Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

Chris’ lip twisted. Winter sighed.

“I’m just trying to pass the time,” she said, honestly. “Waiting for someone to decide if they’re going to kill you is. . unpleasant.” Her mind raced back to Adrecht’s mutiny, and the look on Sergeant Davis’ face as he tried to choose between rape and murder. With an effort, she pulled her thoughts back to the present.

“It’s Christabel,” Chris said finally. “After my mother.”

“That’s nice. I never knew my mother. She died when I was very young.” This wasn’t part of her cover story, but a bit of ad-libbing seemed to be called for. It’s the truth, anyway.

“My mother died,” Chris said. “Last year, of the root flu. And my da’s in prison.” Chris looked at her feet. “I tried to keep our patch going, with my brother and sisters, but last winter we nearly starved, and in the spring the tax farmer came. They took my brother for the army, and sent me and my sisters. .” She stopped.

“I have a. . friend in the army,” Winter said, desperate to keep the conversation going. “He went to Khandar with the Colonials. Do you know where your brother ended up?”

“Somewhere to the east,” Chris said. “He said he would send letters, but I never got any. James was never much for reading and writing.”

“How long have you been here?” Winter said. “With the Leatherbacks, I mean. If that’s who you people are.”

“Don’t try to trick me,” Chris said, crossed arms tightening. “Don’t think I’ll let you get away with anything, just because I’m not as crazy as Becca. If you’re a spy. . if you came here to hurt the boss, I’ll. .”

“It’s all right,” Winter said, cursing mentally. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

But Chris had decided it was safest to say nothing at all. They sat in silence, Winter twisting her hands and worrying at the cord that bound them, until there was a knock at the door.

“Chris?” It was Abby.

“Yeah?”

“Is she still tied?”

“Yeah.”

The door opened a crack. “The boss wants to talk to her alone.”

“It might not be safe!” Chris protested.

“Don’t tell me that. Come on. We can wait outside.”

“But-”

“Chris.” This was a third voice, an older woman. The boss? Something about it tickled the back of Winter’s mind. “Get out of the way, would you?”

Chris opened the door, reluctantly, and stepped outside. Winter struggled to her feet, staggering a little, and waited.

Another woman came into the room and closed the door behind her. Winter’s eyes went very wide.

That is not possible.

The boss of the Leatherbacks looked a year or two older than Winter herself, tall and buxom, dressed in the trousers and leather vest that seemed to be a uniform. Unlike the others, she left her hair unbound, cut man-short like Winter’s own and clumped by sweat into a spiky mess-

— dark red hair, soft as silk, sliding through her fingers like liquid fire-

— green eyes that sparkled like emeralds in the sun-

— that lip-quirking smile, alive with mischief.

Not possible.

Jane took one step closer, then another, cocking her head as she examined Winter’s trembling face. Winter felt frozen in time, like a mouse staring into the golden eyes of a cat, her whole body locked rigid. Her hands were still tied behind her, and she could feel her fingers curling over the cords and digging into her palms. Something thick blocked her throat.

Not possible. .

Jane crossed the rest of the distance between them in two quick steps, grabbed her by both shoulders, and kissed her. Winter felt as if she were frozen in a block of ice, a marble statue. Jane’s lips were soft and sweet, tasting faintly of mint, and the smell of her sweat catapulted Winter across time and space to a hedgerow behind the Nursery. Sweat, and mud, and a tentative touch-

Winter’s reaction was instinctive. It couldn’t have been anything else-her conscious mind was still too stunned to contribute, but the instincts built up over two years in hiding, terrified of this very scenario, did her thinking for her. Her hands were still bound, but by twisting her body she could get some leverage, and she pushed back against Jane’s grip and drove her shoulder into the other girl’s chin. Jane’s teeth came together with a clack , and she staggered backward. Winter hooked one of her ankles with her own and turned the stumble into a fall, and Jane hit the threadbare carpet with a muffled oof . Winter backed up until she felt a wall against her shoulders, heart pounding as though it meant to explode.

I’m sorry. She couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t get anything out. Couldn’t even breathe. Her eyes filled with tears.

Jane rolled over and climbed to her knees, a trickle of blood smeared at the corner of her mouth. She fixed Winter with an unreadable look- those green eyes -and got silently to her feet.

Jane! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. . But her traitor throat was still locked closed. Jane turned and walked to the door, wobbling a little. It shut behind her with a slam that shook dust from the plaster, and Winter’s legs gave way underneath her. She rolled onto her side and curled up on the carpet, unable to get her arms up to stanch the flow of tears.

Winter had no idea how much time passed. It could have been weeks. Something in her chest felt as though it had broken loose, a steel shard that drifted through her innards, tearing great ragged holes with every breath and every heartbeat. Her face was wet with tears, and her arms ached and were cramping.

There was a knock at the door. It took her a moment to realize that there was no one in the room but her, so she must be meant to answer.

“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.”