“Sorry,” Eris said quietly. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“Were you a royal guard?” Nyx asked.

Eris’s face was blank. Every bit as in control as when she was fighting. “Something like that.”

Only another royal guard could have lasted longer than two seconds against Nyx, and only someone higher ranked would have beaten her. Whoever this small woman was, she had body mods. They were strictly controlled, highly regulated, and damn near impossible to replicate outside of palace personnel. With a few exceptions, they could only be added during infant incubation. So, this woman had to have been a top cohort in the militus class, engineered like Nyx was for special ops. A lot of cohorts came and went—experimental engineering didn’t always take, so infant mortality among some groups were higher than others. Most soldiers didn’t know much about other cohorts unless they were young and impressive enough to warrant notice. Like Nyx.

Nyx would have heard about someone who fought like this. A soldier that talented would have her face splashed across the vid-screens in the military camps to inspire others.

She probably changed her face, Nyx realized. Then who the Avern was she?

“If you stared at me any more intensely, I’d be on fire,” Eris said, clearly amused.

“Trying to figure out who you were. Before.”

“Does it matter?”

Nyx considered that. Before meant being under the Oracle’s control, when killing came as naturally as breathing and eating—it was just what soldiers did. No thought to the matter until the day something interrupts that programming and you recall all the things you’ve done and think that maybe the God of Death isn’t a God at all but a monster. Something worse than a devil. And you’ve only been feeding it.

“Maybe not,” Nyx said. “But if you were military, you know what they did to me and what they forced me to do. What’s the point in offering to erase my tattoos if you’re asking me to go back to the Empire that put them there?”

Nyx unwound the bandages, letting them fall beside her. A few of her knuckles would bruise. She took out a heavy ring from her pocket. She always wore two, except when she sparred, and instead of slipping it back on her fingers, she rolled it along her palm.

“I don’t want you to, and I’m not asking you to go back as a soldier,” Eris said, her eyes following the ring. “We can get you a shifter to hide your face. No one will recognize you, Nyx.” At Nyx’s silence, Eris loosed a breath. “Listen, I know what that ring means. I know that they give it to soldiers who survive to make it to the royal guard. And I know what’s on the inside of it.”