False Covenant

him.”

At Widdershins's puzzled look, the other girl smiled faintly. “I figured, with so many of the Guard out looking for this phantom-thingy, and with Major Bouniard having his own duties to attend to, it made sense to have someone nearby who could protect you in case…” Although her voice may have trailed off, the flicker of her eyes toward the wound on Widdershins's shoulder-a wound that, Widdershins only now realized, was swathed in bandages-left no doubt as to her meaning.

“Sources?” she asked Renard, trying not to grin.

“The good major and his fellow officers dislike believing that the Finders have eyes and ears within his ranks, but that doesn't make it any less true. Has been as long as there's been a Guard.”

“And you're comfortable just telling me about it to my face?” Julien snapped.

“Seeing as how you've no evidence that I've committed any crime, and thus have no grounds to hold or question me-to say nothing of the fact that I couldn't identify most of our informants anyway-why should I not?”

“Bouniard,” Widdershins interrupted, before the argument could go somewhere unpleasant for all concerned, “what am I doing here, exactly?”

“You…Widdershins, you came here looking for help. Don't you remember?”

“Well, yes, but I'd have thought-”

“You collapsed,” he told her. “It was safer for you to have you treated here, rather than try to take you anywhere else. And I could actually keep your presence quieter here than if I'd had to arrange for constables to help me transport you. I, ah, wasn't entirely sure that everyone in the Guard would understand why I was helping you.

“You're in my office, Widdershins. Have been for nearly a day. I had a mattress brought in, and I've left orders not to be disturbed except in dire emergency.”

“Why would you do all this?”

Julien's flush grew even redder, and he actually began to fidget like a schoolboy. “Because you needed me to,” he said finally.

Hesitantly, even shyly, Widdershins stretched out her hand. Just as slowly, the major stepped near enough to take it.

“Thank you, Julien.” She couldn't quite bear to meet his stare; neither could she look away. She found herself smiling-and all but basking in the smile she got from him in return. Apparently acting without bothering to wait for orders from her brain, her fingers tightened their grip on his hand, and for a moment, she actually forgot the pain of her injuries.

Until, suddenly, a conscious thought actually wormed its way through the wall of surging emotion, and all Widdershins could think was, Oh, gods, I must be such a mess! Somehow, the fact that she'd been badly wounded, and unconscious for most of a day, didn't feel like much of an excuse.

It was Olgun-and wasn't it always? — who guided her back to an even keel. A faint surge of undifferentiated emotion, the equivalent of a gentle cough, was enough to grab her attention. From there, she felt as though she were briefly floating in what she could only describe as a pool of calm, cooling the extremes of her emotional turmoil and lingering pain both.

“Thank you,” she whispered again, this time too low for any mortal ears in the room-and Olgun could certainly have never doubted that her thanks were for more than just that moment.

Widdershins took a deep breath, felt her heart slow to something vaguely resembling its normal rate, and tore her rapt attention from Julien's face (or at least the vicinity thereof) to take in her surroundings. Indeed, she recognized his office, now, as she'd been there a time or two before. The same rickety chairs; the same cheap desk that seemed about ready to collapse beneath the tectonic shifting of the parchment continents moving about its surface; the same oily lamps that added an acrid tang to the air and had stained the walls a color that wasn't really gray, but wasn't really any other color even more than it wasn't really gray. All that had changed was the mattress on which she now lay.

Well, that and the truly motley assortment of individuals currently gathered in said office.

Individuals who…Widdershins blinked, puzzled, wondering if she remained dazed enough to be so severely misinterpreting what she saw. Both Renard and Robin were glaring at Julien Bouniard with a simmering anger; what could, indeed, have almost been hatred! From Renard, Widdershins could have dismissed it. The flamboyant thief, for all his bravado, had to be made a little uneasy just standing here in the heart of his enemy's domain. But Robin? What could Julien possibly have done to earn Robin's ire?

Perhaps sensing Widdershins's confusion, if not the underpinning reasons for it, Julien gently released her hand and took a half step back from her side.

“Better count your fingers,” Renard warned, casting a sidelong grin at Widdershins that almost hid the growl of genuine hostility underlying his words.

“Oh, please,” Widdershins huffed. “I wouldn't steal from Bouniard.” Her own grin went impish. “Until I was well enough to escape, anyway.”

Julien snorted back a laugh. “Whatever issues I may have with your friend here,” he said, “he hasn't left your side since he arrived. He says he's something important to tell you.”

Three faces swiveled toward Renard, then, who blinked, looked askance at Robin, and then back at the young woman on the mattress.

“I trust her,” Widdershins said simply.

“I'm sure you do,” Renard began, “but-”

“I trust her. Completely. Out with it.”

Robin beamed, tenderly brushing a strand of sweat-matted hair from Widdershins's forehead.

“Well…All right. Widdershins, there's been some talk going around the Finders.”

“Yeah? Wow. Good thing I'm already lying down, or else I'd probably fall-”

“Talk about you, my little jester.”

“Still not being shocked here, Renard.”

“Talk that you just murdered a couple of Finders.”

“What?!”

It took a bit of time to calm things down after that. Widdershins needed a few minutes to recover from the surge of pain in her shoulder brought about when she shot to her feet (or attempted to). Bouniard had to speak to several of his fellow Guardsmen, assuring them that no, they had not in fact just heard someone being violently assaulted within the walls of their own headquarters. And thankfully, by the time all that was done, Robin had recovered most of the hearing in her right ear.

“Who do these people think they are?!” Widdershins was lying back, and her voice was substantially softer, but neither fact was preventing her from giving the rant everything she had. “What am I, the guild's designated scapegoat? ‘Something's gone wrong, must be Widdershins's fault!’ ‘Uh-oh, it's raining, must be Widdershins's fault!’ ‘Stubbed my toe! Curse that Widdershins!’”

“Uh, Shins?” Robin began. “Maybe-”

“This was supposed to get better once Lisette was gone! But noooo, I still have a target painted on my soul's butt!”

“Widdershins,” Julien said, “I think-”

“All right, so I messed up one job! But it was dumb! And it wouldn't have worked anyway, and it would've brought the Guard down on us! And-”

“Widdershins!” Both Robin and Julien, this time.

“Well…it's all I've done lately. How long can they hold a grudge, anyway?” She crossed her arms with a genuine hmph, as though daring anyone to answer. “All right, fine. I've done a lot. So if there's plenty to blame me for, why does the world always insist on getting me in hot water for stuff I didn't do, hmm? Seems like a stupid amount of effort to go through, yes?”

Robin, Julien, and Renard all waited, presumably to be certain she was done. Then, as she began to draw breath-suggesting, perhaps, that she wasn't done-her fellow Finder spoke up, apparently determined to head her off before she built up any further momentum.

“There's a witness,” he told her.