"Don't call me that," Ziotea groused at the boy with a frown.  She followed without comment, noting the turns, the places where ambushes might be set, the places that would be easier to defend.  She glared at the third cot like it was offensive, and made a noise of disapproval as Vahn again called her "my lady".  "Stop fussing with the sheets and get out," she told him, bothered by his fretful timidity.  Had she ever been so grovelling?  She didn't think so.  Even at her most frightened, she had always been angry.

He bowed and left and nearly slammed into Rose as she entered.  Ziotea watched her, trying to sort out the complicated emotions she felt.  Respect for the girl's determination.  Jealousy, perhaps, for having escaped when she herself had not.  Disgust, because in the end it wouldn't matter.  There were other things, but she couldn't put names to them.

And then surprise at the strange prosthetics, followed by a guess at what had happened.  "Frostbite," she said quietly, not quite a question.  "And no modern facility to handle setting the implants, or perhaps someone with limited skill."  Rodion would wonder what they were made of, how they worked, why they were different from most replacement body parts, and the thought of what he would do if he were here made a faint smile flicker across her face.  But Ziotea was less interested in those answers.  She noted that the fingers resembled decorations in the ballroom back at the Seminary, and moved on.

"Don't thank me; I listened for my own reasons."  Ziotea looked away for a moment.  "I might be wondering why I bothered coming myself," she added softly, before again meeting the child's gaze.  "You were right to challenge me.  I would have tracked you down otherwise, once I sensed you here.  But you should have done it before we reached the bedrolls, if you meant to keep your friends safe."  She gave the child a cold, wolfish smile.  "You probably wouldn't have survived it without Essa's help, but I might have lost interest after."  She considered the girl again, the anger directed at her comfortable, even familiar.  "You said it yourself: we are enemies, you and I.  Not because of anything either one of us did, but because of who we are."  She leaned on her spear with confident nonchalance.  "Listen close, little briar.  You are brave, and I can respect that.  I would kill you anyhow, if Essa was not here, but she's stronger than I.  Perhaps she's right, and the Church knows she's here and doesn't care, but that could change.  She won't be enough to protect you forever.  She will die, or someone stronger than her will come along, and they will crush her and take your friends back to the Scarlet House, and you...."  Ziotea trailed off, remembering not the ether factories but rather Rodion's face during one of their misguided efforts.  "You are too strong to leave at that, and you are too old to become an Inquisitor.  Whatever suffering and humiliation you saw there, it is nothing compared to what your fate would be now.  It is not something I would wish on anyone, however vile.  So by all means, become as strong as you can, but if you should find you are not strong enough...killing you now would have been a mercy, compared to the living death that awaits you."  The twisted smile faded from her face, and she spoke with simple intensity.  "Be sure you die, rather than let them take you."