At Raesinia’s insistence, Sothe accompanied Winter downstairs, in case any Patriot Guards had ignored their commander’s orders and wanted to fight to the last. They took the servants’ passage, back toward the kitchen, narrow and switchbacking.

“All right,” Winter said as Sothe peered suspiciously around another bend and then waved her forward. “I have to ask.”

“Hmm?” Sothe said. Her sleeves were damp with blood where the Penitent Damned had cut her, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“When you were fighting the Penitent, at the end. You had your eyes closed.”

“Oh.” Sothe pulled up short, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed. “You saw that?”

Winter nodded, and Sothe sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

“I was . . . guessing, really. His style was predictable, the same responses to my moves every time. So I could get away with closing my eyes for a few seconds, as long as I kept the initiative. Any longer than that and he would have killed me.”

“But why?”

“I was playing a hunch. The way he moved—it was like he could see what I was going to do before I did it. But when he had to fight you as well, I noticed he wasn’t as fast when he was looking the other way. I think he had a . . . power—a demon, I suppose—that let him . . . see better? Or see more detail.” Sothe frowned. “I don’t understand magic. But I guessed that he wasn’t looking into the future or seeing into my mind, just reading cues from my body. Everyone has them, little motions, no matter how hard you try not to. The eyes are critical. I knew he was backing toward bad footing, but he would be able to read that from my eyes, so for a few seconds . . .”

Winter stared at her, and Sothe just shrugged.

“I had no idea if it would work. But I couldn’t beat him any other way, so I thought it was worth a try.”

“That’s . . .” Winter shook her head. “Someday you’re going to have to tell me where you learned to fight like that.”

“It’s a long story,” Sothe muttered.