The Price of Valor (31 page)

I know this will be difficult, but you have yet to disappoint me. If you succeed, the entire Army of the East—all of Vordan—will owe you and yours a great debt.

Lose no time that can be avoided. I rely on you.

-J

Winter blinked, and showed the note to Cyte, who had already unfolded the map. The lieutenant gave a low whistle.

“That's . . .
Difficult
isn't going to be the half of it.” She stiffened her fingers into a pair of dividers and walked them across the map. “That's close to a hundred miles. If he wants us there in the morning, and assuming we leave tomorrow, we'll be four days on the march. And it looks like there's a good road only half the way. After that we're in the backcountry.”

Twenty-five miles a day.
That was faster than the Colonials had marched at their hardest in Khandar. A killing pace, even for veteran soldiers. Winter drew in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

“I could catch the courier,” Cyte said, as though reading her commander's thoughts. “Tell him we're not going to make it.”

“Do you think we can do it?”

Cyte tilted her head, considering. “Some of us can. The wagons would never keep up, so we'll have to leave them behind. That means carrying provisions on our backs, which makes it harder.” She shook her head. “We'll get there, but I don't know how many soldiers we'll have left when we do. Anybody who gets hurt or drops out is going to get left behind. And we'll probably be awfully hungry when we arrive.”

“We leave the road
here
.” Winter stabbed a finger at the map. “That's not far from the river. We've been floating supplies upriver all this time, so some of them must still be in transit.”

“That's a thought,” Cyte said. “Send riders ahead to flag down some of the barges and off-load enough to make a supply dump for us. It'll help.”

“Do it,” Winter said. “Right away. Then start working out a marching schedule.”

“Yes, sir.” Cyte paused. “What about the celebration tonight?”

“Oh, damn.”

She'd almost forgotten. The Girls' Own had become nearly mutinous over the fact that they weren't allowed out into the city for recreation like the Royals, and so Winter had arranged to bring the city to them, so to speak. Wagons full of food and drink were waiting to be brought into the citadel at the start of the festivities, and all sorts of hopeful vendors were lining up to hawk their wares. The Royals, grumbling, had been ordered to abstain and help keep order.

“It'll have to go ahead,” she said after a moment's thought. “There'd be a riot if we tried to stop it now. But pass the news that we're marching in the morning, and tell the Royals to pull out anyone who looks like they'll be too drunk to walk tomorrow. We'll wrap up early, too.”

“I'm on it,” Cyte said. “I'll have our supplies waiting at the gate in the morning. That just leaves—”

Winter sighed. “Jane. I know.”

“We could leave them behind.” Cyte smiled, to show it was a joke, and Winter forced a faint smile in return.

“Abby would never forgive me.”
I would never forgive myself.
“I'll go and talk to her now. Maybe they haven't had time to get drunk yet.”

*   *   *

I shouldn't have left this so long.
But there had been a million things demanding her attention—angry merchants, new recruits, supplies and schedules and duty rosters—and she'd been so
sure
that Jane would eventually come to her senses of her own accord. Now that she thought about it more clearly, it was obvious that wasn't ever going to happen.
She'd never just slink home with her tail between her legs.
Her continuing debauch was as much a challenge to Winter as anything else.
And I just left her to get on with it.

The current haunt of the Leatherbacks was a tavern called the Linked Rings, whose sign was a pair of barrel hoops welded together and optimistically slathered with gold paint, now mostly flaked away. It wasn't in the worst part of town—the true slums of Desland were across the river to the west—but it was about as bad as one could get while remaining on the eastern bank. Shabby row houses stretched down winding streets, and a fair number of angry or avaricious looks followed Winter as she brought Edgar to a halt in front of the tavern,
dismounted, and handed his reins to the dirty young man who emerged from the neighboring alley.

She pressed a coin into his hand. “Keep him saddled. I won't be long.”

The tavern was a two-story building, with a common room and a kitchen on the ground floor and private rooms upstairs for those who wanted to do their drinking in more select company. It was clear that any non-Leatherback clientele had abandoned the place, and the proprietor was also nowhere to be found. Clay mugs, wooden cups, and plates of half-eaten food still littered the big, solid tables of the common room, and the women of Jane's Leatherbacks were strewn about like detritus from a shipwreck. It was well past noon, but many of them were still asleep, snoring on the benches or curled up on the floor with their clothing in various states of disarray.

Some were up and moving, though, picking through the remains for tidbits. A couple of women were behind the bar, helping themselves to beer from the big kegs there. Near the door, Winter recognized Becca, one of Jane's lieutenants, in the process of carving an elaborate design into one of the tabletops with the point of a long knife. The woman looked up at her as the door swung closed, and Winter coughed.

“Where's Jane?” she said.

Becca got to her feet, knife in one hand, and glared. Winter wondered for a moment if it had been wise to decline Bobby's offer of an escort. She hadn't seriously thought that Jane's people would hurt her, but having a half dozen armed soldiers at her back would have been reassuring.

“Why?” Becca said eventually. A couple of other Leatherbacks were looking in their direction. Some of them had the same belligerent expression Becca did, but others looked more guilty than angry.

Winter raised her hands. “I want to talk to her, that's all.”

There was another long, dangerous moment. Finally, Becca shrugged and gestured toward the stairs with her knife. “Up there.”

“Thank you,” Winter said. She slipped across the room, through the slowly rousing Leatherbacks, and made her way to the second floor.

Most of the private rooms there had their doors closed, and Winter dreaded the prospect of having to knock on each to find Jane. The rooms she could see were occupied by more Leatherbacks, in various stages of inebriation or consciousness. She found Winn, a tall, skinny woman who was another of Jane's lieutenants, naked and sleeping on a tabletop, curled around a similarly unclothed
Deslandai boy with dark hair and a peach-fuzz beard. Another young man, wearing only a shirt, snored in the corner. Winter pulled the door closed, gently, and shook her head.

“Aha!” A door at the end of the hall opened, and there was Jane, leaning against the doorframe. An unmarked bottle of something green dangled from her fingers. The sight of her familiar, cocky smile made Winter's heart jump. “I thought I heard someone. Finally decided to pay us a visit?”

“I need to talk to you.” Winter looked around at the other rooms, where Jane's voice had started a few Leatherbacks stirring. “Alone.”

“Well, then. Come into my parlor.” Jane stepped back and swept her arm out. Her room had a circular table and two semicircular benches, with a window that overlooked the alley outside. “I'm sure I can find a bottle for you.”

“I don't need a bottle,” Winter muttered, pushing past Jane. “And neither do you.”

Jane nudged the door shut with her hip. “No?” She looked down at the green stuff and frowned. “I suppose not. I'm not even sure what the fuck this is, to be honest.”

There were several other bottles on the table, and more on the floor, most of them empty. Winter carefully stepped through them to the window and glanced outside, then turned around and took a deep breath. “Jane—”

The kiss caught her by surprise. Jane was on top of her, arms thrown around her shoulders, lips rough against her. Winter retreated a step, and Jane leaned forward, pressing her against the wall beside the window. Her mouth tasted of alcohol, and faintly of vomit, and her lips were cracked and dry. Winter hesitated, long enough for Jane to press her body close, her breasts tight against Winter's uniform and one knee tangling between Winter's legs.

“Stop.” Winter grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her away. “Jane, stop!”

“What?” Jane cocked her head. “Don't tell me it's not what you want. I know it's been hard for
me
, with temptation all around.” She grinned wickedly. “Did you see Winn, with her pretty boys? And one of the serving girls definitely gave me a wink. I've been frigging myself to sleep every night, wondering if you're doing the same thing up there in your castle—”

“Jane—”

“Oh, don't pretend you haven't.”

Winter's cheeks were beet red. “Would you listen to me for a minute?”

“Oh, I see.” Jane sat down heavily on the bench and let her head loll back. “It's not my Winter who's come to see me, it's Colonel Ihernglass.”

“It's
me
,” Winter said. “Jane, what are you doing?”

“Having a good time. Have you forgotten how?”

“It's been days.”

“I know. The tavernkeepers here are a bunch of fucking puppies. I just glare at them and they hand over their keys and their virgin daughters.” She caught Winter's expression and rolled her eyes. “Figuratively speaking. But they wouldn't last five minutes back in the Docks.”

“And what about the regiment?”

“What about it? We fought the fucking battle, didn't we? We deserve a bit of a rest.”

Winter stared, not sure what to say. Jane looked back, green eyes slightly bloodshot, then looked away uncomfortably.

“Besides,” she said. “I figured you'd come and get me when you wanted me.”

“I'm sorry I was so hard on you during the battle. I was—”

“You were angry,” Jane said. “And you were probably right. Sevran knows about”—she waved a hand vaguely—“troops and lines and ranges, things like that. What do I know?”

“You've been a good captain for the Girls' Own—”

“No, I haven't.” Jane crossed her arms. “Let's not lie about it. I make a shitty officer, and we both fucking know it.”

“Being an officer isn't just about training. It's about your relationship with the soldiers. The girls worship you.”

“The ones downstairs do,” Jane said. “They've been with me a long time. The rest of them have found a new idol to bow to, I think.”

“Abby was right,” Winter said before she could stop herself. “You're jealous.”

“You and Abby talk about me?” Jane smirked, but Winter could see the hurt in her eyes.

“She came to me, Jane. She's worried about you. We both are.”

“She's a sweet girl. Tell her I can take care of myself.”

Winter gritted her teeth for a moment. “We don't have time for this. I have orders from Janus. The regiment is leaving the city in the morning, and I need you to get your people here back to the citadel.”

“Ah,” Jane said. “I was wondering why
now
was the time to rein me in.”

“This is not the time for . . . whatever this is. You and me. Please. Come back.”

“Or what? You'll leave me behind?” Jane cocked her head, examining
Winter's face. “You would, wouldn't you? If the general says march, you march, whatever I have to say about.”

Winter stiffened. “I have a duty—”

“To who? The queen? The Deputies?”

“To the men and women in my regiment.”

“Of course.” Jane exhaled slowly. “Abby
was
right. I am jealous. You were upset when you found out she and I were together, weren't you? It's awful discovering your lover has fallen in love with someone else.”

“I haven't fallen in love with anyone.”

“You have.” Jane reached out a hand and flicked the silver eagle on Winter's shoulder. “You've fallen in love with Janus bet fucking Vhalnich.”

“That's not fair.”

“Probably not.” Jane let her hand fall and turned away. “Now get out of here. I'm half-drunk and my head hurts and I haven't had a proper fuck in days, and it doesn't look like any of those things are likely to change in the near future. Go back to your tidy fucking toy soldiers.”

“We still need you. I still need you.”

“Just go.” Jane sat down heavily on one of the benches, groping among the detritus for a bottle.

*   *   *

Winter slipped out of the Linked Rings, through the waking Leatherbacks, and reclaimed her horse. Her chest felt hollow, an empty space behind her breastbone surrounded by a seething mass of mingled anger and grief and guilt. The emotional storm even seemed to reach the Infernivore, which perked up at the back of her mind and thrashed about in the murky parts of her subconscious.

I should go back to the citadel, get two companies, and drag the lot of them back to dry out overnight.
Winter took a deep breath, bouncing against the gentle rhythm of Edgar's walk.
I should go back to Jane and beg her to forgive me.
Her head was pounding, as though she were the one who'd been drinking all day.
I should go back up there and kiss her, tear off her clothes, and kiss every inch of her, over and over—

“Sir? Can I take your horse?”

Winter blinked. A Girls' Own ranker, a thin-faced woman with dark curls, stood with her musket at the citadel gate. Inside, Winter could hear shouts and laughter, and the courtyard was ablaze with light.

Oh yes. The party.
Probably the news that they'd be marching in the morning had pushed the regiment into celebrating all the harder.
Good for them. It's the last chance they'll have for a while.