“I thought I was coming to see you,” Winter said. Her eyes flicked to Abby. “I got your note.”
“And you walked here by yourself?”
Winter’s cheeks heated. “I’m not a child, for God’s sake.”
Jane crossed to a chair and sat down, carefully, like an old woman sparing her creaking joints. Abby cleared her throat.
“The streets aren’t safe,” she said. “Not anymore. Three of our girls have been attacked, the last one in broad daylight not two blocks from here.”
“Not to mention Billy Burdock’s son,” Jane said. “Sal fished him out of the river with his throat slit. And there’s more missing.”
Winter’s skin crawled. “God. I didn’t . . . I had no idea.”
“Of course not,” Jane muttered. “None of the goddamned deputies has bothered to come Southside and take a look around.”
“I saw a squad of Patriot Guards,” Winter protested. “Don’t they patrol?”
Jane just laughed. Abby said, “The Guards are half the problem. When they’re not harassing people, they’re breaking into houses to look for spies and stealing everything that’s not nailed down.”
“Or fighting each other,” Jane added.
“People are scared,” Abby went on. “There’s not enough food coming into the city, and men from Newtown and the Bottoms have been coming up to search for bread.”
Winter looked around for another chair, found one, and sank into it. A moment passed in silence.
“Who are all those people downstairs?” she said, quietly, though she could already guess the answer.
“People from the Docks who didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Abby said. She turned her gaze on Jane. “But we can’t keep them here. We’re running out of food for ourselves, much less . . .”
“I know,” Jane said.
“There’s only enough left for—”
“I know,” Jane grated. “Abby. Get out of here, all right?”
Abby looked at Winter, who managed to meet her eye without flinching. To Winter’s surprise, Abby’s expression was pleading. She mouthed two words at Winter.
Help. Her.
Then she slipped out, closing the door behind her.
—
There was a long, awkward silence.
“Winter,” Jane said in a hoarse whisper. “Where have you been?”
Running away, Winter thought. When you needed my help. As usual.
“At the Deputies,” she said. “I was supposed to represent us there . . .” It sounded weak, even to her.
“Do they even know what’s happening here?”
“No,” Winter admitted. “They’ve been debating whether the queen should have the right of legislative veto.”
Jane gave another hollow laugh. “Oh. I can see why that would take priority.”
“They mean well,” Winter said, not sure why she was defending them. She reflected. “Some of them, anyway.”
Jane lapsed back into silence.
“You said you needed my help,” Winter ventured. “I got your note.”
“I was waiting for you to come back,” Jane said. “I keep trying to hold things together, but it’s like . . . two fucking four-horse teams, pulling me in opposite directions. The people need help, my girls need help, but there’s not enough food and everything’s changing too fast. Half the fishermen have packed up and left, the stores are shut, nobody is willing to lift a finger for anyone else anymore.” She looked up. “You remember Crooked Sal and George the Gut?”
Winter nodded.
“I thought I had gotten something through their thick skulls.” Jane’s eyes fell to the floor again. “Sal told someone in the Guard that he thought George was a Concordat spy. Last night a squad of Guard smashed up George’s house and dragged him away.”
Eight corpses, dangling from the cathedral. Winter wasn’t sure if one of them had been George. She’d done her best not to examine them closely.
“I thought I had it together here,” Jane said. “But it’s coming apart in my hands, and I don’t . . . I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I thought you would come help me.” She swallowed. “I didn’t think I’d have to beg.”
“Jane . . .”
Winter wanted—wanted so badly—to get out of the chair, run across the room, wrap her arms around Jane, and never let go again. But the ghostly image of Jane and Abby hung before her, pinning her to her seat, stopping her voice in her throat.
There was only one way to exorcise it. It felt like taking a bone saw to a healthy limb, slashing the rusty, serrated teeth through soft flesh until they bit into the bone hiding beneath, bearing down until she heard the snap. Crushing a musket ball between her teeth, to stifle a scream.
“I . . .” Winter swallowed. “The night after we took the Vendre. I saw you . . .” Her throat was almost too thick to get the words out. “You and Abby,” she finished, in a whisper.
Another silence, unbearably oppressive. Winter’s breath came fast, and her heart thudded wildly in her chest.
“You saw that,” Jane said, in a dull voice.
Winter nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“And that’s why you . . . stayed away.”
“It’s not what you think,” Winter said. Words spilled out of her, suddenly, as though a cork had been pulled. “I realized the two of you must have been . . . together, before I got here. And I couldn’t . . . I mean, I can’t just walk in and expect you to . . . It was unfair. To both of you. You understand?” She paused, out of breath. Please say you understand.
“As soon as I knew it was you,” Jane said, “I told her. She understood. I could tell that it hurt her, but she stood there and fucking smiled, for me. God. And then that night . . .”
Jane shot up from her chair, so fast she sent it skidding backward. Her hands balled into fists.
“I was drunk,” she said. “So was she, I think. And I was lonely, and you . . .” She gritted her teeth. “I’d been sleeping alone. Since you got here. And she was . . . there. Fuck.” She whirled on Winter, green eyes full of fire. “What did you expect me to do?”
Winter held up her hands. “I told you! It wasn’t fair of me to ask . . . anything. It’s not fair.” She hesitated. “I came here to apologize.”
“You.” Jane fixed her with a furious glare. “You came here to apologize.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
Winter shifted uncomfortably. “For feeling . . . the way I did, I guess.”
Jane paused, then ran one hand back through her hair, tugging at the spiky tufts.
“Fuck,” she said. “Brass Balls of the fucking Beast. Karis the Savior’s cock with bells tied round the tip.” Having apparently run out of profanity, she put one hand over her mouth and shook her head. To Winter’s surprise, her eyes were full of tears.
“You were going to apologize.” Jane crossed the room in two quick steps and sat, cross-legged, at Winter’s feet. “You thought you had to apologize to me.”
“Jane?” Winter leaned forward. “Are you all right?”
Jane leaned her forehead against Winter’s knees and sat there for a moment in silence.
“I don’t deserve you,” she said, in a whisper. “I don’t deserve . . . someone like you.”
Then she was sobbing. Jane was sobbing. Jane, who hadn’t cried when she was locked in a cell, waiting for a man she didn’t know to rape her and carry her off into bondage. For a moment Winter was paralyzed, staring in wonder as though the sun had risen in the west and water was flowing from the sea to the mountaintop. Then she slid out of the chair and onto the floor beside Jane and wrapped her arms around her. Jane buried her face in Winter’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice muffled by the fabric. “Winter, I’m so sorry. I’m . . .”
“I told you,” Winter said, her own voice quivering a bit. “You and Abby . . .”
Jane shook her head, cheek rubbing against Winter’s shirt. “When I couldn’t find you, I went a little crazy. Abby . . . helped me. We thought you were dead, and I tried to convince myself . . . that what I had with her was like what I’d had with you.” She put her arms around Winter’s waist. “When I saw you again, I realized I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I’m so sorry. It was stupid, stupid, stupid, I’d had too much to drink, and . . .”
She paused, swallowing hard. “No. No excuses. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . . .”
Winter put one hand on Jane’s head and tangled her fingers in her hair. The same silky red hair, now short and spiked with sweat, but still so familiar the gesture made her ache. She squeezed Jane tight.
“It’s all right,” she said.
They sat like that for a while, Jane’s back quivering with silent sobs, Winter holding her and wondering if there was something else she should say. Eventually Jane lifted her head. She was a mess—eyes red, a trickle of snot running from her nose—but it made Winter smile.
“Do you think . . . ,” Jane began, and stopped.
“Yes?” Winter said.
“Would it be all right,” Jane said, “if I kissed you?”
“One moment.” Winter worked one hand free and dragged the end of her sleeve across Jane’s face, wiping away snot and drool. “All right. Go ahead.”
Jane barked a laugh, then brought her hands up behind Winter’s shoulders and pulled her close. Their lips met. Winter put her arms around Jane’s waist, pulling her close.
As they came together, there was a single, awful moment of abject terror. The feeling that had come over her that first day, when Jane had kissed her without warning, surged through her body and told her to fight or to flee. Two years of flinching at every human touch, of listening to the crude jokes of Davis and his cronies and imagining what would happen if they found out, two years of waking up in the middle of the night with only the memory of fading green eyes. All these things came back to her, in that instant, and her body went taut.
Winter gripped Jane’s shoulders so tightly she was sure it hurt. She broke away from the kiss and bit her lip, tasting the coppery tang of blood.
“Are you all right?” Jane said.
“I think . . .” Winter ran her tongue across suddenly dry lips and took a deep breath. “I think we should go to your room.”
“My—” Jane blinked. “It’s okay. You don’t have to—”
“Jane. Look at me.” Winter caught her eyes and held them. “I’m all right.”
—
“You realize,” Winter said, “that this doesn’t solve any of your problems.”
They lay in Jane’s big bed, side by side. Winter felt trembly, boneless, as though she could dissolve into a puddle. A draft from the window played across her, pebbling her bare skin.
“We could leave,” Jane said. “You and me. Leave the city, leave all of this. Go to Mielle, or Nordart.” She grinned. “Or back to Khandar. You could show me the sights.”
Winter laughed. “You don’t mean that.”
“No.” Jane sighed. “I suppose I don’t.” She looked sidelong at Winter. “You’ll help me?”
“I’ll try,” Winter said. Something had been working its way to the top of her mind, like a bubble rising to the surface of a pond. “And, actually, I think I have an idea.”
—
Winter slept better that night than she had since the fall of the Vendre, feeling light and almost hollow, as if some barrier deep inside her had been broken to let a buildup of accumulated muck drain away. When she woke up the next morning, Jane still pressed tight against her, her head felt clear.
After wandering down to the great hall to find something to eat, Winter returned to Jane’s room to find Abby fussing with Jane’s formal outfit. Any remaining hint of jealousy at seeing the two together was quashed by the look of almost pathetic gratitude on Abby’s face. Jane looked like her old self, full of energy, pacing back and forth as Abby laid out dark trousers, a gray waistcoat, and a coat that would have done credit to a prosperous merchant. Winter was impressed, and said so.
“You said I ought to dress the part,” Jane said.
“I wasn’t expecting you to have much on hand,” Winter said.
Abby blushed. “I got most of it ready last night. I didn’t think she ought to go to the deputies looking like . . .” She glanced up at Jane and coughed. “Like she usually does.”
“I still don’t think they’ll listen to me,” Jane said. “Why should they?”
“Because they’re running out of other choices,” Winter said. “You’ve heard the news, I take it?”
The news had seeped into the city, sometime last night, diffusing through the streets in the curious way that rumor had. It was as though everyone had learned it in a dream, and on waking only confirmed it with everyone else.
The news was that Orlanko’s forces had broken camp. Seven thousand Royal Army regulars were on the march for Vordan. Counting the time it had taken the scouts to return with this information, it could only be another two days, perhaps three, before the Last Duke’s men were at the gates.
Winter had expected panic, but when she and Jane left the building in the company of Walnut and a dozen armed Leatherbacks, the streets remained deserted. If anything, they were emptier than the night before, and Winter did not see another living soul out of doors until they reached the Grand Span. There small groups had gathered, a drifting current of humanity that flowed north, over the bridge and across the river. On the Island side, it met and merged with several smaller streams, bearing Winter, Jane, and their small group like a bubble on a stream. It was like a daylight replay of the march on the Vendre, but with no torches, no weapons, and none of the same sense of purpose. These people were frightened, not angry, and they didn’t know what to do.
The stream entered Farus’ Triumph on the south side, spreading out past the shuttered cafés. A large crowd had already gathered, forming a ring centered on the northwest corner of the square, where something seemed to be happening. Winter could see a single horseman moving about, above the heads of the crowd, and as they got closer she recognized his gaudy uniform. Peddoc.
“The deputies have failed us!” he was saying, his voice sounding thin above the murmur of the crowd. “There are good men in the chamber, but also fools, cowards, and even traitors. And there is no time now to sort the ore from the dross! That’s why I’m calling on all true men of Vordan to do what must be done. Step forward! Be counted!”
By this point, Jane’s escort of Leatherbacks had cleared a way through the crowd, and Jane and Winter could get a good view. Peddoc sat on the back of a stunning gray-and-white stallion, spurs gleaming, saddle every bit as polished and embroidered as his uniform. He rode at a slow walk around the edges of the clear space, holding the reins in one hand and gesturing with the other.
Behind him was a block of armed men, doing their best imitation of soldiers at attention. Some of them—mostly those who wore the green-edged sashes of Patriot Guard loyal to the Monarchists—managed reasonably well, although the spacing between ranks and files was ragged. Others seemed to have been grabbed off the street and issued whatever weapons were on hand. In addition to muskets, Winter saw shotguns and hunting pieces, pikes, ancient halberds, and crude spears.
More weapons rested in a great pile on a tarpaulin beside a couple of well-dressed men wearing black deputy’s sashes. From time to time a man would break free of the edge of the crowd—sometimes pushed by those around him, sometimes breaking free of attempts at restraint—and make his way forward. The men in the ranks sent up a cheer each time this happened, which was echoed, a bit more weakly, by the crowd. The new volunteers reported to the two deputies, who issued them whatever weapon was on top of the pile and sent them t
o stand with the others.
“What the hell does he think he’s playing at?” Jane said.
“He’s going to march them against Orlanko,” Winter said. It was idiocy, but it was the only thing she could think of. “He’s been threatening to raise a force on his own for days, since the deputies wouldn’t give him one. The news must have forced his hand.”
“Balls of the Beast,” Jane swore. “He’s taking this lot?”
“Apparently. There may be more mustering in Northside.” Winter counted the ranks with a practiced eye. Peddoc had assembled a thousand men, perhaps a bit more.
“Has he got a chance?”
“Against regulars?” Winter thought about the peasant horde, trying to storm the Vordanai line at the Battle of the Road, breaking in a welter of blood in the face of disciplined volleys of musketry and canister. “Not a prayer. Come on. We have to get to the Vendre.”
—
They sent the Leatherbacks away once they reached the fortress-prison, now garrisoned by the Patriot Guard. The gates stood open, and the courtyard was a mass of confusion. Patriot Guards of both colors rushed about, talked in small groups, or shouted at one another. Winter guessed that Peddoc had sent instructions for the Guard to join his ranks, while the deputies issued contradictory orders. Judging by the ratio of colored sashes she could see, most of the Greens had sided with Peddoc, while the Reds were remaining at their posts.
No one stopped the two young women as they wandered through the courtyard, past the main door, and back to the main staircase. Jane gave a shudder as they passed over the threshold.
“I was hoping like hell I was done with this place,” she said.
“Likewise,” Winter said. “At least this time I get to come in the front door.”
“And it’s not full of black-coats.”
“That, too.”
Whatever one thought about Duke Orlanko, his Concordat had certainly made more effective watchmen than their replacements. Winter and Jane walked up the stairs without anyone giving them more than an odd look. On the upper levels, the confusion was less apparent, and at least the cells were each watched by a guardsman. Not knowing what floor they were bound for, Winter eventually collared a young Red and asked for directions, which he stammered out without thinking to ask who the visitors were and what they were doing.
The Shadow Throne: Book Two of the Shadow Campaigns Page 49
