Carefully, Kestrel told the officer, “I thought you already knew.”

“Remind me.”

The lamplight was strong enough that he’d see if she began to inch a hand toward her dagger. She stayed still. Gambling, she told him, “I’m a colonial girl.” The odds were with her; almost all of Valoria was a colony.

“But from where, exactly?”

She coughed again, making the sound murky and wet, and tried to think. “From here.” Scouts deployed in Herran would have to know the language. Ideally the terrain, too. The scout—Alis—had been young, Roshar had said. Green, to be so easily caught. If the general chose someone with little experience to gather intelligence on the enemy, it must be because she had advantages that outweighed her inexperience, such as familiarity with the country.

“I’m from here, too,” the officer said softly.

“Yes, sir.” Her heart sped.

“I spent my youth on a farm west of here.” He took a step closer. She held her ground. He wasn’t close enough yet to see her clearly; she couldn’t see him clearly. But she caught, now, the slight accent in his voice. She would have had a colonial accent, too, if her father hadn’t ordered her tutors to hammer any sign of it from her voice. In Valorian, she possessed the voice of a capital courtier, polished and pure.

“I want my home back,” the officer said.

“So do I.” She kept her voice low, rough from coughing, but added a subtle lilt—just enough that he might think the accent had been there all along, and that he’d somehow missed it. “What are my orders?” She tried to keep the question steady. Her pulse was relentless.

“Return to your post. I’ll inform the general of your report.”

“Yes, sir.” The words came out in a relieved rush.

“Not quite yet.” The officer set the lamp down on the forest floor and backed away. “Pick up the lamp.”

Dread mounted in her throat. “Sir?”

“Pick up the lamp and show me your face.”

“But.” She swallowed. “The infection.”

“I want to see it. I’ll keep my distance.”

“The risk—”

“Soldier. Pick up the lamp. Show me your face.”

Trust me, she’d told Arin. She remembered the strength in her voice and tried to summon that strength again. She thought, fleetingly, that this must be what memory was for: to rebuild yourself when you lose the pieces.

Slowly, Kestrel walked toward the lamp. She kept her head down, though she didn’t think he could see her face yet—she’d seen nothing of his during the moment after he’d set the lamp at his feet, just before he’d backed away. She closed one eye: an old trick her father had taught her for night-fighting that involved torches or lamps. One eye adjusted to see by torchlight. One eye kept in reserve, to see in total darkness if the light went out.

“I don’t want anyone to see me,” she told the officer. “The disease has ruined my face.”

“Show me. Now.”

She grabbed the lamp and smashed it against a boulder.

He swore. Her dagger was in her hand. She heard him draw his sword.

I don’t want to kill, she’d told Arin long ago. Even if she’d wanted to, she’d fail. She felt the memory of failure, of her father watching while she couldn’t fight back, her arm sagging beneath the pressure of someone else’s sword.

“Who are you?” He advanced, his blade probing the shadows: darting, cautious, blind. His sight hadn’t yet adjusted.

But it would.

The officer would capture her and bring her to the general’s camp.

There’d be questions. She’d be made to answer. Pressed, split open along her weakest lines. She thought of the prison, her twilight drug, mud and agony. She imagined her father’s face as she was brought before him. She saw it in her memory. Her future. She saw it right now.

Pulse wild, stomach tight, she crouched to grasp a handful of soil. He heard her and turned. She flung the grit into his face.

A dirty trick, she heard her father say. Dishonorable.

But dirty tricks were her specialty.

She darted around the man, came up behind him, and slid the dagger’s tip into his back, just below the ribs. “Which code do you use to communicate with the general? Tell me.”

“Never.”

She dug a little harder. “I’ll kill you.”

He hooked a leg around hers and jerked hard. She toppled. Hit the ground. She scrambled to get up, and found a sword’s point at her throat.