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I glare after her as she stumbles away across the rocks.

“A bath does sound nice,” I say.

“Ephraim would come for me,” Volga repeats. I remember Ephraim’s face when he heard the Sovereign had Volga. But would he try for her twice? I give up guessing and glare at Victra.

“You are doing a good thing,” Volga says. “Just think about having that bath and a real meal.”

“Oh, leave off. How do you not choke her to death?”

Sleet gathers on her eyebrows as she considers it. “Two nights ago, I thought about it after she called me a geriatric walrus. But I do not think it would work. She fought beside Sefi herself. And Darrow. No, she is too much for me, even now. Unless I was able to shoot her from afar.”

“That was a joke.”

“Oh.” Her eyes flick left. “As was mine.”

“Right.” I glance back at the village. There’s little movement. Likely all huddled inside eating dinner what with this weather. “I don’t like it.”

There’s the sounds of rocks moving behind us. We turn to see Victra stumbling back, fresh annoyance on her face. “Of all the gory inconveniences…” She looks up at the weather. With the sleet gathering on her cheeks, and her hair matted back, she makes me think of a statue I saw in Hyperion. Lady Victory, the wife of Silenius

the Lightbringer. “Sorry, ladies,” she says with a wry grin. She holds up glistening fingers. “Little monster’s coming. Looks like she’s a mover.”

“That settles it,” I say, knowing we can’t risk going into the old installation. But we need shelter. Me probably even more than Victra’s newborn will. Thing will probably come out with fangs and a silk cloak.

I rush down the scree. At the edge of the village, a stooped old Red chisels ice off the roof of his stone house. I don’t see anyone else out, and his house looks large enough and far off enough from the others to not draw too many eyes. “?’Lo,” I call. He doesn’t hear me over the howl of the wind. “?’Lo!” He turns to squint down at me through a snow mask. Then he sees the pistol in my hand. “I need your help, brother.”

“You askin’ or tellin’, lass?”

“Tellin’, I suppose.”

He awkwardly climbs off the roof. “You been out in that?”

“Who’s in the house?” I ask.

“None your.” He looks to the hills.

“Scorcher says it is my.”

“Me kids,” he says. He nods to the sky. “Saw the firefight. Who else you got out there?”

I wave Volga and Victra down the hill. They slump forward in the gloom, sticking behind shrubs to keep out of sight of the rest of the town. Volga is less than polite. She lifts the man by his collar and breaches the house holding her rifle like a pistol in one hand and the man dangling in her other. Victra and I follow.

A young girl, maybe twelve, and a boy of sixteen stare at us as we come in, wet and armed. The boy bolts upright from the table and grabs a heavy mug, nearly spilling his soup. The girl stares at us from the kitchen, trembling. Her hands knot the corners of her grease-stained apron.

“Alred, Brea, all’s well!” the man says. “All’s well. These are…new friends.”

The boy holds his mug tight, looking between his father and the huge women who’ve got his father at gunpoint. I kick the door shut and start drawing the curtains.

“Volga, set him down,” Victra says.

“We do not know him.”

“You’re in his home. Be polite. They’re just Reds, no offense.”

Volga warily sets the Red man down. He smiles nervously. “Strong lass there.”

“How quaint,” Victra says magnanimously of the small home. She has to bend to not hit her head on the timber crossbeams. “Apologies for the intrusion. I desire hot water, clean cloth, soap, pen, paper, and the hardest liquor you can provide. Fear not, this won’t be a hostile interaction unless your manners become as dreadful as the ones to which we’ve been reduced. By tomorrow morning, you will be one million credits richer, and we will be gone.” Volga’s already searching the house for weapons and coms. “Take off that absurd domino. Your mask, man. And your name.”

Volga finds two old rifles in the cupboard as well as a pistol. She disassembles them in three easy movements and takes small pieces from each for her pockets.