Winter nodded, flipping through the pages. “It’s a good thought.” I wonder if I should just have Jane and her people assigned to the wagons? It would look like a punishment detail, and Winter wasn’t sure that was a bad thing, given the way the Leatherbacks had been behaving. But it’s not going to make her like me any better.

Cyte came over to the desk to explain the details, and Winter let herself be immersed in the columns of figures and map notations. There was no need for her to attend to any of it, truthfully, but she was grateful for the work, and Cyte sensed her need for distraction. Bobby brought her a tankard of watered wine, which Winter drank without much enjoyment.

Sometime later, as Winter was idly flipping through reports while her two lieutenants copied out orders, there was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Winter said, springing to her feet before either of the other two could move. “Get that finished up while there’s still time to go outside and relax a little.”

“All I’m planning to do is go to bed,” Cyte muttered, but Winter saw that Bobby perked up and moved her pen with a little more vigor. Winter crossed to the door and opened it, feeling as she did another pulse of pressure in her head. Maybe I ought to go to bed myself.

“Colonel Ihernglass?” The visitor was an older man in a Vordanai uniform, standing relaxed between the two sentries. She didn’t recognize him. Someone from the quartermasters’ people?

“Yes?” she said. “Can I help you?”

She couldn’t have said what it was that saved her life. There was something wrong with the picture—the man’s shoulder straps made him a corporal, but he hadn’t offered a salute, and he was far too old. The way he stood was unmilitary, and his coat was tight, as though it had been tailored for someone smaller.

Infernivore roared and thrashed at the back of her mind, half warning, half frantic hunger.

Winter threw herself backward, and the old man’s hand slashed through the air inches in front of her face. His fingernails were as long as talons, painted with a strange white lacquer.

“Winter!” Bobby shouted, coming to her feet as Winter stumbled backward against the table.

Cyte was only a fraction slower, waving to the two guards. “Stop that man!”

The old man spun, faster than he had any right to, and the first guard through the doorway got raked across the face by those white talons. They passed through flesh and bone without slowing, leaving horrendous open tears in their wake. The guard dropped his musket and screamed, falling to his knees and clutching his hands to his ruined face.