The Shadow Throne

CHAPTER NINETEEN

WINTER

Eight fresh bodies hung in front of the cathedral, roped by the neck and suspended from the rooftop crenellations. Four of them were Borelgai, three men still in their long fur capes and a woman in the shredded remains of an elegant dress. The other four, two men and two women, wore the drab clothes of Vordanai commoners. More Concordat, Winter supposed. The city seethed against the minions of the Last Duke, and more people were imprisoned as Concordat agents every day, on increasingly flimsy pretexts.

Armed men flanked the main entrance in the sashes of the Patriot Guard, Greens on the left and Reds on the right, regarding each other with mutually hostile stares. Winter, wrapped in the plain black sash of a deputy, was admitted after only a cursory inspection.

Inside, shouts and occasional bursts of violent applause indicated the Deputies-General was already in session. The entrance hall was crowded, deputies in their sashes mixing with spectators and supplicants. More Patriot Guards lined the walls, and another pair-one Green and one Red, of course-guarded the double doors leading into the great hall itself. Winter threaded her way through the crowd and, under the cover of a particularly loud burst of shouting, pushed the doors open and slipped inside.

The great hall of the cathedral was not really very well suited to be used for an assembly like this one. It was long and rectangular, arranged so that a single priest could stand at the altar at one end and look out over the rows of worshippers. At first the deputies had planned to put their speaker’s rostrum in front of the altar, but some of the radicals had objected to the way this separated the speaker from the rest of the body-and thus, symbolically, from the body politic, beginning the process that could only end in the exaltation of an individual over the community-

And so on. In the end, in a pattern Winter was beginning to recognize, a compromise was reached that was clearly inefficient and pleased no one. Wooden bleachers were erected along one long edge of the rectangle, displacing various Sworn Church paraphernalia. The benches curved around when they reached the far end of the room, thus cutting off the altar from sight. The speaker was placed against the other long wall, a curiously lopsided arrangement that left him only a short distance from some of his audience and a long way from others. But he was very definitely below them, and in any case by the time the seats had actually been built it was too late to go back and redo everything.

In front of the altar, on the far right of the speaker’s rostrum, the curved section of seats called the Bend was occupied by the Monarchists. They consisted of Peddoc and his ilk, offspring of powerful noble families, backed up by representatives of the larger merchants, Vordanai bankers, and other wealthy men. Opposite them, on the extreme left-hand side of the benches, were the Radicals, now a haphazard coalition of student revolutionaries, lowborn advocates of violent reform, and a few noble sons who had come under the seductive spell of Voulenne. Directly in front of the speaker was a large group variously called the Conservatives (by the Radicals), the Republicans (by the Monarchists), or simply the Center. This was not a cohesive group, but merely a collection of those who for whatever reason felt uncomfortable joining one extreme or the other, and was itself separated into subgroups based on class, shared interest, or simple association or friendship. Winter’s own spot was with Cyte, Cora, and a few of Cyte’s student friends who hadn’t joined the Radicals.

Why she should be a deputy at all was something Winter had often wondered. The grounds for membership were poorly defined. Everyone who had been present on the day of Danton’s assassination was invited, and a few more representatives had forced their way in by virtue of money or influence. Winter was theoretically there to represent Jane and the Leatherbacks, but Jane had given her no advice about what she was supposed to be doing.

In fact, she’d had only the briefest conversation with Jane since the assassination. They’d both attended the first meeting of the deputies after the queen’s surrender, but a few hours of discussion, punctuated by shouting and the occasional hurled inkwell, had been enough for Jane. She’d retreated to the safety of her headquarters on the other side of the river. Winter spent those few hours sitting beside her in silence, with Abby hanging between them like a curtain. When Jane left, Winter had mumbled something about needing to keep a watch on things here. The uncomprehending pain in Jane’s eyes made Winter want to vomit.

Since then, she’d felt duty-bound to attend these meetings, though increasingly that was because she had nothing else to do. Winter felt like she was drifting, alone and rudderless. Every day that passed was making matters worse with Jane, but she couldn’t face the pain of ripping open the wound so that it might begin to heal. Her only other attachment was to Janus and Marcus, and they were languishing in the Vendre with other officers of the Armsmen and the Royal Grenadiers, while the deputies tried to figure out what to do with them. All that Winter had left was her tenuous friendship with Cyte, and a vague sense of guilt that forced her to sit through these noisy, tedious sessions.

Cyte mouthed a greeting when she caught Winter’s eye, her actual words lost in the clamor of the deputies’ debate. Winter awkwardly crab-walked along the rows of benches until she reached her friend’s side and sat down between her and Cora.

“What’s going on?” she said, into Cyte’s ear.

“Same as yesterday,” Cyte said. “They’re trying to formalize the procedures for the final Deputies-General. Right now they’re stuck on the veto. The Monarchists want the queen to have the right to veto legislation. The Radicals know they don’t want a veto, but they can’t seem to decide what they want the queen’s role to be.”

“What do you think?”

Cyte shrugged. “Gareth proposed a veto, overridable by a two-thirds vote in the Deputies. It seemed like a good compromise, but neither side was listening. I just wish they would get on with it.” She sighed as there was a rustle in the Monarchist ranks. “And here’s Peddoc to make his daily petition.”

“Again?”

A shout of “Quiet!” came from the rostrum, and heavy thuds echoed through the chambers as the Patriot Guards on either side slammed the butts of their muskets against the floor. This eventually got the noise down to a level where a man could make himself heard, and Johann Maurisk, president of the assembly, laid his hands flat on his podium and cleared his throat.

How Maurisk had gotten himself elected president was another thing that was not clear to Winter. It had been in the first couple of days, when the heady mood of victory was still strong-if not for that, the deputies would still be arguing about whether they even needed a president. Maurisk’s background was with the student radicals, but his well-known association with the martyr Danton gave him enough cachet with the Center to get his nomination through.

It certainly wasn’t a job she would have signed up for, at any price. Maurisk seemed at home with the debates, though, which often ended up with president and deputy standing inches apart, shouting at full volume, spittle flying into each other’s faces. While the Patriot Guards were nominally charged with defending the assembly, keeping the deputies from coming to blows had become an important secondary duty.

“The floor recognizes Deputy Peddoc,” Maurisk said, in the resigned tones of someone who knows what is coming next.

Peddoc, dressed more colorfully and expensively than ever, got to his feet from his seat in the front row of the Monarchists. He raised his chin and extended one hand in the declamatory posture taught to rhetoric students at the University, in spite of the snickers and catcalls this provoked from the less educated members of the other parties.

“Brothers of the Deputies-General,” he said, “we have won the city. But we cannot simply rest easy on our victory!”

“‘Our’ victory?” Cyte said under her breath. “I don’t recall that he had much part in it.”

Winter snickered. Peddoc continued.

“The villain Orlanko waits, only a few days’ march to the north! Our scouts tell us the troops at Midvale are preparing to march. If we hope to retain what we have won, we must strike first! I propose that this assembly set aside all other business and call for volunteers for the Patriot Guard, for the purpose of moving immediately on the Last Duke’s camp!”

The Monarchists were clapping and cheering before Peddoc had finished, and there was a little bit of applause from the Center, but the Radicals listened in stony silence. Their leader, a young man named Dumorre, got to his feet and heaved an exaggerated sigh.

“We’ve heard this story before, Deputy Peddoc,” he said. “If Orlanko was going to march on Vordan City, don’t you think he would have done it by now?”

That was a fair enough point, Winter thought. The deputies had sent scouts to Midvale, and while their amateur reporting was a bit garbled, the general picture was of a great deal of activity but no actual marching. Peddoc had been demanding action for four days now, and it was quickly descending to the level of farce. Like a lot of other things around here.

“Besides,” Dumorre went on, “I think you know by now the main objection to your proposal. Who will command this force you want to assemble? And, once Orlanko is beaten, what is to prevent this commander from turning his men on the city?”

“I object to the insinuation that I would do any such thing!” Peddoc thundered.

“So you admit that you have yourself in mind for command?”

“Of course.” Peddoc drew himself up. “May I remind you that I commanded the force that took the Vendre?”

That set both sides off, and the chamber erupted in a roar of claims and counterclaims. The Patriot Guards started slamming their muskets against the floor for quiet, but the Greens on the right were soon trying to outslam the Reds on the left, and they only added to the cacophony.

The Patriot Guard was emblematic of the deputies’ problems. It had been formed in the immediate aftermath of the queen’s surrender, when it became clear that someone had to maintain law and order. The Armsmen officers had been placed under lock and key, but many of the rankers were sympathetic to the revolutionaries, and they’d formed a growing corps of volunteers to keep the peace. In place of the Armsmen’s traditional green uniforms, the Guards wore green armbands to denote their status.

Before long, though, other deputies had objected. The former Armsmen were too tied to the Monarchists and the Crown, and their loyalty was suspect. They’d formed their own guard, wearing red armbands, to protect the deputies from any attempt at coercion. The two groups had come to blows in front of the cathedral over who would have the honor of guarding the assembly, until the deputies had agreed to the creation of a Patriot Guard that would include both factions and answer to the body as a whole. Instead of armbands, they were to wear blue and silver sashes, the colors of Vordan.

That had lasted until some bright spark had added a thin strip of green to his sash. By the following day, every member of the Guard wore a similar patch of color denoting his allegiance, and Maurisk had been forced to decree that Greens and Reds would have exactly equal representation throughout the cathedral.

“I’d be almost tempted to let him go,” Winter said, “if he could get any idiots to follow him. At least we’d be rid of them.”

“It may come to that,” Cyte said. “There’s talk among the Monarchists that Peddoc means to march with anyone who’s willing, resolution or no resolution. They say the Greens have a big cache of weapons they captured at Ohnlei.”

“Oh.” Winter wished she hadn’t been quite so flippant. If Peddoc did march, anyone who followed him was liable to get killed. Going up against regular Royal Army troops with this rabble would be madness.

“Hell.” Cyte ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. “They’re going to be at this all day.”

“Probably.”

“I’m going to find something more useful to do with my time,” Cyte said. “Like trying to empty the river with a spoon. You coming?”

Winter shook her head. “I should stay. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on this for Jane.”

Cyte gave her an odd look, then shrugged. “As you like.”

Winter sat through four or five more hours of debate before hunger forced her to venture out of the great hall. The square in front of the cathedral was thick with hawkers selling food and drink, but once she’d found something to eat, she couldn’t bring herself to go back inside. They’d be at it for the rest of the day, and possibly into the night as well; sometimes it wasn’t until one or two in the morning that the last arguing pair finally collapsed with exhaustion.

Instead she turned her steps toward home. Or at least what passed for home, in this strange world. She felt as though she’d stepped through a magic door into some kind of shadow-Vordan, where everything was upside down. Though if it really was magic, Infernivore would have warned me by now. Deputies had been assigned apartments on the Island; a large number of nobles and foreigners, especially Borelgai, had fled, leaving a surplus of vacancies. Winter’s quarters were on the third floor of a narrow stone-faced building, whose monthly rent was probably higher than a year’s salary for an army lieutenant. It had been lightly looted before she got to it, but they’d left a bed, table, and chairs behind, and that was enough for her purposes.

She trudged up the front staircase and paused in front of her front door. There was an envelope on the floor, labeled WINTER in a clear, careful hand. The post hadn’t worked in days-the Post Office was technically an arm of the Ministry of Information-so someone must have hand-delivered it. Winter picked it up, curiously, and broke the plain wax seal on the back.

The note inside read:

Winter,

Please come. I need your help.

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.

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 to 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.

“This is ridiculous,” Winter said, as they climbed toward the third floor. “We could break someone out of this place with a gang of eight-year-olds.”

Jane rolled her eyes in agreement. They walked down a short corridor and stopped in front of the door they wanted, which was guarded by an older man wearing a red-striped sash. He straightened up when he caught sight of them, bringing his musket to his shoulder and trying to pull in his sagging belly.

“We need to speak to the prisoner,” Winter said, as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Ah. .,” he managed.

“Deputies’ business,” she deadpanned.

He nodded. “I. . that is. . whose business, exactly?”

“I’m Deputy Winter Ihernglass,” Winter said. “And this is Deputy Jane Verity.”

The first name obviously meant nothing to him, but the second brought him up short. “Jane Verity? You mean Mad Jane?” His eyes flicked to Jane. “That’s her?”

“That’s right,” Jane said, smiling in a way that was not particularly friendly. “Mad Jane.”

He was sweating, but he managed a salute and started fumbling for his keys. “Let me get the door open, sir. Ma’am. Miss.”

The room beyond was less a cell than a small bedroom, with a narrow gun slit for light and a worn but serviceable bed, desk, table, and chairs. At the desk sat Captain Marcus d’Ivoire, looking a little bit worse for wear. His uniform was creased and sweat-stained, his beard was ragged, and his cheeks carried a week’s worth of stubble. Winter’s stomach did a nervous flip at the sight of him, and before he could look up she grabbed Jane’s arm and pulled her away from the door and the guard.

“You remember what I told you, right?” Winter whispered urgently. “About me.”

“I think so,” Jane said. “He knows you’re you, but he thinks that you’re dressed up as a girl to fool me.” She smiled wickedly. “Maybe he’s right, and you’re just doing a hell of a job-”

“I know it’s ridiculous, all right? Just. . don’t say anything. I’ll work it all out later.”

“Does he know that I know that he knows you are who he thinks you are?” Jane cocked her head, trying to think about that, and went cross-eyed. “Never mind. I’ll be good.”

“All right.” Winter took a deep breath, smoothed her shirt, and stepped into the room. Jane followed and closed the door behind her.

“Good. . morning,” Marcus said, slowly. He looked from Winter to Jane, obviously trying to work his way through the same mental gyrations as Jane had done a moment earlier, and wondering what he should admit to knowing.

Winter decided she would never laugh at the plot of those penny-opera farces again. She gritted her teeth for a moment, then said, “Hello, Captain. This is Jane Verity. She knows I’m with the army, so speak freely.”

“I see.” Marcus blinked and scratched his ragged beard. “All right. Hello, Ihernglass, Jane.” He paused. “You wouldn’t be this ‘Mad’ Jane that everyone-”

“That’s me,” Jane said. “I think we met the last time I was in this place, but I don’t blame you for being preoccupied.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Marcus said. “I’m assuming you’re not just here to check on me? There seems to be some kind of commotion outside.”

“Do you get any news in here?” Winter said.

“Not much. The guards let things slip sometimes, but it’s mostly rumor.”

Winter gave him a condensed explanation of what had been happening at the Deputies-General in the week since the queen’s surrender. Jane also listened with interest, adding a few colorful expletives and comments on the situation in the Docks. By the end, Marcus was shaking his head.

“Saints and martyrs,” he said. “I never thought it would get so bad.”

“It gets worse,” Winter said. “This morning we got the news that Orlanko’s left Midvale with the Royal Army troops quartered there. Peddoc is out in the square right now gathering a force to go and meet him.”

“To meet him? He must be crazy.” Marcus glanced at the window, which looked to the north, out over the river. “Assuming the regulars will fight-”

“I think they will,” Jane said. “At least, if we meet them armed, in an open field.”

“So do I,” Marcus said grimly. “It’s going to be a slaughter.”

“I had a plan,” Winter said. “I thought we might be able to persuade the deputies to name you commander of the Guard, if Jane threw her weight behind you. A lot of people remember the way you acted at the Vendre, how you protected the prisoners. But Peddoc seems to have stolen a march on us.”

“Peddoc,” Marcus said to himself. “I knew a Peddoc at the College. Count Volmire’s son. It’s not him out there, is it?”

“I think so,” Winter said.

“Hell. He was always a twit. Never made it through his lieutenancy.”

“Now he’s claiming command of the Guard based on his ‘military experience,’” Jane put in.

There was a glum silence.

“What the hell do we do now?” Jane said.

“The deputies obviously can’t stop Peddoc from leaving,” Winter said. “Or they would have already. Once he’s gone, though. .”

“You think you can convince them to put Captain d’Ivoire in charge of the leftovers?”

Marcus held up his hands. “I’m touched by your confidence, but I’m not sure what you want me to do.”

“I thought. .” Winter took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sensation of the plan that had seemed so good this morning crumbling around her ears. “If we could train the Guard, properly, I mean, we might be able to keep Orlanko out of the city.”

“Vordan won’t stand a siege,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “Too many mouths to feed, and there aren’t any defenses.”

“Then what? Just give up?”

Marcus shrugged. “It’s a possibility. Speaking as someone who’d probably lose his head, I’m against it.”

Winter glanced at Jane, and her lips tightened. Speaking of people who would lose their heads. .

“I’m open to suggestions,” she said.

“Look. We both know that even if you’d managed to put me in charge, I wouldn’t be able to stop Orlanko.” He paused. “And we both know that if you did want to try, there’s only one person I’d put money on.”

Winter bit her lip. “Janus.”

“Janus,” Marcus said.

“Janus, as in Count Mieran?” Jane said. “The Minister of Justice?”

“He beat thirty thousand Khandarai with one regiment of infantry,” Marcus said. “If you’re looking for someone to put in charge, he’s your man.”

“I don’t doubt that he’s a genius,” Jane said, in a tone that implied she doubted it very much. “But can we trust him? He’s a noble, after all, and obviously he was close to the old king.”

Winter and Marcus exchanged a look. Winter could tell the captain was thinking along the same lines she was, about the temple in the desert and the Thousand Names.

Can we trust him?

“I can’t speak for the long run,” Winter said, slowly. “But I know for certain that he hates Orlanko and the Borels.”

Marcus nodded. “His head is on the block, too, if Orlanko returns.”

“But I don’t think the deputies would agree,” Winter went on. “Janus is too popular with the mob.”

“Even after he ordered Danton’s arrest?” Marcus asked.

“In the streets they’re blaming that on the Last Duke,” Jane said. “Janus is still ‘the conqueror of Khandar.’ That counts for a lot right now.”

“All right, he’s a hero. So much the better, I would think,” Marcus said.

“It means the deputies won’t trust him,” Jane said.

Winter nodded. “They were terrified of handing over leadership, even to someone like Peddoc, for fear that he would turn the Guard against them. As far as they’re concerned, someone with Janus’ reputation might try to set himself up as king.”

“We need him,” Marcus said. “Even if you could convince the deputies to put me in command, I wouldn’t take it. Better to surrender than to fight and give Orlanko an excuse for brutality. If we had Janus. .” He shrugged. “I would fight, if he thought it could be done.”

“Maybe if we had him address the deputies?” Winter said. “He’s not Danton, but he can speak when he needs to.” She was thinking of the mutiny in the desert, and by his wince Marcus was, too. “But-”

“You’re going at it backward,” Jane said.

Winter and Marcus both turned to her.

“You’re thinking of the deputies like a kind of collective king,” she said. “But it’s different. They have only as much power as the people are willing to give them. We don’t have to argue them into it. We just have to convince them.”

–

The commotion had calmed down by the time Winter and Jane left the Vendre. Those Guards who were going to join Peddoc had gone, leaving mostly Reds with a scattering of unconvinced Greens. A few of these had regained enough alertness to give odd looks to the two young women strolling out of the prison, and Winter smiled at them serenely.

As they passed out through the main gate, Jane said suddenly, “Do you really think this will work?”

Winter blinked. “It was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“Not that part. Once Janus is in command, do you really think he can stop Orlanko?”

“If he can’t, no one can.”

Jane shook her head. “That’s not good enough. Captain d’Ivoire was right. We could surrender.”

“Assuming Peddoc loses. .”

Jane snorted.

“If we surrender, Orlanko will certainly round up any traitors he can catch. That means you and me.”

“We could get away.” Jane grinned wickedly. “You escaped from Mrs. Wilmore. How much harder could it be to get away from the Last Duke?”

“And leave everyone behind? The Leatherbacks, your girls?” Winter hesitated only slightly. “Abby?”

“If we don’t surrender, they’ll fight, and maybe die. And if we lose, you know what Orlanko would do to the city.”

It was all too easy to picture. Blue-uniformed soldiers in the streets, and black-coats smashing down doors, dragging people into the night. .

“I don’t want to pull everyone into that,” Jane said, “just to save our skins. Not if you don’t think we can win.”

Winter thought about this for a long moment. “I’ll give Janus this much. If he thinks we can win, then it’s possible. And if he doesn’t think so, he’d say it. I think the best we can do is put him in charge, one way or another.”

“All right.” Jane stretched and cracked her knuckles over her head, the old wicked smile creeping across her face. “Let’s see what we can do.”