Ring. Sister. Piano (Book 4 of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Sixteen: A Friend

Outside the warehouse, it was still snowing. The wind caught the snowflakes in mid-fall and whipped them about Ellini's neck and shoulders until she felt she was being mobbed by little white moths. 

She couldn't get a clear look at Robin's face, and it would have been unwise to speak. The entire population of the town was spread out before them, carrying paraffin lamps and torches: just watching, for now, until Mr Simonelli came back with orders from the General. The stillness was bizarre compared to the manic dancing of the snowflakes. It seemed as though the animate and inanimate worlds had switched places for a moment.

But her head was in a whirl. She was elated and ashamed. She hadn't cried – that was good. She hadn't fallen into his arms. She had let him see her anger – which, admittedly, hadn't been part of the plan, but could be reconciled with the plan if the plan was simply not to turn into a weak-kneed, snivelling wretch.

She was amazed at how angry she had been. But she hadn't burned the warehouse down – that was good again. No, all in all, there was nothing really wrong with the way she had behaved, except... except that she'd enjoyed herself. Was that an act of treachery? And if so, against who? Against Robin? Against herself? But how could she betray herself by enjoying herself? Even if it wasn't treachery, it was teasing, surely? It was giving Jack false hope. And it had better bloody well be false hope, after what he'd done to her.

She was desperately confused. Her heart was beating so fast. She could still feel the elation of those cartwheels, the prickling sensation of his gaze, the satisfaction of hitting him.

After a few minutes, Mr Simonelli's head appeared above the throng, and things started to move. The crowd did not offer them any violence – nobody took their arms or prodded them in the back – but they were nevertheless very firmly escorted back to their rooms at the Birdcage. A guard of females appeared around Ellini, matching her footsteps, determinedly not catching her eye. They shepherded her up the staircase of the Inn. She turned to look at Robin just once before she climbed the stairs, wondering if he was angry with her, wondering if he was being led off to a public execution somewhere. But he was unreadable, and so were his guards.

Her own escort left her on the threshold of her attic bedroom. One of the women – Ellini thought it was the Innkeeper's wife – said, "If you hurt the General, we'll kill you."

Ellini didn't know what to say to this. Her head was spinning, and she didn't want to open her mouth in case she was sick. She smiled weakly at the woman who was possibly the Innkeeper's wife, and opened her bedroom door.

There was no light in here, and she didn't have a candle, but a soft, silvery glow seeped in through the open curtains. It had gone some way towards loosening the knots in her shoulders when she noticed a figure standing silently by the window: a solid presence in a shapeless coat.

It moved a finger to its lips, warning her not to cry out until the footsteps on the staircase had died away. It was as quiet and comforting as an angel standing over her, and Ellini watched it impassively, awaiting further instructions, or further evidence that it was real.

At this point, while she was ashamed of having enjoyed herself and afraid of her own desires, there was only one person who could have been a comfort to her, and it was certainly not a man. Even a family member – impossible as that would have been, since they were all dead – would have made her heart-strings twang with guilt and agony. But a friend – a female friend, a friend she hadn't dared think about for the past seven months, because she'd been fooling herself, and there was no fooling her – that was so perfect it might almost be called a miracle. Ellini was understandably dubious.