“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.