The Shadow Throne: Book Two of the Shadow Campaigns (50 page)

Jane

Under the signature was another line, which had been heavily scratched out. Below that, just the words “I love you.”

“Fuck,” Winter said, with considerable feeling.

—

An hour later, having shed the black deputy’s sash, she was on her way to Dockside. A few adventurous cabbies were in the streets, but Winter had decided to walk, in the hopes that it would help her clear her head. It hadn’t worked. All she could think about was Jane: Jane’s smile, her soft red hair, her body pressed against Abby, her lips softly parting as Abby’s hands curved over her breasts. Winter touched the note, a crumpled ball in her pocket, and bit her lip.

She passed through Farus’ Triumph, still littered with filth and debris from the riots, and over the Grand Span to the South Bank. Lost as she was in her own thoughts, it wasn’t until she got within a few blocks of Jane’s building that she became aware of the change that had come over the streets. When Jane had made her rounds, every street had been alive with people and noisy with chatter, alleys crisscrossed by washing lines and swarming with children at play. Now they were empty. Only the occasional pedestrian crossed her path, head down and moving quickly, and there were no children about at all. In the distance, she saw a squad of a half dozen Patriot Guards swagger around a corner, muskets slung over their shoulders.

Winter’s steps quickened. She wasn’t as familiar with the streets around here as she might have liked. After the second wrong turn, staring at another street she didn’t recognize, she stopped and ground her teeth. She hadn’t been worried about getting lost, because anyone in the street could point her to Mad Jane’s headquarters, but now . . .

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder. Winter spun away, instinctively, but another hand shot out and grabbed her wrist in an iron grip. Her off hand went to her belt, searching for a knife that wasn’t there, but a moment later she recognized the tall figure and sighed with relief.

“Walnut,” she said. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry. Didn’t want you running off.” He let go of her arm. “Jane wants to see you.”

“I was just trying to find her.” Winter gave an embarrassed shrug. “But I think I’m lost.”

“Come on. It’s this way.”

He walked by her side the rest of the way, which made Winter feel
uncomfortably like a prisoner being escorted. There was something in the big man’s attitude she didn’t like; his expression was grimmer than she remembered, and he responded to her attempts at conversation with grunts. Winter was glad to see the familiar shape of Jane’s old building when they turned a corner.

When Walnut knocked on the front door, it was opened by a very nervous teenage girl with a heavy wooden cudgel. She looked relieved to see Walnut, and her eyes went very wide when she caught sight of Winter. As they passed inside, Winter saw three more girls, similarly armed, all of them now whispering excitedly.

“I, um,” the first girl said, “I’ll go and get . . . somebody. Stay here.”

She dashed off. Winter, Walnut, and the guards waited in silence for a few minutes. Somewhere nearby, a baby wailed.

A baby?

“Winter!”

It was Abby, naturally. Winter steeled herself and put on a neutral face. “Um. Hello. Jane asked me to come.”

“I know. Thanks, Walnut. I’ll take her upstairs.”

Walnut nodded and let himself out. Abby beckoned Winter to follow and led her back through the building to the creaky old stairwell. When Winter had last been here, these lower halls had been dusty and seldom used, with the girls housed on the upper stories. Now the walls were lined with bedrolls, blankets, and makeshift mattresses, and all the people who were absent from the streets outside seemed to have made their way here. They were mostly young women, not the cheerful, well-fed girls Winter remembered but dirty, scared-looking things. A few boys were with them, too, and small clusters of old men and women, wrapped in blankets. All conversation stopped as Abby and Winter passed by, and all eyes followed them down the hall until they passed out of sight.

“Abby,” Winter whispered, “what the hell is going on?”

Abby shook her head. “Jane can explain.”

Reaching the stairwell, they climbed four stories to the top of the building and went into the old study Jane used as her war room. Jane was gathered around her table with Chris, Becca, and Winn, but when Abby and Winter entered she straightened up and made a shooing gesture. They all piled out, wide-eyed, leaving Winter alone with Abby and Jane.

“Jane—” Winter began.

“Walnut picked her up in the street,” Abby said. “She was alone.”

Jane paled and set her jaw. “Winter,” she said carefully, “what the
fuck
do you think you’re doing?”

“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.