Lajaka had sworn her oath, been assigned to a unit, and was given her own hut. This was where Luthene found her, carrying a few books, a bottle of wine, and two cups. Lajaka took the wine and the cups from her, and poured some for the both of them. “We’ll be in the same unit,” Lajaka said before taking a drink. “Said I thought we might be kin. My Ma had lived in the south a while and got herself a bastard, and I came here looking for my Da.” There was a good amount of truth in the story; Lajaka’s mother had lived in the south, got herself a bastard, and Lajaka had left home to look for her father. Cedric didn’t need to know that had happened in another world. “Hope you don’t mind I said your Da might have been my Da and we could be sisters.”

By the expression on her face, Lajaka could see that Luthene didn’t really like the idea at all, but she sighed and shrugged. “We look similar enough that it may be true, and my father’s been dead and buried for years. There’s no one but me who could argue it. It’s just…”

“Your Da was a good man who’d never get a bastard on someone?” Lajaka finished, and Luthene nodded. “Being a good man don’t stop him from making a bastard. Galin had one, in my world.”

Luthene nodded again. “You mentioned a son. Not… not by me, I take it?”

“No, Lorcan’s mother was…” Lajaka paused, thinking. “I forget, but it’ll come to me. He might’ve been born before you and Galin met, actually, only she didn’t tell him right away. One day he found a boy waiting for him. Didn’t make Galin a bad man, having him. And you didn’t mind it, neither. But you had me, so I figure that might’ve made a difference in how you saw things.”

“And your father, Lajaka?” Luthene asked. “I could never piece that together. That memory was… hidden. Who was he?”

“I don’t think she wanted you to know,” Lajaka said slowly. “My Ma, I mean. If she was the one giving you the memories, she’d hold that one back.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Before I was born, and all while I was growing up, you… she kept herself hidden away. Didn’t talk to none of her old friends, changed her name, lived quiet. You remember that?”

“Yes. I always thought that was… shame.”

“Might have been some of that,” Lajaka admitted. “Mostly fear, though. She was afraid of him, the man that fathered me. And she wanted to keep me safe, and that meant he couldn’t know about me. Didn’t tell nobody she was pregnant until you were hidden away. Galin’s nephew, Colin, he helped. So he knew, and he told Galin, but that’s it. She didn’t tell me, not ’til I was grown and pestering Galin for the truth, and I’d’ve pestered Colin too but he was dead and buried. It was hard, when she finally told me, having to revisit what happened and tell me the whole truth of it.”

Luthene gasped. “He… forced himself on me, didn’t he?”

“On her,” Lajaka corrected. She needed to stop seeing this Luthene as her mother, and that meant Luthene couldn’t see them as the same, either. “But yeah. And… I don’t think she’d want you to know.”

The revelation caught Luthene by surprise, but of course she should have figured it out by now. There were happy memories of Galin, of the two of them being… intimate together. There were no such memories with Lajaka’s father. It also explained some of the feelings Luthene— the other Luthene— had associated with her pregnancy. Luthene took one of the books from the pile beside her, and flipped through the pages before turning it so Lajaka could see it.

“When I… when she was carrying you, there was so much conflict. At first I didn’t understand it. I thought those memories should have been happier. And she was happy,” Luthene added quickly, “But there was also so much fear, and sadness, even anger, and I didn’t know why at the time. It makes sense now.”

Lajaka nodded, her eyes scanning the page, reading the words, but she didn’t speak.

“Sometimes, after giving birth… women struggle,“ Luthene went on. “It’s difficult for them to bond with their child, and they’re very despondent. That’s how it was for her. That’s why she named you Lunar.” Luthene smiled. “You may not have liked the name, but it helped her.

Lajaka closed the book. “Mind if I hang on to this?”

Luthene nodded, and handed her the rest. “Some of them are a bit disjointed, and there are other memories I can’t really place. But that’s everything I remembered.”

Taking one of the other books, Lajaka flipped through the pages. “Everything, eh?”

Luthene flushed. “I didn’t want to forget any of it!”

Setting the books aside, Lajaka refilled both of their wine cups. “I want to know about you, now. And Galin. This Galin, I mean. How long’ve you two been knocking boots?”

Luthene flushed. “It’s not quite like that.” Lajaka raised an eyebrow in confusion, prompting Luthene to explain further. “Well, when I first joined with the Company, the story we used was that I had been kicked out of the Academy in Egjora for going to bed with a swordmaster there, since they probably wouldn’t like who I really am. And of course, a story like that would result in some advances from the other men, so Galin told them that we were together. They left me alone, of course, but to sell the story, we had to share a hut, and there’s only one bed. There was a spare blanket, though, and he slept on the floor. Except when we were out, and there was a camp. Then, we had to…” Her flush deepened, and she took a drink. “It was rather awkward, trying to pretend, and especially with Galin, keeping up the act even when there was no one to see it. But of course it wasn’t an act for him, and I had feelings for him, and now… We’re not really pretending anymore. Not entirely. We’re together, and of course the kissing is real, but…”

“But you’re still making him sleep on the floor?” Lajaka asked.

“Well, no, but…”

“But you ain’t seen him naked yet?”

Again Luthene flushed. “Well, when we were on a job in Vilpamolan, I… But that was an accident!” she insisted.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, woman, bang him already!”

Judging by the colour of Luthene’s face, Lajaka knew she was right, and she was actually surprised. In her world, it hadn’t taken Galin and Luthene much time at all. They started sharing a bed the night Luthene arrived in Dun Caric. Lajaka wasn’t sure what the story was in Mathuin’s world, but she was living as his wife without actually swearing any vow. Lajaka had assumed Luthene and Galin were doing a lot more in that bed.

“If you’re waiting for him to wed you,” Lajaka said at last, “Don’t. Because he might not.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Luthene asked, sounding a bit indignant.

“In my world, he’d lost two wives already and wasn’t keen on it happening a third time. And you were living together like man and wife anyway. Mathuin, too. He’d lost a wife already, and in his world, the Highlands were at war, so the timing never worked out. I’m pretty sure you did marry in his world, eventually, but it didn’t happen for Mathuin on account of some Timedeath shit. Might have married in my world, too; he’d asked you proper, and you both were planning it, but it never happened seeing as that world ended. I ain’t sure about Galin’s story, here. Was he married before?”

Luthene shook her her head. “Engaged, before the war, but she broke it off.”

“Alright, so maybe he won’t have so many hang-ups about it. But regardless, think of what it is you’re waiting for. It’s just paperwork, when all’s said and done. Especially for you. Not like you’re asking the Maker or Conclave for their blessings or nothing, like it was with your parents.”

“But it’s not… it wouldn’t be proper,” Luthene protested.

“Do you love him?” Lajaka asked with her characteristic bluntness. Luthene paused, then nodded. “Ain’t that enough?”

There was silence while Luthene considered this. Finally, Lajaka continued. “It was enough for my Ma. It was enough for the woman Mathuin loved, too. And for what it’s worth, it’s more than enough for me, though I ain’t got your standards. Actually, these days, it takes a lot less, but never mind that now. Point is, I know you got a way of doing things, and you need to think more about why you’re doing it that way, and I think you’ll find there’s more reasons to do it now than there are to wait for papers. With my Ma, first I was born, and it took until I was good and grown before she loved a man. And she went to bed with him, many times, before he so much as promised to wed her. She didn’t regret that, neither. Given the chance to live her life again, I bet she would have done it sooner, too!” Lajaka finished the wine in her cup. “You got that chance, and you won’t regret it, same as she didn’t. Now go. No, really, go.” Lajaka stood up, helped Luthene up as well, and embraced her. “At least think about it, alright?”

Luthene nodded. “We’ll talk more?”

“We got lots of time to talk. You got other things to be doing right now. Get gone!”