“Of course not, sir.”
“Doesn’t matter, I suppose.” De Ferre drew himself up. “Count Janus bet Vhalnich Mieran, you are hereby summoned to testify before the Directory for the National Defense, to answer charges of high treason.”
“Ah,” Janus said, showing no sign of surprise. “I’m to be permitted a defense, then?”
De Ferre grinned nastily. “The president always lets his generals have their say before he sends them to the Spike. You’ll be joining Hallvez and the others who got too big for their boots, while I clean up the mess you’ve left behind.”
“I think you’ll find the Army of the East in excellent condition.”
“Really?” De Ferre snorted. “You’ve got a battalion of women, for God’s sake. I’ll send them home where they belong. And the proper soldiers are mixed up with the hangers-on and vagabonds. Sorting all that out is going to take weeks.” The general paused. “You’re awfully calm, for a man who’s just been told he’s going to be spiked. Have you got ice in your veins? Or do you not think I mean it?”
“I’m sure you mean it.”
“I hope you’re not counting on any of your men to help you. That would be high treason for all concerned.” De Ferre leaned forward. “Not to mention, they’re all too busy getting drunk, which is why you’re leaving tonight. Didn’t expect that, did you?”
“A masterstroke,” Janus murmured. “Sir.”
“We’ll see how calm you are when you get to the city,” de Ferre said, obviously disappointed by the lack of reaction. “By all the saints, I’m sorry I won’t be there to see your smug face when they finally strap you to the Spike.”
Janus sighed, straightening his shoulders and subjecting de Ferre to the full force of his dispassionate gaze. Even in his moment of triumph, the general couldn’t help flinching slightly.
“You’re a fool, de Ferre,” Janus said. “I would say I expected better of you, but it would be a lie. You’ve played the part Maurisk assigned you to perfection, and when it’s finished I expect he’ll sweep you up with the rest of the trash.”
De Ferre’s cheeks went red. “You—you dare! I could have you shot!”
“I don’t think you could.” Janus grinned at de Ferre. “I have an appointment with the Directory for the National Defense.”
“Very funny.” De Ferre turned to the guards. “Watch him until it gets dark. We’ll move him then.”
They saluted, and the general turned on his heel and stalked from the tent. The two Patriot Guards took up station on either side of the flap, staring pointedly at Janus, who sighed and sat down at his folding table.
Behind the screen, Winter had been watching the exchange, full of a paralyzing mixture of rage and fear of discovery. Now that de Ferre was gone, rage was rapidly winning out, and she gauged her chances carefully. If I knock the screen over, I could clear the bed and be on them before they can fire. Get the musket away from the first one, shoot the other. Then—what?
“Then what?” was the basic problem. De Ferre was keeping Janus’ arrest secret, which meant that he didn’t trust the army to swallow it without question. But if Winter started shooting Patriot Guards, and de Ferre ordered the troops to stop her, would they? Depends on the troops. She could rely on the Girls’ Own, and probably the Royals, if they understood what was going on well enough. The rest of the colonels were loyal to Janus, but how loyal? More to the point, de Ferre won’t tell them what’s happening. All he needs is to fire a few volleys into the confusion and express his regrets afterward.
It’s too dangerous. I need help. She took a deep breath and backed away from the screen. Which means I have to get out of here.
She turned to the wall of the tent behind her. It was a finer fabric than the standard cheap army-issue canvas, no doubt purchased by the late Augustin with his master’s comfort in mind. She drew her belt knife and poked a hole in it at head height, bunching the fabric in one hand and moving slowly so as not to make too much noise.
Behind her, something started to rattle noisily. It took her a moment to place the sound: Janus was washing the dregs out of his teapot. He is a damned genius, isn’t he? With the racket as cover, She drew the knife down sharply, parting the bunched fabric into a slit wide enough for her to wriggle through. There was a bad moment when her boot got tangled up with one of the tent ropes, and she thought she was going to fall, but she managed to end up on hands and knees and crawl clear.
No one was near enough to notice. Most of the camp, in fact, seemed empty, aside from distant sentries and a few details standing around cauldrons to get an early start on cooking dinner. Winter stood up, dusted herself off, and walked determinedly in the direction of the Girls’ Own camp, trying to project the air of someone with something important to attend to.
* * *
“Hello, sir,” said Bobby. She sat between the neat rows of tents, taking advantage of the waning daylight to scribble in a notebook. This part of the camp wasn’t as abandoned as the rest—the women of the Girls’ Own seemed to have the afternoon off, and they were taking their ease, talking, playing cards, or getting dinner started. There were no Royals to be seen, however.
“Fitz has most of the men in the fortress,” Bobby explained as Winter looked around. “Processing the prisoners, taking inventory, making sure nobody sets a match to the powder magazine, that sort of thing. He said to tell you that he’s sorry, but that he thought bringing the Girls’ Own in might be too hard on Hamveltai pride, and he doesn’t want them doing anything rash.”
“That . . . makes sense.” Winter kept her voice carefully neutral, aware how many people were in earshot. “I need to speak with as many officers as you can round up. Sevran’s inside, I take it?”
“So is Cyte,” Bobby said. “She volunteered. Abby and the others are over with Anne-Marie by the pots.”
“Tell them—” Winter stopped. “Anne-Marie’s back?”
“Oh!” Bobby shut her notebook and grinned. “I forgot you hadn’t heard. She turned up just a little while after you left.”
“She’s all right?”
Bobby nodded. “Not a scratch. It worked perfectly, I gather.”
Winter exhaled, feel a tiny sliver of relief. That’s something. Though in the light of what she’d overheard, it might not mean much. “I’ll find them, then. Meet you in my tent in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir!” Bobby stood up. “Is something wrong?”
Winter shook her head. “Later.”
She headed for the center of the camp, where the big iron cauldrons that boiled the regimental meals were kept. One of them had been overturned, and Anne-Marie was sitting on top of it, looking dainty perched on its black bulk. She still wore the torn green dress from the night before, but she appeared to have had a bath and a chance to work on her hair in the meantime. She was beaming down at the small crowd of women who’d gathered round, with Barley and Jo flanking her like honor guards.
“He was there when the sentries brought me in. The sergeant was very suspicious, but I started crying, and before I knew it the colonel was telling off the sergeant for mistreating a lady. Then he threw his cloak over my shoulders, which I thought was a very nice gesture.” The crowd laughed, and someone whistled. “He took me up to his quarters—it’s a little town in there, you know, very civilized—and asked me what had happened. Well, I had my story all ready, about a Vordanai officer who’d plucked me up on the street in Desland and treated me ever so roughly on the march. I may have been sobbing a little. By the time I was done he was practically a puddle on the floor, and he asked me what this man’s name was so he could seek him out and kill him in the battle.”
“And you spent the night?” someone called out from the crowd.
“I did,” Anne-Marie said primly. “He slept on a sofa in the foyer.”
Everyone roared with laughter, Anne-Marie included. When she caught si
ght of Winter, she waved, feet kicking against the side of the cauldron like a little girl’s.
“Sir! A Hamveltai colonel has asked me to marry him.” She grinned. “Do you think I should accept?”
“That’s an attractive offer,” Winter said, forcing a smile of her own. “He might not like having a soldier for a wife, though.”
Anne-Marie put a finger to her cheek, making a show of being deep in thought, and then shrugged. “Oh well,” she said. “In that case, the hell with him!”
Another explosion of laughter. Winter raised her voice over the tumult. “Captain Verity? Captain Giforte? Could I see you for a few moments, please?”
Abby and Jane struggled to the edge of the crowd. Abby was grinning, but Jane’s expression remained troubled. They both saluted.
“Sir!” Abby said. “What’s going on?”
“We need to talk. In private.” Winter looked around suspiciously. “Now.”
“Sir?” Abby looked confused, but Jane’s eyes had gone grim.
Winter led them back to her own tent, where Bobby was waiting. They sat around the tiny folding table, the four of them more or less filling the little space to capacity. Winter took a deep breath, not sure how to begin.
“Sir?” Bobby said. “Has something happened?”
“I was speaking with Janus,” Winter said slowly. “And then de Ferre showed up. He’s had Janus arrested, to be brought to the capital and tried for treason. They’re shipping him out tonight.”
There was a hiss of indrawn breath. Jane lowered her head, fists tightening.
“He’s going to disband the Girls’ Own, too,” Winter said. “Send us ‘back where we belong.’”
“He can’t be serious,” Abby said. “They want to try Janus for treason? He’s the only general who’s been worth a damn!”
“Even if they try him,” Bobby said, “it’s not like there’s any evidence. He’d be cleared in the end, wouldn’t he?”
Winter shook her head. She remembered the Borelgai and Hamveltai “spies” who’d been hanged from the Cathedral, back when the Deputies-General had barely been formed. Somehow she didn’t think the invention of a machine to make it more efficient had really improved the process.
Another, longer silence. Abby coughed.
“So,” she said. “What are we going to do about it?”
Jane’s fist shot out, slamming down on the table and making the ink bottle jump and rattle. Winter started, then turned to her, staring. Jane was breathing hard, and her eyes were wide.
“Winter,” she said very quietly, “could we have a few moments alone?”
Winter looked from Bobby to Abby, then nodded.
“Bobby,” she said, “go to the fortress and get Sevran and Cyte back here. Abby, see if you can spread the word among the lieutenants that no one is to get drunk tonight.”
“Yes, sir!” Bobby shot to her feet and slipped outside. Abby followed more slowly, giving Jane a last look before withdrawing.
When their footsteps had receded, Winter reached across the table for Jane’s clenched fist. Jane snatched it away, crossing her arms and looking up at Winter.
“You’re going to do something about it,” Jane said. “Aren’t you?”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know.” Winter shook her head. “We can’t—”
“Don’t lie to me. You will. You just haven’t talked yourself into it yet.” Jane looked down again. “I knew this would happen. I knew it.”
“Knew what would happen?” Winter took a deep breath. “Jane, I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“You don’t see what he’s done to you.”
“Who?”
“Janus. General Janus bet fucking Vhalnich. How did you end up hearing all this?”
Winter briefly sketched what had happened, her hiding place behind the screen when de Ferre had stormed in.
“If de Ferre had seen me, he might have had me arrested, too,” Winter concluded. “So Janus told me to hide.”
“Of course he did. And so you heard just what he wanted you to hear.”
“He wasn’t expecting de Ferre to come back so soon. He said so himself!”
“Would you listen to yourself? Do you honestly think this was an accident?” Jane shook her head. “He set the whole thing up, because he knows that you’ll go charging off to rescue him. He’s got you eating out of his goddamned hand.”
“That . . .” Winter paused. “If that’s what he wanted, he could have just told me.”
“Oh no.” Jane put on a rictus grin. “This way is much better. You convince yourself that it’s necessary. It’s how he works.”
“You barely know him!”
“I know the story you told me. The one where you went back into that temple and risked your life to summon a fucking demon to save him.”
“I didn’t know—”
“The one where he sent you to me, because he knew he needed the Leatherbacks on his side. And who comes charging to his defense, right when he needs us?”
“But you—”
“We marched ourselves half to death because you couldn’t stand the thought of letting him down. Some of my girls are buried under a few feet of mud, somewhere on the road, because you didn’t dare disappoint Janus bet Vhalnich.”
Jane paused, gasping for breath. Winter felt her pulse throbbing in her skull.
“How long have you been thinking about this?” she said.
“Since Desland.” Jane’s voice was suddenly small. “Since you finally told me the truth. He’s using you, Winter, and he’s got you so wrapped up you’d hang for him and smile while you put your own head through the noose.”
“That’s . . .” Winter shook her head. “It’s not like that.”
“As soon as de Ferre arrived, I knew. The Directory can’t leave Janus to win any more victories, so now he has to turn on them. But it wouldn’t look good, too much like making a grab for power. So he’ll get you to do it, like he always does.”
“It’s not like that!” Winter said, more angrily than she would have liked. “I . . . respect Janus. I believe he wants what’s best for the country, and for everyone under his command.”
“More fool you,” Jane said. “Is that what he wanted when he led the Colonials into the desert?”
“He needed the Thousand Names.”
“For what?”
“. . . If the historians knew what I know, I think they’d be appalled. So much blood, for such a small thing. One raindrop in the river of history.”
Winter shook her head again, throat tight.
Jane gave a hollow laugh. “Now he needs you to save him again. All for the good of Vordan, of course.”
“I’d do it for you,” Winter said. “Or Bobby, or Cyte, or . . . or any of my friends. I wouldn’t let de Ferre haul any of them away.”
“Those are your friends. They would help you in return. Janus will use you until you’re of no more value, then throw you away.”
“How can you say that? He gave you back to me.”
Jane rocked backward, gritting her teeth. “And how do you think I felt about that, when I found out? He brought us together, like he was a fucking playwright and we were the actors, because it was what the script needed. He couldn’t have just told you where I was? Of course not.”
Winter felt tears in her eyes, and blinked them angrily away. “What do you want me to do, then? Stay here with de Ferre?”
“No.” Jane sounded suddenly urgent, and she leaned in. “Winter, listen to me. This is our chance to get out of this, don’t you see? You, me, everyone in the Girls’ Own. De Ferre wants to be rid of us. We could be done with this, done with war and marching and dying.”
“And do what?”
“Whatever we want! Go back to Vordan, or out into the country. Settle down and fucking raise p
igs, if we want to. Please. I know he’s got his hooks in deep, but listen to me.” Jane was crying now. “This is the only chance we’re going to get. If we don’t get them out now, every one of those girls out there is going to end up like Chris or Min or any of the others. Because he’s not going to stop.”
“I can’t do it,” Winter said.
“That’s Janus talking. You can! We can lose ourselves so thoroughly that not even the Black Priests will be able to find us. I know how. We—”
“It’s not that.” Winter shook her head. “It’s not about Janus, not really. Think about it, Jane. Even if de Ferre let us go, what about the rest of the army? How long until he marches them on another suicide mission? Or until the Directory sends someone even worse?”
“Fuck the army. Fuck the Directory. Fuck all of them. It is not your responsibility, don’t you understand? You don’t have to care.” Jane sucked in a long, shuddering breath. “Just because you weren’t brave enough to save me doesn’t mean you have to save the whole world to make up for it.”
There was a long, pregnant pause.
“I’m sorry,” Jane said. She curled in on herself, head cowed. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. Winter, please—”
There was a knock at the tent pole.
“Sir?” Bobby said from outside. “Sevran and Cyte are here, and Abby’s on her way.”
“Please,” Jane whispered. “Please.”
Winter looked at Jane in her blue uniform, red hair in gorgeous disarray, eyes bloodshot and sparkling with tears.
“She sees you pulling away from her,” Abby had said. “Into this world of flags and drums and cannon, and she doesn’t think she can follow.”
“You’ve fallen in love with Janus bet fucking Vhalnich.”
You don’t have to care.
But I can’t help it, can I?
“I can’t,” Winter said in a very small voice.
“Sir?” Bobby said again.
Jane stood up, rubbing furiously at her eyes. Winter held out a hand, but she batted it aside as she stalked past, out through the tent flap and past the startled group outside. Winter’s hand dropped to the table and lay there like a dead thing.
The Price of Valor Page 46
