“I won’t smile at the time,” Nona promised.
“Or turn to me when you’re scared,” said Camilla.
“I promise.”
“Or nervous.”
“Okay.”
“Or turn to me as though I know anything or could assist you in any way,” said Camilla.
If Nona hadn’t known if she wanted to be redheaded, princely, or necromantic, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to be Harrowhark Nonagesimus either. Cam had cut both of her braids off and sheared her almost to the bone, which made her look like Beautiful Ruby’s mother’s baby, but much less beautiful or intriguing. They had taken away her Salt Chip Fish Shop T-shirt and requisitioned a black button-up shirt and trousers off of the smallest Blood of Eden member they could find, and these had to be cinched around Nona’s hips with clasps. Harrowhark Nonagesimus lived by rules. She had to stand up very straight, and never slouch, and never scratch if she had an itch, and not make any expressions that weren’t a frown. And— “Remember, Harrow,” said Camilla, “you can’t see. You’re blind.”
They had taken some iris dye and a little plastic applicator and changed Nona’s eyes. She could still mostly see through the dye and the applicator—although it made everything fuzzy around the edges—but catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror had nearly made her go into hysterics. The dye coated her nice yellow eyes with a thick, eggy film that made them grey and white. Everything about the whites looked cloudy and sticky. We Suffer of all people had done the application herself, rolling up her sleeves and being quite nice about it. Another Blood of Eden person in a mask had approached, but We Suffer had said, “Let me. I was always a dab hand at the application of camouflage,” and had not even been mean when Nona blinked.
We Suffer had said, leaning over Nona’s face and checking the position of the plastic films: “I am glad you did not tell us this. We had no idea there was any recourse from Varun the Eater’s effects, nor any Beast.”
“It’s pure theory,” Camilla said curtly. “Something’s being transmitted in the light spectrum. Absorption through the eyes is worst for the brain.”
This made Nona think of something. It tugged at the edges of her memory and stayed there, nagging.
“They would have shot everyone with cataracts,” said We Suffer.
“You already shot all the madmen,” said Camilla.
“Survival through caution,” said Our Lady of the Passion.
The Blood of Eden base became a hive of activity. The meeting room was a constant parade of Blood of Eden soldiers bringing materiel and reports and sandwiches and rubbish bags in and out of the door. At first there was the problem that nobody but We Suffer—and Pash!—was willing to be in the same room with Camilla and Nona unless both were shackled to the wall, and Nona had refused. Pash had lugged in chairs and boxes and a roll of what appeared to be wire fencing and made a kind of barricade that Nona was being treated behind. A couple of the Blood of Eden soldiers were willing to come in if Nona and Camilla were behind that, in their masks and with their guns.
“Fucking idiots,” said Pash. “Wrote down all their names. Psychological wrecks. This barricade’s nothing. A zombie could bust it in seconds. These guys ever apply for strike teams, pow, they can go whistle.”
“You misuse your power in an incredible fashion,” said We Suffer.
“Commander, I wouldn’t misbehave if you hadn’t given me the worst job of my life.”
“It was meant to be privilege enormous.”
“Not saying it’s not,” said Pash, “but it’s still the worst job of my life.”
Nona quite fancied Pash at this point. She had got to see her up close during all the preparations. She hadn’t put her mask back on and she was wearing a thin-strapped top along with big trousers with heaps of pockets to put things in. She had wrangled her short dyed-blue hair behind a sweatband so that the longer bits didn’t fall in her scarred eyebrows or green eyes, and every so often she scowled at Nona like she could cause Nona to melt away dead. Nona had kept giggling, and that got her told off because Harrowhark Nonagesimus didn’t giggle.
At one point, Nona had been worried because Camilla had shut herself away in the corner to write backward-and-forward with Palamedes. Palamedes had focused nearly all his attention on writing, except at one point he’d looked Nona over and said, “Look at me like you’ve worked out how to kill me,” and then, “More eyebrows,” and then, “Good God, perfect. Do you know, I miss Harrow terribly.” Then he’d gone back to his letter. When it was done, Camilla read it heaps and heaps and heaps of times, and then she had to lie down with her knees tucked up to her chest while breathing out through her nose. Nona came to lie down next to her.