“Why not?” Jane’s voice was high now, tinged with hysteria. “He’s a traitor, isn’t he? I saw the government’s declaration, all official. I’d be a hero.”

Winter took a long step forward, placing herself in front of the desk, squarely in Jane’s line of fire. Jane’s eyes, brilliant green, locked on hers, and the hand holding the pistol trembled. There was a long moment of silence.

“Why?” Jane whispered. “Why would you go so far for him?”

“Because I have a responsibility to the people in my regiment. The rest of the army. Everyone. We need him. Vordan needs him.”

“You never believed that ‘glorious death for king and country’ bullshit,” Jane said. “We used to laugh about it at the Prison, reading those old books! It was Vordan that put us there. It was the Crown that signed off on my ‘marriage’ to Ganhide, signed me up for getting fucked by the stinking brute every night. You want to know the kind of things he did to me?”

“You killed him, didn’t you?” Winter felt she was seeing Jane with new eyes.

“Of course I fucking killed him,” Jane said. “I burned him alive and I laughed while I did it. Then I went back to Mrs. Wilmore’s and slit the old bitch’s throat like the fucking pig she was. If I’d had my way I would have had them raped over and over, once for each little girl they sold to some old bastard—”

“Jane, stop.” Winter could feel tears in her eyes. “Please.”

“Don’t take the high road with me,” Jane said. “You killed your Sergeant Davis, didn’t you? And God knows how many others, the people you’re ‘responsible’ for, you send them to die when Janus gives the order, don’t you? Don’t you dare moralize at me.”

“Just . . . stop.”

“If it were me, I’d give it all up,” Jane said. “You know that, don’t you? I’d give up everything for you.”

“I know.” Winter struggled to breathe. “But I can’t.”

There was a pause. In the silence, Winter could hear boots pounding down the corridor, voices raised in alarm. Jane’s hand shook, the barrel of the pistol wavering.

“I should have known,” Jane said. “If you loved me the way I love you, you would have killed Ganhide when I fucking told you to.”

The door burst open. Jane’s finger jerked on the trigger.

Twice before, Winter had stared down the barrel of a pistol and known she was going to die. The first time, in Khandar, it had been the incompetence of Davis’ cronies that had saved her. The second time, under the Vendre, it had been Sothe. This time—

—the hammer came down, spraying sparks—

—the powder in the pan ignited, hissing into smoke—

—and that was all. Flash in the pan.

Dumb luck.