, that’s nice, my girl. It’s nasty sitting at a desk all day, though not as hard as what you do. Believe me, I know. Tell me, how are you getting on here? You seem to have become quite a favorite of Fir Councillor Linbeck.”“I do my best, Fir’n.” Einara tried to sound timid and modest, just as she had with Irin. She sat up a little taller and began to work on the director’s shoulders.“Indeed you do. My nephew told me you squeezed that rat of a Councillor until he confessed his secret affection for a Drudge.”Einara’s hands faltered. While whores and other staff routinely insulted the patrons behind their backs, she’d never heard the director talk that way. “Irin told you that, Fir’n?”“Please continue, dear.” A sigh shuddered the woman’s shoulders. “Surely you knew my nephew was reporting to me.”Einara continued with the massage, though she was starting to feel uneasy. “I didn’t think about who he was reporting to, Fir’n. I just did what he said.”“Of course. Very obedient, aren’t you, dear? So docile and reasonable—for an Outer-born, especially. Listening to you speak, I could swear you were born in Redda.”Don’t stop. Don’t miss a beat. Einara ran her palms down Hulda’s sides. “My father was from Redda, Fir’n. That’s what my mother said. I learned to speak properly from him when I was little, and then from the soldiers.”“Oh yes, the soldiers at the Eivand garrison.” Hulda’s voice had fallen into a lulling rhythm. “Some of them remember you well. They said you came from Ilfandten, the hamlet on the other side of the hill.”Einara rocked back on her heels, the breath freezing in her throat. The woman had been looking into her background, investigating her—why?Hulda continued as if nothing had changed. “Funny thing, though. No one in Ilfandten seems to recall your mother or her Oslov lover. They say you arrived in their village about six years ago, all alone, and sought work at the local tavern.”“Tavern” was a grand name for a shack that stank of beer and piss. Einara remembered the greasy-haired proprietor who looked her up and down and said, “Lookin’ to meet some soldiers, are you, love?” She wasn’t surprised he’d tattled on her.But he didn’t really know anything. None of them did. Don’t miss a beat. She had to find out exactly how much Hulda knew or suspected. “I might not have been completely honest with the soldiers about where I came from, Fir’n. I wanted to protect my mother.”Hulda clicked her tongue. “Did you lie to the immigration officers, too?”“I never talked to a single officer, Fir’n.” That was true. The corporal had simply brought her here and done a rapid transaction with the Brothel steward—selling her to the Brothel, probably for sap. No one asked her origin, let alone her opinion. She supposed the steward had taken care of the relevant paperwork.Hulda knew how those things worked; there was no point in explaining. “I don’t understand,” Einara said in a way she hoped sounded positively infantile. “Have I done something wrong?”The Brothel director sat up and stretched, unself-conscious about her half-nudity. Taking her time, she pulled on her robe, then took a sip of tea.Her eyes met Einara’s over the tumbler. “I don’t know, love. Have you? You act sweet and brainless, but my nephew said you worked the Councillor quite cleverly. He was impressed with you—Irin, that is. I imagine that’s why he arranged to meet you on the night he disappeared.”And just like that, every inch of Einara’s body was alive with pulsing adrenaline. She went still, acutely conscious of the knife in her breast pocket. The lights of the room were white hot, the walls too close and getting closer. One, two, three . . .She heard her own calm voice say, “I don’t know what you mean, Fir’n. What night was that?”“You’re very good, my dear.” Hulda took another sip. “Very convincing with those wide eyes. Your training must have been superlative.”“Please, Fir’n, I really don’t unders—”Hulda silenced her with a gesture. “Don’t bother. I’m not here to wring a confession out of you. I don’t need one. Lars brought you a rice cake that night on Irin’s instructions. My nephew wasn’t prone to spontaneous gestures of kindness.”Iron bands cinched Einara’s throat. Her heart thundered, drowning out the gentle ambient hum of heating. Even as her eyes filled with tears, though, she seemed to float above the scene and observe it coldly: the old woman’s ambush and her own not-entirely-feigned flustered confusion.If Hulda meant to give her to the Constables, or to the secret police that everyone dreaded, she would have done so already. What did she want from Einara, then? The same thing Irin had?She should use the knife on herself—now, quickly—and repair the terrible mistake she’d made twenty days ago. But her hands refused to move. “Please,” she whispered, but this time no lies came to her lips. Hulda would see through them. “Whatever you want, I . . . can’t.”The old woman regarded her with a strange expression, half pity and half wonderment. “No, you can’t, can you? You’ve been programmed, just like one of our machines. Tell me, why did you kill my nephew? Because he asked you for something you weren’t allowed to give?”The room went blurry. Einara blinked, and tears rolled down her cheeks, but her inner self stayed ice. “I didn’t,” she said, because if she confessed she would have to die. No other way out this time.Hulda nodded. Her own eyes were damp, but her face was patient. “You didn’t want to do it, did you? Don’t get me wrong, girl. You’ll find no sympathy here. You’re a nasty little piece of work, and I love my nephew. Loved. But he’s had a reckless side ever since he was a child. I think he pushed you into a corner, and you did the only thing your training would let you. You pushed back.”If the woman felt no sympathy, what did she want? Einara shook her head firmly, even as her tears confessed for her. “I didn’t.”“Of course you didn’t, sweetheart.” Hulda rose from the couch and came to her. Einara braced herself for a blow, but the old woman only stroked the hair off her forehead. “Poor girl. For Irin’s sake, I should probably stick a knife in your gut.” Einara flinched again, and Hulda laughed softly. “Believe me, I would get away with it. I can do whatever I like here, at least to someone like you. Keep that in mind.”Fingers were in her hair again, tightening and pulling. Einara sobbed.Hulda gave her a reproving look, as if to tell her to stop faking. “But Irin’s gone, isn’t he? Killing you won’t bring him back. All we can do is continue to fight for the cause he believed in.”Maybe Hulda wasn’t trying to trick her. Maybe Hulda was mad. Einara leaned into the woman’s harsh-gentle touch like a dog fawning on its master. Maybe I can still get out of this. “What cause do you mean, Fir’n?”“It doesn’t matter to you, does it, dear? You have a different mission.” Hulda released her and sat on the floor, carelessly letting her robe fall open. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t borrow you a bit. Stop shaking, girl. I’m not going to force you to tell your deepest secrets. Come back to me. Look at me.”With a start, Einara realized she’d started counting again. She needed to slip away to that quiet inner space where she’d find the courage to use the knife on herself. But Hulda’s voice kept pulling her back to this white room, far from the Colonel and her trainers. She was in Redda. This was all happening.The knife was in her hand before she was conscious of reaching for it. “Don’t,” she said, scrambling backward. “Don’t try to make me. Don’t.”Hulda just watched her. “I’m interested in the parameters you work within,” she said. “You can’t tell me the backdoor passwords, that much is clear. You can’t talk about your origins or your mission. Beyond that, though, what can you do, dear? You helped Irin with Councillor Linbeck. Could you help me in similar ways?”“I don’t know what you mean.” Einara shook her head wildly. Focus. Ignore her. Use the knife.Hulda kept talking in that awful, croaking, reasonable voice, pulling her back to reality. “I thought you might be able to help me with the staff the way Irin did—collecting the useful tidbits they hear from their patrons. I’m sorely feeling my nephew’s absence, you see. I can’t do everything myself.”As she spoke, the woman reached out and plucked the knife from Einara’s fingers. They had gone limp; another second, Einara realized with a sinking sensation, and she would have dropped it anyway.She was so tired.“You should kill me,” she said in a small voice, watching the Oslov examine the knife and run a finger down the blade. “It would only be fair.”“Fair, maybe. But a waste.” Hulda placed the knife carefully, respectfully on the edge of the table. “When you leave here, you’ll return that to the kitchen where it belongs. And from now on, without disobeying your pre-existing orders, you will follow my orders, too. Is that clear?”Einara felt herself nodding. None of this made sense. But then, it never had made sense to have two missions at once, one for the Colonel and one for herself. Something had to give. When she’d chosen to kill Irin and live, she had become a traitor to Resurgence, loyal to no one but herself.Maybe she could say yes to Hulda, just as she had to the Colonel, and keep right on working secretly for herself—and you, my mother and sister—burrowing away under the surface.“I want something in return, Fir’n,” she whispered. “Something just for me.”“We all want something, my dear.” Hulda’s voice had gone cold. “I, for one, want to know where I can find my nephew so I can give him a proper cremation and cleanse his spirit of the horrors you made him suffer in his last moment. Can you give me that?”Einara shuddered. Don’t tell. But she didn’t want Irin to rest forever in the ice grave, either. “Come close,” she said.“So you can throttle me?” Hulda asked dryly. But she did lean close, and Einara brought her lips to the woman’s ear and whispered where to find Irin. Her voice was so low she could barely hear herself.As they parted, a powerful rush of dizziness darkened Einara’s vision. When it cleared, her breath came strong and even. She’d disobeyed, and she was still alive. The Colonel couldn’t touch her here.She swiped the knife from the table and tucked it back in her fleece. “I’m keeping this. If you try to have me arrested, I’ll be dead before I cross the threshold.”“That’s the spirit.” Hulda’s smile was ugly. “You’ll make a fine assistant now that you’re being more honest with me. And since we’re making threats—I know you don’t want to die. So let’s both work within each other’s limitations, shall we?”Yes. Einara could tell already that working for this woman, who actually understood her, would be easier than working for Irin. She would learn everything she could about the inner workings of the Brothel, its ties to the anti-government rebels and to organized crime. And she would use what she learned to secure the only thing that mattered to her.After all, Hulda couldn’t live forever.She wasn’t surprised when Hulda reached out and drew her close and kissed her gently, almost ceremoniously, on the mouth. She didn’t suppress a shiver. But she let her lips fall open, offering whatever the woman wanted.If Hulda was mad, she was mad like the Colonel—the sort of cold madness that could lead armies—and she knew everything about this cursed city. She would be a fine mentor.The kiss deepened, Einara letting her body melt against the other woman’s warmth, until Hulda thrust her away again. “Clever, aren’t you? We’ll have plenty of time for that.”Einara made her eyes big and mournful. “Will we?”“Oh yes, my little cutthroat. For now, I want you to tell me everything you’ve seen and heard in this establishment—from my nephew, the staff, the patrons. I want to see how observant you’ve been.”Einara nodded. That was easy, but something nagged at her. “Your friends?” she asked. “The other shirkers? They won’t want to know . . .?”“What Irin wanted to know? Oh, they do indeed.” The old woman’s chin lifted. “But I am still in charge here, and my will is law. As far as I’m concerned, hacking is a coward’s weapon. If we can’t rouse the will of the people without such tricks, what right do we have to rebel at all?”Einara didn’t understand the subtleties of Oslov politics, let alone care, but she nodded. “You won’t let them question me, then?”Hulda laughed—not a cackle but a full-throated, almost pleasant guffaw. “No. I have no intention of letting you near my associates, especially the one who put me on your trail in the first place. You’d try to gut him like a fish, and he may be our greatest hope. Time will tell, but he could be the shadow Magistrate of the whole damned Council someday. Men can be so stupid—but you know that. As does he.”She lifted a lock of Einara’s hair and ran it through her fingers. “No. Tilrey will work in the light, and you’ll work in the shadows, and never the twain shall meet. If you’re a good, useful girl, if I can trust you, I might even consider grooming you for my position someday. I don’t expect to live to see the revolution, but I want to know it’s in good hands. Dark and light—because even Oslov has its dark corners where reason doesn’t reach. You and I know that too well. We’ve both endured the darker side of Oslovs, haven’t we? Especially of men?”“Yes.” Einara’s shiver wasn’t feigned this time. The soldiers hadn’t been gentle.“Yes. We have plenty in common.” The old woman’s mouth quirked. “But if you’re not useful, if you even think of betraying me, I’ll still kill you as nastily as you killed my poor nephew, may his last moment be bright. Now, go ahead, sweet girl. Tell me everything you’ve learned. Perform for me. Earn your keep.”Einara raised her eyes and swore a silent oath to her sister: You will not be forgotten. “Of course,” she said. “Whatever you want.”

When Einara was summoned to the Brothel director’s private suite, her first reaction was relief. Anything was better than another day of waiting.

Then cold terror washed over her. Her fingertips went numb. She closed her eyes and counted to seventeen, breathing deep and evenly.

As a child, she’d been fascinated by numerology, the lore of prime numbers in particular, and some superstitious part of her still believed they were good luck. Over the past two ten-days, she’d had trouble concentrating on much of anything. But whenever her mind wandered—in the warm steam of the showers, or under a patron—she counted to seventeen or twenty-three in her head, over and over, to keep herself from remembering Irin’s dead eyes.

Now she opened her eyes and retrieved the stolen kitchen knife from its hiding place inside the mattress lining. Since Irin went missing, the Brothel had had an unprecedented three unannounced room searches—“inspections,” they were called. But the searchers had been careless, and the knife remained hers.

She tucked it in the inner pocket of her fleece, close to her body. This time, the blade could only be for herself. Dragging Irin out of the basement was one thing, but Hulda Dartán’s suite was centrally located at the entrance to the Brothel dorms, which saw foot traffic all night. Even if Einara had the stomach for killing a second Oslov so soon after the first, there was no way to smuggle out a corpse.

She’d just have to hope Irin’s aunt wanted her for something else.

She was proud of her placid face as she walked up the corridor and knocked. Why shouldn’t she be calm? If Irin had been found, and Einara had been implicated, she would be sitting handcuffed before a Constable right now. The likeliest scenario was that Irin had told his aunt something vague that aroused her suspicions.

He couldn’t have told her about Einara’s true identity, the Verses, or his plan to extract them, because then Hulda wouldn’t have waited this long. Einara had never exchanged more than a few words with the Brothel keeper—always keeping her eyes down—but she knew the woman was no pushover. The staff were always complaining about her edicts.

So, in addition to playing very dumb, Einara might need to deploy some seduction. That was nothing new.

The door opened to reveal the old woman in a soft white dressing gown, her iron-gray hair braided around her head. “Come in, dear.”

Einara stepped in, suddenly aware of how she towered over the slight little Brothel keeper. She was tempted to laugh, but kept her face blank. “Lars said you wanted me, Fir’n Director?”

“Yes, yes.” A tea kettle whistled, and Hulda stepped into the adjoining kitchenette. “Could you help me carry in the tea, dear? What is your name again?”

“Derán, Einara.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Hulda poured the tea, then arranged the pot and tumblers on a tray and handed it to Einara. “Our statuesque beauty from the Wastes. You know, I’ve been hearing from some of your patrons that you’re an excellent masseuse. I wonder if you could help me with some kinks in my lower back.”

“Of course.” Weak with relief, but reminding herself not to get comfortable yet, Einara set the tea tray on the low table and knelt to pour. “Whatever I can do, Fir’n.”

“Excellent.” Hulda settled herself on the couch and took a sip. “We don’t have a proper table here, but I’m sure you can improvise.” She peeled off her robe and the loose shirt under it and lowered herself onto her stomach on the couch, stretching her legs out. “Is there room for you? Ah, yes, that will work.”

Kneeling up beside the director, Einara began gingerly to knead on either side of the woman’s spine. Old people had such loose skin, you had to be gentle. “How does that feel?”

“Nice. A bit to the right, please—ah, yes. That’s a trouble spot.”

Keiran, one of the other girls here, had told Einara that Hulda sometimes chose a female favorite to share her bed. Please, let her just want that. The memory of her fears, her superstitious counting, the knife tucked in her fleece, made Einara lightheaded.

Or maybe she was reacting to the hint of sap she could taste in the tea. Hulda must have slipped it in while she was distracted, trying to soften her up—the sly one!

The woman murmured with satisfaction. “Oh yes, that’s nice, my girl. It’s nasty sitting at a desk all day, though not as hard as what you do. Believe me, I know. Tell me, how are you getting on here? You seem to have become quite a favorite of Fir Councillor Linbeck.”

“I do my best, Fir’n.” Einara tried to sound timid and modest, just as she had with Irin. She sat up a little taller and began to work on the director’s shoulders.

“Indeed you do. My nephew told me you squeezed that rat of a Councillor until he confessed his secret affection for a Drudge.”

Einara’s hands faltered. While whores and other staff routinely insulted the patrons behind their backs, she’d never heard the director talk that way. “Irin told you that, Fir’n?”

“Please continue, dear.” A sigh shuddered the woman’s shoulders. “Surely you knew my nephew was reporting to me.”

Einara continued with the massage, though she was starting to feel uneasy. “I didn’t think about who he was reporting to, Fir’n. I just did what he said.”

“Of course. Very obedient, aren’t you, dear? So docile and reasonable—for an Outer-born, especially. Listening to you speak, I could swear you were born in Redda.”

Don’t stop. Don’t miss a beat. Einara ran her palms down Hulda’s sides. “My father was from Redda, Fir’n. That’s what my mother said. I learned to speak properly from him when I was little, and then from the soldiers.”

“Oh yes, the soldiers at the Eivand garrison.” Hulda’s voice had fallen into a lulling rhythm. “Some of them remember you well. They said you came from Ilfandten, the hamlet on the other side of the hill.”

Einara rocked back on her heels, the breath freezing in her throat. The woman had been looking into her background, investigating her—why?

Hulda continued as if nothing had changed. “Funny thing, though. No one in Ilfandten seems to recall your mother or her Oslov lover. They say you arrived in their village about six years ago, all alone, and sought work at the local tavern.”

“Tavern” was a grand name for a shack that stank of beer and piss. Einara remembered the greasy-haired proprietor who looked her up and down and said, “Lookin’ to meet some soldiers, are you, love?” She wasn’t surprised he’d tattled on her.

But he didn’t really know anything. None of them did. Don’t miss a beat. She had to find out exactly how much Hulda knew or suspected. “I might not have been completely honest with the soldiers about where I came from, Fir’n. I wanted to protect my mother.”

Hulda clicked her tongue. “Did you lie to the immigration officers, too?”

“I never talked to a single officer, Fir’n.” That was true. The corporal had simply brought her here and done a rapid transaction with the Brothel steward—selling her to the Brothel, probably for sap. No one asked her origin, let alone her opinion. She supposed the steward had taken care of the relevant paperwork.

Hulda knew how those things worked; there was no point in explaining. “I don’t understand,” Einara said in a way she hoped sounded positively infantile. “Have I done something wrong?”

The Brothel director sat up and stretched, unself-conscious about her half-nudity. Taking her time, she pulled on her robe, then took a sip of tea.

Her eyes met Einara’s over the tumbler. “I don’t know, love. Have you? You act sweet and brainless, but my nephew said you worked the Councillor quite cleverly. He was impressed with you—Irin, that is. I imagine that’s why he arranged to meet you on the night he disappeared.”

And just like that, every inch of Einara’s body was alive with pulsing adrenaline. She went still, acutely conscious of the knife in her breast pocket. The lights of the room were white hot, the walls too close and getting closer. One, two, three . . .

She heard her own calm voice say, “I don’t know what you mean, Fir’n. What night was that?”

“You’re very good, my dear.” Hulda took another sip. “Very convincing with those wide eyes. Your training must have been superlative.”

“Please, Fir’n, I really don’t unders—”

Hulda silenced her with a gesture. “Don’t bother. I’m not here to wring a confession out of you. I don’t need one. Lars brought you a rice cake that night on Irin’s instructions. My nephew wasn’t prone to spontaneous gestures of kindness.”

Iron bands cinched Einara’s throat. Her heart thundered, drowning out the gentle ambient hum of heating. Even as her eyes filled with tears, though, she seemed to float above the scene and observe it coldly: the old woman’s ambush and her own not-entirely-feigned flustered confusion.

If Hulda meant to give her to the Constables, or to the secret police that everyone dreaded, she would have done so already. What did she want from Einara, then? The same thing Irin had?

She should use the knife on herself—now, quickly—and repair the terrible mistake she’d made twenty days ago. But her hands refused to move. “Please,” she whispered, but this time no lies came to her lips. Hulda would see through them. “Whatever you want, I . . . can’t.”

The old woman regarded her with a strange expression, half pity and half wonderment. “No, you can’t, can you? You’ve been programmed, just like one of our machines. Tell me, why did you kill my nephew? Because he asked you for something you weren’t allowed to give?”

The room went blurry. Einara blinked, and tears rolled down her cheeks, but her inner self stayed ice. “I didn’t,” she said, because if she confessed she would have to die. No other way out this time.

Hulda nodded. Her own eyes were damp, but her face was patient. “You didn’t want to do it, did you? Don’t get me wrong, girl. You’ll find no sympathy here. You’re a nasty little piece of work, and I love my nephew. Loved. But he’s had a reckless side ever since he was a child. I think he pushed you into a corner, and you did the only thing your training would let you. You pushed back.”

If the woman felt no sympathy, what did she want? Einara shook her head firmly, even as her tears confessed for her. “I didn’t.”

“Of course you didn’t, sweetheart.” Hulda rose from the couch and came to her. Einara braced herself for a blow, but the old woman only stroked the hair off her forehead. “Poor girl. For Irin’s sake, I should probably stick a knife in your gut.” Einara flinched again, and Hulda laughed softly. “Believe me, I would get away with it. I can do whatever I like here, at least to someone like you. Keep that in mind.”

Fingers were in her hair again, tightening and pulling. Einara sobbed.

Hulda gave her a reproving look, as if to tell her to stop faking. “But Irin’s gone, isn’t he? Killing you won’t bring him back. All we can do is continue to fight for the cause he believed in.”

Maybe Hulda wasn’t trying to trick her. Maybe Hulda was mad. Einara leaned into the woman’s harsh-gentle touch like a dog fawning on its master. Maybe I can still get out of this. “What cause do you mean, Fir’n?”

“It doesn’t matter to you, does it, dear? You have a different mission.” Hulda released her and sat on the floor, carelessly letting her robe fall open. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t borrow you a bit. Stop shaking, girl. I’m not going to force you to tell your deepest secrets. Come back to me. Look at me.”

With a start, Einara realized she’d started counting again. She needed to slip away to that quiet inner space where she’d find the courage to use the knife on herself. But Hulda’s voice kept pulling her back to this white room, far from the Colonel and her trainers. She was in Redda. This was all happening.

The knife was in her hand before she was conscious of reaching for it. “Don’t,” she said, scrambling backward. “Don’t try to make me. Don’t.”

Hulda just watched her. “I’m interested in the parameters you work within,” she said. “You can’t tell me the backdoor passwords, that much is clear. You can’t talk about your origins or your mission. Beyond that, though, what can you do, dear? You helped Irin with Councillor Linbeck. Could you help me in similar ways?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Einara shook her head wildly. Focus. Ignore her. Use the knife.

Hulda kept talking in that awful, croaking, reasonable voice, pulling her back to reality. “I thought you might be able to help me with the staff the way Irin did—collecting the useful tidbits they hear from their patrons. I’m sorely feeling my nephew’s absence, you see. I can’t do everything myself.”

As she spoke, the woman reached out and plucked the knife from Einara’s fingers. They had gone limp; another second, Einara realized with a sinking sensation, and she would have dropped it anyway.

She was so tired.

“You should kill me,” she said in a small voice, watching the Oslov examine the knife and run a finger down the blade. “It would only be fair.”

“Fair, maybe. But a waste.” Hulda placed the knife carefully, respectfully on the edge of the table. “When you leave here, you’ll return that to the kitchen where it belongs. And from now on, without disobeying your pre-existing orders, you will follow my orders, too. Is that clear?”

Einara felt herself nodding. None of this made sense. But then, it never had made sense to have two missions at once, one for the Colonel and one for herself. Something had to give. When she’d chosen to kill Irin and live, she had become a traitor to Resurgence, loyal to no one but herself.

Maybe she could say yes to Hulda, just as she had to the Colonel, and keep right on working secretly for herself—and you, my mother and sister—burrowing away under the surface.

“I want something in return, Fir’n,” she whispered. “Something just for me.”

“We all want something, my dear.” Hulda’s voice had gone cold. “I, for one, want to know where I can find my nephew so I can give him a proper cremation and cleanse his spirit of the horrors you made him suffer in his last moment. Can you give me that?”

Einara shuddered. Don’t tell. But she didn’t want Irin to rest forever in the ice grave, either. “Come close,” she said.

“So you can throttle me?” Hulda asked dryly. But she did lean close, and Einara brought her lips to the woman’s ear and whispered where to find Irin. Her voice was so low she could barely hear herself.

As they parted, a powerful rush of dizziness darkened Einara’s vision. When it cleared, her breath came strong and even. She’d disobeyed, and she was still alive. The Colonel couldn’t touch her here.

She swiped the knife from the table and tucked it back in her fleece. “I’m keeping this. If you try to have me arrested, I’ll be dead before I cross the threshold.”

“That’s the spirit.” Hulda’s smile was ugly. “You’ll make a fine assistant now that you’re being more honest with me. And since we’re making threats—I know you don’t want to die. So let’s both work within each other’s limitations, shall we?”

Yes. Einara could tell already that working for this woman, who actually understood her, would be easier than working for Irin. She would learn everything she could about the inner workings of the Brothel, its ties to the anti-government rebels and to organized crime. And she would use what she learned to secure the only thing that mattered to her.

After all, Hulda couldn’t live forever.

She wasn’t surprised when Hulda reached out and drew her close and kissed her gently, almost ceremoniously, on the mouth. She didn’t suppress a shiver. But she let her lips fall open, offering whatever the woman wanted.

If Hulda was mad, she was mad like the Colonel—the sort of cold madness that could lead armies—and she knew everything about this cursed city. She would be a fine mentor.

The kiss deepened, Einara letting her body melt against the other woman’s warmth, until Hulda thrust her away again. “Clever, aren’t you? We’ll have plenty of time for that.”

Einara made her eyes big and mournful. “Will we?”

“Oh yes, my little cutthroat. For now, I want you to tell me everything you’ve seen and heard in this establishment—from my nephew, the staff, the patrons. I want to see how observant you’ve been.”

Einara nodded. That was easy, but something nagged at her. “Your friends?” she asked. “The other shirkers? They won’t want to know . . .?”

“What Irin wanted to know? Oh, they do indeed.” The old woman’s chin lifted. “But I am still in charge here, and my will is law. As far as I’m concerned, hacking is a coward’s weapon. If we can’t rouse the will of the people without such tricks, what right do we have to rebel at all?”

Einara didn’t understand the subtleties of Oslov politics, let alone care, but she nodded. “You won’t let them question me, then?”

Hulda laughed—not a cackle but a full-throated, almost pleasant guffaw. “No. I have no intention of letting you near my associates, especially the one who put me on your trail in the first place. You’d try to gut him like a fish, and he may be our greatest hope. Time will tell, but he could be the shadow Magistrate of the whole damned Council someday. Men can be so stupid—but you know that. As does he.”

She lifted a lock of Einara’s hair and ran it through her fingers. “No. Tilrey will work in the light, and you’ll work in the shadows, and never the twain shall meet. If you’re a good, useful girl, if I can trust you, I might even consider grooming you for my position someday. I don’t expect to live to see the revolution, but I want to know it’s in good hands. Dark and light—because even Oslov has its dark corners where reason doesn’t reach. You and I know that too well. We’ve both endured the darker side of Oslovs, haven’t we? Especially of men?”

“Yes.” Einara’s shiver wasn’t feigned this time. The soldiers hadn’t been gentle.

“Yes. We have plenty in common.” The old woman’s mouth quirked. “But if you’re not useful, if you even think of betraying me, I’ll still kill you as nastily as you killed my poor nephew, may his last moment be bright. Now, go ahead, sweet girl. Tell me everything you’ve learned. Perform for me. Earn your keep.”

Einara raised her eyes and swore a silent oath to her sister: You will not be forgotten. “Of course,” she said. “Whatever you want.”

Chapter End Notes

So, yeah. I realize this whole chapter and relationship are a bit ... messed? Is that the word? I was going to have Hulda enlist Einara for her ends without guessing that she killed Irin, but Hulda is way too smart for that. So instead she’s cold as ice. And we have the dark, amoral side of the revolution to Tilrey and Gersha’s idealistic, reformist side. Does it work? I’m honestly not sure yet myself, but it was fun to write.If you’ve stuck it out through this long story, thank you!!! <3 It got me through many vicissitudes in my other, daylight writing life. My plan is to return to “All the Kinds of Broken” and then start a new story called “Tales from the Sanctioned Brothel,” which will take us through some of the years between now and when Ceill grows up. Yup, I want to grow him up and see what happens. :) That’s the ultimate plan here. Thank you from the bottom of my (warmed-up) heart for reading, kudo-ing, and commenting! It means so much.

Chapter End Notes

If you’ve stuck it out through this long story, thank you!!! <3 It got me through many vicissitudes in my other, daylight writing life. My plan is to return to “All the Kinds of Broken” and then start a new story called “Tales from the Sanctioned Brothel,” which will take us through some of the years between now and when Ceill grows up. Yup, I want to grow him up and see what happens. :) That’s the ultimate plan here. Thank you from the bottom of my (warmed-up) heart for reading, kudo-ing, and commenting! It means so much.