Leah is led down the stairs, across a few hallways, down more stairs, and to the south-west side of the keep. There, on the fourth floor, she is put into a small bedroom that currently stands empty.

Along the way, every guard they pass stares in shock as they recognise her. She listens to their baffled questions, directed at her captors mostly, all in the strange dialect she is beginning to recognise as being the spoken variant of that found on the missives.

Sitting in the room, she is guarded by at least a dozen volunteers, all standing outside the door and down the hallway, still and impassive yet obviously bursting with curiosity.

“Sy ueses teu spy ue Lõ Seffon.”

The guards are still whispering it to each other. Apparently, her request had been understood.

No more than five minutes after being seated on the empty bed frame and told to “wait” by a young guard, who so carefully enunciated the ‘T’ at the end of the word as though to make up for its absence in his own dialect, the door is once again thrown open.

She hadn’t really known what to expect. Her memories of the rescue are fuzzy with time, and all she remembers clearly is the red-clothed man – or more accurately, the red clothing. The man’s face had evaded her memories.

Until now.

A quiet-looking man, well-dressed and well-kempt, somewhere in his forties but only just, stands before her with a look of doubt, replaced by recognition, replaced by worry, replaced by confusion. He settles on a mix of all four.

“Ua en th love of th gaus aữ yu deueng hỹ?” he blurts out, somewhat strangled.

“Lord Seffon?” Leah asks with a small smile, standing and bowing. Seffon takes a half-step back as she stands.

The young guard beside him pipes up. “Sy es from Algy, sy spyksnau Olues.”

Seffon nods. “You speak Volsti, correct?”

Leah considers how much to throw at him at once, and decides on a slower approach. “We share that language, it would probably be the easiest to communicate in. Are you fluent in it?”

“Passably, yes, of course I am, but, what…? What are you doing here?” He is looking her over carefully, as though checking for some trick – her dagger has already been taken from her, and she stands in her armour, at ease but not relaxed.

Leah drops her smile. “Lord Seffon, I am here because I read one of the scrolls you sent to the Valerids. You asked to send an envoy, is that correct?”

Seffon runs his fingers through his messy brown hair, his jaw dropping. The guards standing outside lean in closer to the doorway to watch what is happening, even though they cannot understand the words. “What…” He shakes his head helplessly. “I…yes…what…”

“I regret to inform you that the Valerids will likely never accept to receive any such envoy. You see, they believe you are intent on harming them and their people.”

“I…but…why are you…why are you here…”

“They are so insistent on painting you as a ruthless enemy, they will not even allow their soldiers to know your strengths, or intentions, or demands, or offers, or anything about you really. I got in a lot of trouble for having the audacity to read the missive you sent rather than turning it over to Lord Valerid directly.”

Seffon nods along, eyes darting in confusion. “You…you were…but how did you…”

“Sir, I was intrigued by what I read. You did not sound like a warlord, or a cruel man, or even a very mean one. You sounded quite reasonable, and all my attempts to learn more about you were met with suspicion, and even accusations of having been put under your spell, given my brief stay in the keep previously.”

“Well yes there was that, but…but why would that…why would you…why…”

“So you see, Seffon – may I call you Seffon? – ”

Seffon raises his hands helplessly, a bracelet on one wrist clinking sharply as the charms rattle. “Uhh?”

“ – I have been accused of betraying my patrons, conspiring against them in your name, and of possessing the body of Leah Talesh for malicious purposes.”

 “But this is absurd – ”

Leah smiles and gives a slight nod. “I’m glad you agree, Seffon. But you see, after my stay here I was changed, and it has caused me nothing but trouble. I was, in fact, thrown in jail two days ago, and broke out yesterday, whereupon I decided that the only person who might hold any answers as to why my memories have been erased and replaced with new ones, would be the person who had possession of me during the period of time when the switch took place.”

Seffon’s mouth hangs slack, but his expression shows that he is attempting to the best of his ability to follow her explanation.

Leah tries to look sincere. “Seffon, you recognise me. You know who I am, and you – not I – know what you were trying to do to me before the rest of my teammates came to take me back. I am here, to answer the question I think you’ve been trying to ask, to figure out what it is you did, whether you succeeded, and how to put things back the way they were.”

Silence stretches out from the room like a palpable thing. The guards all seem to be holding their breath. Seffon closes his hanging jaw.

“Miss…Talesh…” he begins haltingly, “Did I hear you say…that a switch took place?”

“Yes. My memories were removed and replaced with new ones.”

He nods slowly. “Ah. Interesting. That shouldnau have happened.”

“From a personal standpoint, I wholeheartedly agree.”

Once again, silence.

“If you wouldn’t mind, sir?”

Seffon shakes his head to clear it and listens, still in shock. “Yes?”

“My horse Beeswax is tied up in the woods to the east of the fort. Would you mind sending someone to fetch her and ready a stall in the stables for her?”

Seffon listens as though there must surely be more coming. “Will you be staying?”

“Yes, sir, if I may.”

He nods absently, eyes fixed on her but not quite seeing her. “Well then.” He pauses. “Well.” Another pause. “Certainly.”

Leah smiles once more, trying to keep it neutral. Seffon turns to the guards behind him, who all immediately pretend they were not watching. Speaking gently but firmly, in the local dialect, he directs them to go, sending four in one direction and three in another.

Once they have gone and Seffon has turned back to her, Leah speaks. “She’s not a temperamental horse.”

“What was that?” he asks, visibly switching his thoughts back to English.

“She won’t fight. Seven people to deal with one horse is a bit much.”

Seffon spreads his hands and steps into the room, taking a seat on an empty dresser. “Forgive me, but I must take precautions. Your showing up here…alone, after las time…Well. It seems unlikely.” He waves away the guards, who reluctantly return to their posts, four remaining behind outside the open door.

“On the contrary. As I explained, my memory troubles since being ‘rescued’ have led my team members and the people who hired me to believe that I have been charmed by you, somehow. They no longer trust me, and would follow me nowhere.” She keeps the hurt out of her voice, she thinks, but saying it out loud still stings.

Seffon leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Why did you say ‘rescued’ in tha tone of voice?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t understan?”

“What happened to Leah while she was unconscious here for three days? Was she even unconscious?”

“It was the purpose of the trap that caught you, to send into unconsciousness any who attempted to read it. I admit, I hadnau expected you to be caught in it – ”

“Because Leah could barely read, yes – ”

“But once it ha been triggered I…well I ded what needed to be done for the safety of the Hol.”

“Whole?”

“Hold, sorry. Why do you refer to yourself en the thir person?”

“Because, as I said, a switch took place. I have memories of a different life. I awoke one day finding myself in this…hold?…being taken away by a group of warriors I had never seen before, and brought to a place I had never been to before.”

“You ded not recognise them?” Seffon receives her headshake as a negative. “I’ve never heard of that as a side effe to the sigil trap I used, nor to any other magic. Pars of memory, yes, and details of recen evens, but never whole lives.”

Leah pauses to think back to the interrogation. “What do you know of a spell called…Dream? Bitter Dream, I think.”

He shakes his head. “I donnau recognise the name.”

“It involves a rat skull, something that smells like alcohol and bleach and dandelions, and a series of semi-precious stones arranged in a this-way sort of shape.” She draws out the configuration as she remembers it .

“Oh! Bettẽ Drym, what a clever name. It’s a weak memory restorative, yes, used mosly for when people have suffered head trauma or severe shock. One of th genler spells. I wouldnau have advised its use en your case, though, from what I’ve heard.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re not misseng memories, you’ve jus replaced them. For all we know, tha spell could have been doing a switch of ets own, not just returning what was los. You might have los some of the memories tha belong to this other life, in exchange for any regained by th spell. Now, I suppose tha only matters if we assume yõ new memories matter, but by yõ behaviour, et seems they do.”

Leah relaxes half a degree. “I’m glad you understand.”

“Well, I find et a fascinating case, ef nothing else, but what we ough to do abou et…” he runs his fingers through his hair again, then stops midway. “Why en sanity am I still talkeng to you? You were hire to kill me!”

“Yes, by people who put me in prison on suspicion of serving you.” She shrugs with her arms wide, smiling ruefully. “It might clear the air if you accept that I am here under a truce flag and help me understand what happened over those three days.”

A guard steps in to confirm the horse has been located, and is being brought to the stables. No other people were spotted around the hold. Seffon translates all this for Leah then dismisses the guard, who looks curiously and distrustfully at Leah before leaving.

“I would like to see her settled in,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because this bed frame is uncomfortable and I have spent the last almost three days sitting either in a prison cell or on that horse’s back.” She stretches her legs and rubs her knees, pointedly. “We can continue to talk as we walk.”

Seffon looks her over. “No.”

Leah pauses. “Alright.”

Seffon raises an eyebrow. “Is that it?”

“I would have liked to retrieve my belongings, but I suppose they can be searched and brought to me if you see fit.”

He stares at her in wonder and confusion. “Why ã you doing thes?”

Leah sits a little straighter on the bed, meeting his eyes. “I’m trying to be cooperative, because I don’t think you deserve my temper. Ultimately, I’m here because you’re the only person who knows what you did to me while I slept.”

He stops for a few seconds to consider the connotations. “I did notheng to you. How dare you accuse me of – ”

“How dare I? Seffon, I walked into your keep, from the ground floor to the tallest tower, without anyone raising an alarm. If I was here for revenge against some awful thing I suddenly remembered you did to me while I was unconscious in your care, I would have taken my revenge and walked away unscathed.” Leah pauses for effect, and to rein her temper in. “I hope you know that I mean that truthfully.”

Seffon has paled, but only slightly. The young guard, still present, is watching her in terrified awe.

“Why did you sneak all th way through th Hold, jus to turn yourself en?” He asks it gently, in sincere curiosity.

“If I presented myself at the front gates and requested entry, I would have been riddled with arrows and left for dead.” Seffon does not deny it. “I suppose I wanted to show you that I could. That if I wanted to, I could sneak in and out, and no-one would know, but also that I wasn’t here to do harm. I wanted to make an impression on you, and your guards.”

“The militia already remembers th’impression you lef las time; you do not nee to make an attem to impress them.”

Leah notices the choice of words, militia over guards, but does not mention it. “I will confess the infiltration was not flawless. I should have mentioned it sooner, but there’s a guard unconscious near the balcony over the training area.”

Seffon immediately calls in one of the guards, and sends him to the place to find the man.

Anxiety tying her gut in knots, Leah watches the exchange, hoping that she hasn’t just jeopardised what little rapport she had managed to build with him. “I regret having to do it, but I hadn’t gotten as far in as I would have liked to at that point. First impressions matter so much, you know.”

“Apparenly not as much as secon ones.” Seffon looks at her very pensively. “Alright, I’ll accept et. Th premise is solid.” At Leah’s confused look, he stands and continues. “I can understan why you came here en thes manner. E reveals that you are sincerly worried about your mental state, and willing to risk injury or capture to see e treated. Even nau, you are talkeng with me so calmly, when you know it is within my powẽ to throw you en a cell to rot, and count e a victory.”

“Because I believe you won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?” He clasps his hands behind his back.

“Nothing. Only that the people who call you a ruthless enemy were the same ones who threw me in a cell to rot, and counted it a victory.”

Seffon listens and nods. “Of course you realise tha I mus take precautions nonetheless. Yõ reputation precedes you, and many of my people have scars lef by yõ weapons. Others lie in their graves by yõ han.”

“I would gladly accept to be locked in a room until we can discuss this further in the morning.”

Baffled, he nods. “Thank you. Yes, tha wou be bes.” He moves to leave. “Do you need anytheng? A meal, a ba, a chanz of clos? Yõ ride here mus have been tireng.”

Leah smirks a tiny bit. “You are not as fluent as you said you were.”

Seffon straightens. “I am tired, and I have not had to speak this language in many years.” His pronunciation of word-final stops is exaggerated, his whole tone clipped and formal.

“Then until morning,” Leah says, with a half-bow. Seffon watches, but does not return it.

He converses with the guards, and the young one steps up to volunteer. Seffon seems to judge this, but the young one makes an argument that Leah thinks is based around his minor understanding of Volsti. Seffon nods to stop the flow of words, and leaves, rubbing his temples.

The young guard and a woman guard then gesture for Leah to follow them. She is taken a few doors down, where a number of servants are just leaving a room. Entering, she finds it to be a newly prepared bedroom, with narrow bed, low dresser, and small, narrow mirror. Like the other room, it is in the centre of the keep, and has no windows.

It does not go unnoticed by Leah that for this room to have been freshly prepared meant that Seffon had already ordered it readied, before he’d even spoken to her. She decides to take this as a good sign.

*

After her first decent night’s rest in a proper bed in far too long, Leah wakes up refreshed if still somewhat sore and anxious. A servant brings her breakfast: mashed sweet potato, some sort of bird meat, and fresh parsley over the whole. There is also a drink, which smells of vanilla and cinnamon and tastes of sour milk. She finishes it all with gratitude, after having spent all the last day and a half without any food.

She had slept in her clothes, and is looking through the dresser in case there are some simple things she can change into, when the guards knock and enter. The female guard has left and been replaced, but the young guard is still there, bleary-eyed from insufficient sleep yet still eager.

Leah regards him for a moment, before carefully asking, “May I have a change of clothes?” She speaks slowly and clearly, but not so much as to be patronising, still trying to make the best impression she can.

The younger guard takes a moment to translate in his head, very obviously mouthing the words, then turns to the new guard. “Uẽ cou uy fyn hẽ som clyn clos?”

The new guard turns and flags down a servant, apparently standing in wait out of sight. “Fece some spã lethẽs from th traineng grauns.”

Leah listens intently, trying to pick up patterns. ‘Training grounds’ is easy to guess, and testing the feel of their pronunciation silently, she feels the slightly low pull of their vowels. The tendency to drop vowels at the end of words is harder to be certain of, but the more bland the vowel, the likelier to drop, she guesses. ‘R’s are a mystery, but it seems they are only changed if at the end of a word.

“Thank you,” she says, even as the guards turn back to her. The new one seems unsettled, but the youngest is still only curious, perhaps detrimentally so. She can’t help but forgive him – How flattering, to be idolised! And how odd, for it to be by an enemy soldier.

“Lord Seffon has sent some of his people,” the younger says, oh-so carefully, “To ceck if your story of preson is true.”

Leah nods, then says, “Check.”

“Sceck?”

“Tcheck.”

“Check?”

Leah nods. “Prison.”

“Pryson?”

“Prison.”

“Prisõ?”

“Prih, zun.”

“Prison.”

She nods again.

The new guard rolls his eyes.

Leah inclines her head to the younger guard. “I understand why Lord Seffon chose to do that.”

The young guard nods, and translates for his comrade, who seems impatient yet oddly amused by the younger’s behaviour. The two talk, too quickly and quietly for Leah to follow, and the young guard seems to settle down.

“What are your names?”

They look to her in confusion, and the younger one translates, then gives a slight bow before saying, “Zon.” The older glares at him, and the younger takes a step back, eyes lowered. The older says, “Rennen,” without a bow.

“Leah Louise Armande,” Leah says, with a bow.

Rennen frowns at the long name. “Ley Leuys…Aʁamã?” he says, seeming confused by the French ‘R.’

“Tales?” Zon says, confusedly. “Uhh, esh? Talesh?”

“No,” Leah says, with a shrug.

Before he can ask further, Rennen pulls himself up to attention and seems to recite something. Zon translates. “Your possessions have been examined, and will be braut teu yu shortly.” He then raises his eyebrows, as though waiting for more corrections.

“Brought to you.”

“Brat…brought…to you.” He upturns the ‘oo’ sounds, as he did the ‘eu’ sound. Leah decides that’s a tiny enough detail to not be worth correcting, and nods.

“Again, thank you.”

Rennen says something to Zon, who reluctantly leaves the room. Rennen turns back to Leah and stands impassively beside the door until the servant returns with clothing.

Leah accepts the clothing with a smile, but the servant seems unnerved by her and scurries off the moment she has the bundle in her hands. The guards leave her in privacy to change. The clothes are a sort of suede, only slightly tight around the thighs and chest, but soft and clean-smelling. More importantly, they are warm in the cold air of the keep.

After an hour of waiting in uncertain silence, Rennen opens the door again and presents to her, bundled up in the riding blanket, her few belongings: the soap, the three silver coins she’d taken from the prison guard’s desk, and the sheath from Jeno’s gift dagger. Leah is hit with a sudden grief at how little she has, but then reminds herself that her shield, spear, dagger, armour, and mare are all here too, just currently out of reach.

“When may I speak with Lord Seffon?” she asks the retreating back of the guard, who looks to his companion – looking now even more exhausted – for a translation, which he belatedly gives.

“When he believes your story.”

Leah sighs. “His people will likely not make it safely into the city.”

“They nydnau ryce th sety,” Rennen says, and Zon translates – “They don’t need to reach the city,” – but neither offers any more than that.