“Yes?” she tried to say. It came out as a cough. She rolled off her side to a sitting position, spit a glob of phlegm onto the carpet, and tried again. “What?”
“It’s me.” Jane’s voice.
“Oh.”
“May I come in?”
Winter swallowed hard. She tried and failed to wipe her snotty nose on the shoulder of her blouse, and blinked tears out of her eyes. “Y . . . yes.”
The door opened, slowly. Winter got a brief glimpse of Abby waiting anxiously in the corridor before Jane closed it again.
They stared at each other for a long moment. There was still a smear of blood on Jane’s cheek, and a corner of her lip was already swelling.
“I—” Winter swallowed again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I—”
“I should be the one apologizing,” Jane said. Her eyes were bloodshot, Winter noted, as if she’d also been crying. “Coming at you like a horny sailor. You had every right.”
“It’s just . . .” Winter tried to gesture, but her hand only tugged weakly at the cord behind her back. “Do you think you could untie me?”
“Oh!” Jane’s eyes went wide. “Goddamn. I didn’t even think about that. Just a minute.”
A knife appeared in her hand, so fast that Winter didn’t see where she’d gotten it from. She put her other hand on Winter’s shoulder, a tentative touch with fingers extended, and Winter obligingly turned round. The cord fell away, and Winter winced as sensation flooded back into her fingers and filled with pricking needles. Jane stepped back, formally, as though they were fencers at a duel, and made the knife disappear again.
“I had this . . . idea,” Jane said, as Winter cautiously worked her fingers and felt her shoulders pop. “A fucking fantasy, more like. One day I’d be walking along, and I’d turn a corner, and you’d just be . . . right there. And I’d grab you, and kiss you, and then everything would . . . be all right. Just a dream, right? When I opened the door, I wasn’t sure I was awake.” She ran her hand through her spiky hair and gave an exasperated sigh. “That sounds like I’m making excuses. Fuck. No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s . . . all right,” Winter said. “I didn’t hurt you very badly, did I?”
“Busted my lip pretty good, but I’ve had worse.” Jane shook her head, eyes locked on Winter’s face. Winter took her sleeve in one hand and dabbed at her eyes, suddenly self-conscious. “I am awake, right? You’re really here? This isn’t some goddamned dream?”
“Apparently not,” Winter said. “Though I think I may still be in shock.”
“Goddamn. Goddamn.” Jane shook her head. “They told me they’d brought in someone called Winter, and I thought . . . no. That’s not the way the world fucking works.” She swallowed, and her voice got very quiet. “I thought you were dead.”
That caught Winter off guard. “What? Why?”
“I went looking for you. You weren’t at Mrs. Wilmore’s, and nobody knew where you’d gone. There was this rumor that you’d escaped, run away, and become a soldier or a bandit chief, but I never believed it. I thought for sure that you’d died somehow, and that withered bitch was covering it up. Did you really get away?”
Winter nodded. “I thought . . .”
“How? What happened?” Jane caught Winter’s expression, and the eager tone in her voice fell away. “What’s wrong?”
Three years of nightmares. Winter bit her lip. “I never thought I’d see you again. I didn’t think you’d . . . want to find me.”
“What?” Jane took a half step forward, then checked herself. Her cheeks flushed, and her hands gripped the edges of her trousers and twisted the fabric. “Winter. Why would you say that?”
“It . . . it was . . .”
Winter’s throat was blocked again. Her eyes filled with tears, and she wiped at them angrily with her sleeve. Jane swore under her breath, and after a moment Winter felt her standing close, inches away. She hovered, halfway to gathering Winter to her chest.
There was a long pause. Winter stepped forward, pressing her face against Jane’s shoulder, and Jane’s arms surrounded her with a tangible feeling of tension released. After a moment, Winter felt Jane’s cheek resting on the top of her head.
“I like the short hair,” Jane whispered, after a brief eternity. She rubbed her cheek back and forth. “It tickles.”
Winter smiled shakily, face pressed into the leather of Jane’s vest. I have to say it. She wanted to stay here, in the circle of Jane’s arms, and never leave. But if I don’t say it, none of this is real.
“It was my fault,” Winter said, barely audible. “I was supposed to get you out. That night, when Ganhide . . . visited you. I was . . . I couldn’t do it.” That was the night that had haunted her dreams for years. The night she’d been supposed to escape with Jane, only to find that the brutish Ganhide had gotten to her first.
“You’ve been worried about that?” Jane squeezed Winter a little tighter. “Balls of the Beast. Winter, I was crazy. You know that, right? I mean, I told you to kill him if you ran into him.”
“I couldn’t do it.”
“No shit you couldn’t do it. You were what, seventeen? And if you had done it we’d probably both be hanged by now.” Jane rubbed Winter’s shoulder. “Come on. I was a teenager, too, and scared out of my wits. That ‘plan’ would have gotten us killed.”
“I got all the way to the door,” Winter said. The lump in her throat was melting. “I had the knife. Ganhide was right there. I almost . . .”
“Karis Almighty. Really?” Jane rocked her, gently, back and forth. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”
“But . . .” Winter rubbed her face against Jane’s vest one more time, then looked up. “I left you for him. I just left you there. How can that . . . how can you say that was all right? He took you away and—”
“Married me?”
Winter nodded, lower lip trembling.
“That was the plan all along, remember? One of my better plans, from when I was a little more in my right mind. I told you it would be easier to get away from some idiot husband than from Mrs. Wilmore and her crew of dried-up old cunts. I was out of Ganhide’s place in less than a month.”
She smiled, and that almost made Winter start crying all over again. It was the same Jane smile, crooked at one side, alive with intelligence and mischief. Winter let out a breath, and something else escaped with it, something she’d been holding in the pit of her stomach for three years. Her body felt light, as if she’d just shed a sixty-pound pack, and her limbs were as wobbly as after a long day’s march. She shifted, to unpin her arms from her sides, and nearly fell over. Jane linked her hands at the small of Winter’s back to keep her upright, and Winter let her own hands rest on Jane’s shoulders.
“You really don’t . . . hate me? You’re not angry?” Can you be haunted by someone who isn’t dead?
“Winter, listen to me.” Jane matched her stare, eyes locked on each other. “I should apologize to you. I never should have asked you to do that. Hell, I wouldn’t have done it myself. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Winter said. “I think we’ve both apologized enough.”
Jane’s smile returned. They held perfectly still for a long moment, still staring. Winter felt as though they were breathing in unison, as though animated by a single bellows. Jane licked her lips nervously.
“You have no idea how much I want to kiss you,” she said, in a whisper.
“It’s all right.”
“You’re sure? What I did before—I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t—”
“It’s all right.”
Winter smiled, and when Jane hesitated a moment longer, she pulled herself up and kissed her instead. She still tasted of mint, and very slightly of blood from where she’d cut her lip. Winter’s hand slid across Jane’s back, up the nap
e of her neck, and twisted itself in her hair.
“Your hair looks nice short, too,” Winter said, when they finally came up for air. Their faces were only inches apart, noses almost touching. “But I’m going to miss wrapping it around my fingers.”
“You know what’s strange? I miss brushing it. It was always such a chore, but it made me feel calm, sometimes.” She shook her head. “It was that fucker Ganhide who made me cut it, you know. He said it only got in the way. Maybe I ought to grow it out again.”
“You really just ran away from him?”
“More or less.” There was an odd look in Jane’s eyes, as though she was seeing something she preferred not to remember. She blinked rapidly, and it was gone. “But what happened to you? I couldn’t find anything but rumors. It was like you’d dropped off the face of the earth.”
Winter closed her eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. “That,” she said, “is a long story.”
MARCUS
Vice Captain Giforte came into Marcus’ office and dropped a stack of pamphlets on his desk, beside the piles of reports and cleaning rotas.
“This is becoming a real problem,” he said.
“Good morning, Vice Captain,” Marcus said mildly.
He sipped from his cup of coffee and made a face. For five years in Khandar, he’d put up with drinking coffee because there wasn’t a decent cup of tea to be had in Ashe-Katarion for love or money. The supply of dried leaves Janus had brought along had been almost as much a boost to Marcus’ morale as the two thousand extra troops. But now that he was back in Vordan, where the best tea in the world could be had on any street corner for a couple of pennies, he found himself missing the thick, dark coffee of Khandar. A Khandarai would have confused what the Vordanai called coffee with river water. Marcus set the cup down, regretfully.
“Good morning, Captain,” Giforte said.
“You’re fully recovered?”
“Yes, sir. It was only bruises.”
“And you’ve made arrangements for . . .” Marcus realized, with a guilty pang, that he’d already forgotten the names of the Armsman who had died. He cleared his throat. “You’ve made arrangements?”
“Yes, sir. By the grace of His Majesty, families of men who fall in the line of duty are well provided for.”
“Good.” That was a new wrinkle. None of the men Marcus had commanded in the Colonials had had any family to speak of. “And Eisen?”
“He should recover fully, sir. He expressed a desire to be back on duty as soon as possible. I believe he wanted to thank you for saving his life.”
“Let him take as much time as he needs.” Marcus scratched his cheek. “Now. What are these?”
“Broadsheets and pamphlets, sir. All printed since last night. Take a look.”
Marcus flipped through the stack, looking at the front pages. The inking had a smudged, hasty look, with lots of big blocks of barely readable text. They differed in what they considered important, but the phrase “One Eagle and the Deputies-General” appeared in nearly every headline. Marcus tapped it and looked up at Giforte.
“What does this mean?”
“‘One Eagle’ refers to the traditional price of the four-pound loaf, sir. It’s over four eagles now. And the Deputies-General was the assembly that first offered the crown to Farus the Conqueror after—”
“I know what they are, Vice Captain. Why have they got everyone so worked up?”
“It’s Danton,” Giforte said. “That’s his new slogan. Cheap bread and political reform.”
“Fair enough. So what’s the problem?”
“He’s drawing big crowds, sir. Bigger every day. People are starting to take notice. They say the Exchange is getting skittish.”
“I don’t think protecting people from falling share prices is in our jurisdiction.”
“No, sir,” Giforte said. “But I’m starting to hear talk.”
“Talk from whom?”
The vice captain’s features froze into a grimace. “Leading citizens, sir.”
Ah. In other words, someone’s been leaning on him. Marcus himself hadn’t been in place long enough to attract that kind of pressure—presumably it was easier to ignore him and go straight to the man with the real authority. “Has Danton done anything illegal?”
“Not that I can see, sir. Although we could probably come up with something if you wanted to have a chat with him.”
“If he hasn’t done anything wrong, then I don’t want to worry about him just yet.” Catching the vice captain’s expression, he sighed. “I’ll pass your ‘talk’ on to the minister. He can decide whether there’s anything to be done about Danton.”
“Yes, sir.” Giforte looked relieved to have passed the burden up the chain of command.
“Is there anything else pressing this morning?”
“Not particularly, sir.”
“Good.” Marcus pushed his coffee away. “I’m going to have a chat with our prisoner. See if a night in the cells has done anything to loosen his tongue.” Giforte’s interrogators had questioned the man; they’d taken all evening, to no avail.
Giforte’s face froze again. He could give Fitz a run for his money, Marcus thought, in the carefully-not-saying-how-stupid-you-are-sir department.
“Are you certain you want to do that yourself, sir?” the vice captain said. “My men are more . . . experienced with that sort of thing. He’ll talk eventually.”
“The minister wishes me to ask some questions that need to be kept as quiet as possible,” Marcus lied. “If he’s uncooperative, I’ll ask His Excellency if I can brief you.”
“As you say, sir. Be careful. We searched him thoroughly, but he may still be dangerous.”
Marcus remembered a discordant tone, like the world tearing apart, and ripples in the air that shattered solid stone statues like toys. You have no idea.
—
The majority of the prisoners kept by the Armsmen were distributed among several old fortresses in the city, more convenient than the old palace grounds. The city’s most notorious prison, the Vendre, belonged to Duke Orlanko’s Concordat, but some of the most dangerous Armsmen prisoners went there as well. The cells in the Guardhouse were for captives of special interest, who had to be kept separate from the general prison population for one reason or another. Marcus had directed that the young man they’d taken in the Oldtown raid be kept in a cell as far as possible from any others, with a guard on his door at all times. So far, he seemed utterly mundane, but Marcus didn’t want to take chances.
The guard was waiting in front of the solid iron-banded door, and he saluted at Marcus’ approach.
Marcus nodded acknowledgment. “Has he said anything?”
“No, sir. Not a peep. He takes his meals readily enough, though.”
“All right. Let me in. Then make sure we aren’t disturbed until I call for you.”
“Yessir.” With another salute, the green-uniformed Staff turned a key and swung the door open. Inside was a small room, divided in half by iron grillwork. There were no windows, and an oil lamp hanging from a wall bracket provided the only illumination. A small hatch at waist height provided a way that food and water could be passed in without unlocking the cell door.
Marcus’ half of the room was empty. The other half had a cot with a sheet and a lumpy pillow, a bucket, and a three-legged stool. The prisoner, now dressed in black-dyed linens, sat beside the grille, looking comfortable. He glanced up as Marcus entered, and smiled.
“Captain d’Ivoire,” he said, in his faint Murnskai accent. “I thought I would see you eventually.”
Marcus shut the door behind him, the latch audibly snicking closed. He regarded the young man for a long moment, then shook his head. “Have you got a name?”
“Adam Ionkovo,” the young man said. “Pleased to meet you.”
“How did you kno
w my name?”
“You featured centrally in the reports from Khandar. There was even quite a good likeness.”
“Whose reports?”
Ionkovo waved a hand. “The reports His Grace the duke was good enough to share with us, of course.”
“Then you don’t deny it. That you work with the Concordat. That you’re one of—”
“The Priests of the Black?” Ionkovo nodded. “No, there doesn’t seem to be any reason to argue the point. Though of course I am not an ordained priest, merely an . . . adviser.”
The Priests of the Black. Jen Alhundt, the Concordat liaison who had become Marcus’ lover, had turned out to be a member of that order, long thought extinct. More than a member—one of the Ignahta Sempria, the Penitent Damned, with powers that Marcus could hardly comprehend. His stomach crawled as he looked into Ionkovo’s bright, beaming eyes.
“Why did your men try to kill us?” Marcus said, after a moment.
“They weren’t ‘my men.’ They were protectors assigned to us by the order, and they took their assigned duties very seriously. I advised them to surrender, but . . .” He spread his hands. “I’m sorry it had to come to bloodshed.”
“So am I.”
Silence fell again, stretching on until it became awkward. Ionkovo scratched his chin and yawned.
“Come, now, Captain,” he said. “We both know why you’re here. Save yourself a lot of trouble and just ask your question.”
“This was a mistake,” Marcus said. “I shouldn’t have come here. How could I possibly trust anything you tell me?”
“If you won’t ask, I will.” Ionkovo leaned forward. “Our reports said you were very close to Jen Alhundt. But we have no record of what happened to her, in the end. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“No? I worked closely with her for years. We were practically family. It’s only natural to ask about family, don’t you think?”
He’d hit the word “family” a little too hard. Or did he? Marcus glared through the bars, anger mixing with a roiling uncertainty in the pit of his stomach.
The Shadow Throne: Book Two of the Shadow Campaigns Page 12