never be the same. Never. He didn’t care. He didn’t care how it was as long as he could mend it somehow. He’d take all he could get.
“I’m sick of games, too, but I don’t know how else—”
A hammering on the door made them both start. Van Gast ignored it and used the distraction to kiss her. Not one of their hungry kisses, not the ones that made them both breathless with it, but a soft, slow, almost-not-there kiss. It took a moment, but then she was kissing him back, softening into him, the way she used to.
“Van? Van!” The hammering on the door again. Van Gast wished they’d bugger off, whoever they were. “Van, open up.”
The kiss stopped but neither moved to pull away. “Not fair, Van,” Josie breathed. “That’s not fair.”
“Of course. That’s why you love me, right?”
The hammering got louder and the handle rattled as someone tried the lock. “Van, are you all right? Holden, I think you might need to break down the door. He’s not, um, saying anything. Are you sure the lookout saw him coming in?”
Josie was smiling at him, her soft one, just for him. “You need to answer that.”
“I do, you’re right.” Van Gast raised his voice to a shout. “Please fuck off!”
Josie laughed, her breath warm against him, and that was good, both the laugh and the warmth.
He went to kiss her again, but the hammering came back louder than ever. “Van, hurry up.”
Shit. “Just stay here, all right? It’ll only take a moment, I’ll be right back.”
Van Gast strode to the door, unlocked it and yanked it open hard enough the hinges creaked. Before anyone could say a word, he grabbed Guld by the front of his robes and pulled him close, so they were nose to nose. “Guld, remind me to kill you later. What the fuck is so important?”
Guld was so excited, even Van Gast lifting him off the ground couldn’t stop his grin. “We’ve found her. We know where Josie is.”
The smallest sound behind him. The snick of a window shutting. Butterfly Josie, slipping out of his grasp again, too wary, too hurt to be pinned. “So did I. Until you came blundering at the door, she was in my fucking quarters. On my bed, Guld.”
“Oh, um. Sorry?”
“Sorry? Oh, well that’s all right then.” Van Gast heaved a sigh, stood back and let Guld in. Holden followed, looking sheepish, with the new girl behind, what was her name? Tallia. Yes, the one who made him itch. Why was that?
“Well? Anything else important?” Van Gast rattled around with the bottle of brandy and a glass, but he didn’t offer any to the others. Gods damn it all to buggery, he’d had her right here, laughing and kissing him. He needed this brandy. It was that or throttle someone. The message was still there, open on the desk. He hadn’t misread it. Herjan’s temple, plain as plain. He hadn’t misread her either. He was fairly sure, anyway. As sure as things got with Josie.
“I thought you might like to talk to Tallia.” Holden, sounding nervous, pensive.
“Not really.” Van Gast was staring at the desk, at another piece of paper folded neatly and left by the brandy bottle. A new one. Holden kept on talking, but Van Gast didn’t hear it. No bold script here. Instead of his name on the front, a wobbly representation of a V and a J intertwined. Van Gast slid a hand inside his shirt, to the little scrap of cloth he kept there. The same V and J. The same hand. The only two letters she could make.
The writing inside wasn’t hers, but it wasn’t the same script as the earlier message either. Rough, wavering, a typical rack’s script.
Andor,
Day after tomorrow, sunset, Kyr’s Palace. Bring Mr. Ibsen. Be there this time.
Josienne
It had to be her. Only five people alive knew his secret name—about four too many for Van Gast’s liking—and the same number knew hers. Three of them were on her ship. Someone else had found out his name, had shouted it at Herjan’s temple. But he doubted anyone but her knew Mr. Ibsen’s real identity—Van Gast in his merchanter disguise. This was from her, no doubt, no doubt at all. He folded it carefully back into fours, wondering why she’d brought the message rather than tell him. Wondering what had happened to her earlier message, or who had sent the one he’d read.
Someone trying to make it look like her perhaps, by using