Covenant's End (7 page)

Even the Flippant Witch had changed.

Not from the outside, no. It remained the same old structure, battered and worn but determined to keep on keeping on. Light glowed between the slats of the window shutters, smoke dribbled from the chimneys, and the muted hum of conversation reached her even from across the way.

Initially, it seemed as though things were far better than when she'd left. Even if she hadn't seen the constant comings and goings through the tavern's front door, it was quite apparent that the place was far more crowded, doing far better business than she'd seen in
the months prior to her departure. In a Davillon that had apparently lost what remained of its mind, Shins was delighted to see that Robin had, to all appearances, turned the place completely around.

That notion, and the resulting grin, both lasted just about as long as it took her to mount the steps and enter the common room itself.

It
was
packed; it
was
busy. But not at all in the way she remembered from the good old days. The scents of various libations, though always strong, now utterly choked out everything else, including the aromas she should have smelled from the kitchen. People were drinking more and eating less, and had been for some time. The place was uncomfortably warm, despite the chill air outside, and there was a sourness to the stench of sweat that Shins's recollections did not include. Even the conversation was wrong. Loud and boisterous as always, yes, but heavier. A false note here, a spark of anger there. Most of these people had come to escape their lives, not to carouse and catch up with friends.

A few faces brightened as they turned her way, old regulars happy to see her, raising hands or tankards in greeting. Those Shins returned with a smile almost alarming in its cheer, so frantic was she to find
something
familiar.

The bulk of the throng, however, tossed her the same glance they offered any other newcomer and sullenly went back to their cups. That the strangers didn't recognize her was to be expected, but more than a few regulars, those who hadn't offered their welcome, turned away just as swiftly.

How could they fail to even
recognize
her? Had they changed so much—or
she
changed so much—in less than a year?

Olgun's presence calmed her, a feeling very much like a comforting arm draped around her shoulders. She
probably
wouldn't have just turned around and left without it—but she couldn't swear to it.

Still, she might well have considered getting out, had a particularly friendly face not finally presented itself.

“Gerard!”

The burly, red-bearded barman—a fixture of the Flippant Witch since its earliest days under Genevieve Marguilles, before even Robin had been employed—peered curiously around the cluster of customers gathered before the bar. Too chaotic to be a queue, too narrow and winding to be a mob, it was effectively a “smear.” Yes, a smear of patrons.

Gerard leaned around that smear, seeking the source of that call; when he saw her, Shins figured it had to be the beard itself that kept his jaw from swinging freely before dropping to the floor.

Maybe he braided it.

“Shins!” He waved her over, utterly losing track of the drink he was pouring at the time. Pushing, ducking, squeezing, elbowing, and occasionally Olgun-ing herself a path through the busy common room, Widdershins didn't hear whatever complaint the patron had made to Gerard regarding his lapse in attention, but she arrived soon enough to hear the tail end of the barman's reply.

“…to own the place, you jackass! So unless you want a permanent ban—not to mention,” he added with a meaningful gesture toward the thick cudgel he kept for emergencies, “a permanent
bang
—I suggest you take a few steps back, ponder our wide selection of fine aperitifs, and give
long
thought to what you want to order!”

She'd made it back behind the bar by the time Gerard had wound down, and the customer had huffed away, doubtless determined to go somewhere else to drink until it occurred to him just how much walking and how much not-drinking that would entail.

“Fine aperitifs?” she asked, eyebrow migrating upward.

“Yeah, well.” Gerard shrugged. “Figured the big words would keep him off-balance, and it sounded better than ‘our intestine-abrading fire-piss.'”

“Oh, what are
you
snickering at?” she demanded quietly in response to Olgun's burst of amusement. “You don't
have
intestines,
and you don't piss! At least, I assume you don't. Do you? Because considering where you live, ew!” Then, to Gerard, “I was sort of looking for a middle ground, yes? Somewhere our drinks are neither ambrosia
nor
arsenic.”

“You'll need to hire on a barman with a more sensitive palate, then. Or at least a broader vocabulary.”

They stared, smirked, burst into a hearty laugh, and came together for a mismatched hug almost in perfect unison.

“I'm glad you're okay, Shins,” he breathed into her ear.

Shins could only nod, overwhelmed. She and Gerard hadn't been
that
close, but right now the heavy squeeze, musky and alcoholic scent, even the tickling of beard against her head, were far and away the best welcome—the
only
welcome, really—she'd received thus far.

At the same time, while she'd no doubt at all that the embrace was heartfelt, and while she was hardly the foremost expert on Gerard's body language, his posture felt a bit guarded, his back stiff. Sooner than she might have preferred, he slowly disengaged, returning to deal with the ever-growing rumble of irate patrons.

“So, um. Business seems…good,” she said weakly.

Pouring drinks and passing them on with a facility Shins never had mastered, Gerard responded over his shoulder. “Like this most evenings, these days. Bad times…well, the right
kind
of bad times,” he corrected himself, referring, Shins knew, to the Church-driven recession of a while back. “They're good for places like ours, since folks drink more. Sounds hard, but that's the nature of things.”

“It's not just the Witch, then?”

“Far's I know, every tavern in Davillon's raking it in.”

“Gerard, what
is
happening in Davillon?”

“Politics. Crime. Superstitious rumor. Same as always, just…more of it.”

Shins tapped a fingertip against her cheek, somehow felt Olgun doing much the same. She knew she could get a clearer answer out of
the barman, and knew just as well that he'd resent her trying. This wasn't turning at all into the homecoming she'd anticipated.

And that made her even more apprehensive to ask the next question.

“Where's…?” She swallowed, feeling a sudden burning need for one of the mugs Gerard was topping off. “Where's Robin?”

Was it a product of nervous imaginings, or did the man's back stiffen further at the sound of that name? Shins felt her heart begin to pound.

“Upstairs. The bigger bedchamber, one that you used to use.”

The young woman almost melted all over the floor, so frightened had she been—given his reaction, and how unusual it was (or at least had been) for Robin not to manage the night shift herself—that Gerard's answer would be something far worse. She started for the far stairs…

“Shins?”

She glanced back, at a face shifted dramatically from rigid to sympathetic. “A lot can happen in almost a year. You should maybe…temper your expectations a little. I'll have a cup of something ready for you if you need it.”

On the edge of losing it now even more than she had been, Olgun's efforts to calm her somewhat sabotaged by his own concern, Shins bolted up the steps, leaving a shuddering, dust-shedding staircase in her wake.

She knew Robin must have heard her pounding up the steps. The whole tavern, if not the whole
street
, probably had. And she
absolutely
knew her friend had heard the knock on the door, because Robin had very distinctly called out, “Come in!” in a voice that Widdershins had forgotten how much she missed.

And for no reason she could put words to, no emotion she could identify in the swirling morass of all the others, Shins had to wrestle with the urge to run away. “Olgun, what the figs is wrong with me?”

She knew his response—which translated, if loosely, to “How much time do you have?”—was meant to cheer her up, or at least distract her from the bundle of nerves that now occupied most of her body. “Appreciate the thought,” she told him, “but I think I'm kind of uncheerupable right now. And don't even
try
to tell me that's not a word! I dare you to find a better way to get that point…”

Enough. She was stalling and they both knew it. One very deep breath, and Widdershins pushed the door open with an only marginally unsteady hand.

“Hi, Robin.”

The next few endless seconds were the strangest thing. For Shins, it was almost as if she viewed the tableau through a cracked sheet of glass, emphasizing this image, this movement, this part of the room, this
detail
over that.

Robin first and foremost, of course. The younger woman's features had gone slack, as though not merely shocked at what she saw but still uncertain she was truly seeing it. The freckles dusting her skin like confectioner's sugar were lighter than Shins remembered,
her hair a bit longer. Perhaps most peculiarly, though, was her outfit. Never in Shins's life had she seen Robin in anything but drab tunic and trousers, the sort of clothes easily mistaken for a boy's at any distance. Tonight, her blouse, though still loose and simple, was a soft, lush green, and she wore a peculiar skirt, one that wrapped twice about her waist before fastening, of such deep crimson it was almost black.

Gaze directed, almost guided, to the perimeters of the room. All the furniture had been moved from how Shins remembered it. The bed was now turned sidelong to the wall against which it stood, rather than head-first; cheap wardrobe, cheap desk, also as far to one side as the chamber would permit. The result was a gaping open space in the center, several paces across.

And only then, as Shins believed her bewilderment had reached its peak, did she even notice the third person in the room!

Taller than Robin, she was, at a guess, probably closer to Widdershins's age, maybe older. Her hair was the sort of blonde that the old tales might have called gossamer or moonlight, but for which Shins was quite content with “blonde.” She wore what looked very much like a fancier version of Robin's own clothes, topped with a tightly laced vest of black.

“Who…?” Shins actually felt dizzy, turned her focus back to Robin, again began to ask, “Who…?” And only then did her brain finally register the room's final surprise.

Robin leaned on a thick cane, her fingers going bloodless, so tightly were they pressed into the wooden grip.

Shins was not, quite clearly, the only one overwhelmed. That near-deathgrip suddenly trembling, Robin stumbled. Her old friend gasped, moved to catch her, but the stranger reached her first. She wrapped an arm around Robin's waist, steadying her, and even when the younger woman stood upright once more, the other kept a gentle, supporting hand on her shoulder.

Finally, it appeared Robin had pulled herself together, at least enough for words. “Widdershins?”

Shins almost broke, then and there. The thick concoction of doubt and fear, delight and hope, hurt and yearning and, yes, anger…it was a toxin, leeching into her heart, her lungs, her soul. Crying openly, she all but threw herself into her friend's arms, slowing only at the last second as she remembered Robin's unsteadiness and her cane. The stranger, once she was certain that Robin was not, in fact, to be knocked from her feet, glided a few steps backward, her own expression a blank mask.

And for a few intense, glorious moments, the two old friends held tight to one another and wept together.

Only
for a few moments. Robin pulled back without warning, so quickly that it was Shins's turn to stagger. She caught herself, looked into her friend's face, jaw already moving to ask a question…

She saw, though Robin's face was wet with tears, that her lips had gone flat, her eyes flinty.

“I'm glad to see you're not hurt,” the younger woman said in a near monotone. “We've been worried for a long time.”

“Robin? I—”

“Did you just get in, Shins? You smell like a used saddle.”

It was just the sort of comment Robin
would
have made in good humor, but there was nothing behind it here. These were the motions, and she was determined to go through them.

“Robin?” Shins tried again. “Are you…not happy to see me? Did I do someth—”

The other woman, standing back and silently seething this whole time, erupted. “Did you
do something
?!” Shins actually jumped at her voice, found herself backpedaling as the stranger advanced. “How can you even ask her that?! How
dare
you ask her that?!”

“What are you
talking
about, you crazy—?”

“Faustine,” Robin said at the same time, but the woman didn't hear her.

“You
abandoned her
!” Faustine accused, her finger an angry dagger jutting at Shins's chest. “You were her best friend, her only family! The only one that made her feel
safe
! And you just walked out, leaving her to wonder if you were ever coming back, how she was going to make it, if you were even alive or dead! You selfish, heartless—!”

Shins saw nothing but fire, heard nothing in the pounding of her ears except the roar and crackle of that flame. Not since Aubier, where she learned her self-loathing anger and Olgun's own fury had enflamed one another, had she felt anything close to such rage. She hadn't thought herself capable of it, anymore, but here it was, sucking her in, wrapping its ugly tendrils tight about her.

She lashed out, fast and brutal, a blow that might well have caused this Faustine severe or lasting injury. Even as she attacked, however, Olgun was there; Olgun was always there, ready to save her from any danger. Even herself.

Flowing as if through a burst dam, a torrent of emotion crashed through her burning anger. Dredged from the depths of her mind, the nesting place of dreams, they flooded through her, summoned and guided by her own personal god.

And Shins knew—she
remembered
—with whom she was truly furious. Why Faustine's words had so viciously stung.

Because Widdershins had long accused herself of precisely the same thing.

No way, in that fraction of a second, for her to halt the strike she'd begun. Between her own reflexes and Olgun's aid, however, she was able to slow it, flatten her palm, transform what would have been a bruising, possibly bone-breaking blow into a vicious shove. The woman staggered back almost to the wall, nearly toppled, gasped in pain as she clutched her chest, but nothing more. Nothing worse.

“You have no idea!” Shins screamed, her fists tight and shaking. Even in her tirade, though, she couldn't miss Robin limping clumsily, awkwardly to Faustine's side. “You have no hopping idea what
I'd been through! What I'd seen! What I'd
lost
! I
had
to get out for a while! I
had
to—”

This time, when Faustine interrupted, her voice was calm, almost soft, yet wrapped around a core of jagged iron. “Had to walk away from someone who counted on you, someone who'd seen just as bad? Had to make sure that
she
lost someone, too?”

Shins felt Olgun stepping in again, ready to calm her down despite the ever-heating furnace of his own anger, but this time it wouldn't prove necessary. Faustine's words were a thick coat of frost filling Shins's, heart and throat, ice that even her lingering fury couldn't melt.

“Who
are
you?” she demanded when she finally could choke out a few words. “Why are you even
here
?”

It was Robin, however, who answered. Very deliberately, like a performer on stage, she transferred her cane to her other hand so she could wrap her right arm around Faustine's waist. “Faustine, this is Widdershins. You kind of figured that out. Shins, this is Faustine. My girlfriend.” The words were an announcement, yes, but also a challenge, a gauntlet thrown at Widdershins's feet.

Shins, by this point, was beginning to feel as though she and her language skills had perhaps become separated, having lost track of one another back when they were being pursued by the guards. Her eyes blinked, her jaw went slack—or maybe it was the other way around; she was befuddled enough that it could have been—and yet another moment passed while she struggled to remember what her voice was for and how to use it.

“Girlf…what do you mean, girlfriend?”

“What does it
usually
mean?” Robin retorted. Then, as Shins continued to stare, unable to absorb so much at once, the younger girl sighed, wrapped her arms around Faustine's neck, and pulled her down until their lips met. Faustine stiffened, at first, quivering as though she wanted to run, then all but melted into the kiss.

“Sorry,” Faustine muttered as they finally came up for air. Her face was flushed so deeply she looked more floral than animal. “I'm…still not used to other people seeing…”

“Shh. I know.” Robin, still holding the other woman tight, turned again toward Widdershins. “Is
that
clear enough?” she demanded, somehow defiant. “Or do I need to slide her hand up my skirts?”

“Robin!” Faustine shouldn't have been able to go any redder, but she managed. It was a miracle enough blood remained in the rest of her body to keep her standing.

Widdershins's own shock and bewilderment, however, blew violently apart, a heap of leaves and twigs in a gale. She'd overplayed it, Robin had; she was
too
challenging,
too
hostile.

“You
want
me to have a problem with this,” Shins accused. “You want me to be upset. Why? So you have another reason to be angry with me?”

“That's horseshit!” Robin's expression twisted, angry and ugly, but she also blushed faintly and couldn't quite seem to meet her friend's gaze.

With a final off-kilter frown at Robin, Faustine said, “It's not like she
needs
another reason, Widdershins.”

“Why?! Look, just because I—!” Gently, perhaps even tentatively, Olgun directed her thoughts back to Robin's cane.

“I'm an idiot,” Shins whispered. This time, Olgun didn't even make the obvious retort. “What happened, Robin?”

The girl wilted. Eyes downcast, she shuffled backward to sit in, almost fall into, the nearest chair. Still studying the floor, she hiked up her skirt—that skirt Widdershins had thought, from the moment she arrived, was so out of character—practically to her waist.

“Gods…” Hardly helpful, but Shins had no idea what else to say.

Robin's right thigh bore a grotesque wound, one Shins knew even at a glance must have been inflicted by some sort of blade. For all that it had scarred over, it clearly wasn't terribly old. The flesh,
still faintly reddened, puckered and wrinkled around it, somehow obscene in its contours and bulges. The whole patch of flesh cratered inward a bit, as though a bit of the tissue beneath had just given up entirely and atrophied away.

“For days, nobody could tell us if I would live or die.” Her words were bitter, throat-stinging and eye-watering, equal parts rotten horseradish and bile. “It was weeks before I could even start to walk. I'm
never
going to run again, Shins. I can't stand through a full shift downstairs. It burns with the slightest touch or change in the weather. They tell me that'll probably fade one day.
Probably. One
day.”

“Oh, Robin. I'm so—”

“Don't you dare. Don't you
dare!
” She was on her feet again, however shaky, and Shins honestly expected the cane to come hurtling at her any second. “This is
your fault!
”

“That's not fair! I know that if I'd been here—!”

“
Fair?!
Gods dammit, Shins, this was directed at
you!
”

Shins couldn't tell whether she or Olgun was the more stunned, the more paralyzed. “…what?”

“This was a message for
you
. Because nobody knew where to find you. I was just
honored
with the task of playing messenger.

“If you'd been here—if you'd been
standing with your friends
, instead of turning your back on the people who…” The tiniest choke interrupted, but Robin fought past it. “…the people who love you, this would never have happened!”

The atmosphere in the chamber had long since melted to liquid, then frozen to glass. Now it shattered, every shard a blade, every blade slicing clean across thoughts and dreams and memories. They bled as fiercely as any physical wound. Widdershins had no memory of choosing to flee, no memory even of the tavern as she passed through, or the peculiar response she must have gotten from Gerard as she flew by. She couldn't even make herself care, when the thought finally occurred, that she might well be committing a smaller echo of
the same sin for which she'd just been fearsomely rebuked. She knew only that every breath, every heartbeat, brought her closer to falling apart, and she
could not
be caught in Robin's accusing stare when it happened.