Marcus came into view, Taro nowhere near him. That was disappointing, even though I’d been expecting it. Some of the spectators starting cheering, which surprised me. What did they care who won? And if they did care, why didn’t they support Taro? He was less of a stranger to them than was Marcus.
Or maybe they would have cheered for whoever came first regardless of who it was. Fickle lot.
Marcus crossed the ditch. “I declare Marcus Pride has crossed the termination mark and has successfully completed this test,” Fiona announced.
Marcus, slightly out of breath even though he probably hadn’t needed to push himself as hard as he did, walked over to stand beside his father. Cars slapped him on the back in congratulations. Then everyone watched for Taro.
He didn’t show.
This was really embarrassing.
Taro really put up with a lot of trash because of me. Here he was putting himself on display for crowds of strangers because of something stupid my parents did. It just wasn’t fair.
How could I show my appreciation?
And then, finally, Taro came into view. He had clearly been running as fast as he could, but looked to be at the end of whatever strength he’d had. Should I cheer for him? No one else had. Even the conversations had stopped and we were watching Taro stumble along in silence. Would my lone voice raised in support just sound pathetic? Just make the lack of everyone else’s support more noticeable?
I stayed silent. So did everyone else.
Taro crossed the ditch. “I declare Shintaro Karish has crossed the termination mark and successfully completed this test,” said Fiona. “As arbiter, I find Marcus Pride the winner of this test.”
And I felt that jittery sensation again.
Ah, hell.
Chapter Thirteen
“Mother,” I whispered, ignoring everyone else in the area. “Do you have a copy of the contract with you?”
“Of course.”
“Can you bring it to my suite?”
“Certainly.” She strode back into the manor.
I stepped over to Taro, wrapped my arm around his and rested my forehead against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“There are two more tests.”
“I got drunk yesterday,” he said with disgust.
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Aye, you did.”
“I’m sorry.”
I rubbed his arm. “I don’t blame you.”
“How can you not?”
“I am a beneficent and wondrous person and you should worship me.” That got a smile out of him, at least, weak as it was. “Can you go up to our suite? Mother is going to show me the contract.”
He nodded and kissed my forehead and left.
Mika was deep in conversation with Linder. “I envy you,” Mika was saying. “I’ve never been there.”
“I thought traders traveled everywhere.”
“In time, perhaps. My father travels a lot. He’s been taking my brother about more frequently, but never to Red Swan.”
“You wouldn’t believe how much—”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I broke in. “Mika, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I really need to speak to you and Dias and Mother. Can you go up to my suite?”
Mika looked mildly annoyed, but he nodded. “I’ll catch up with you later, aye?” he said to Linder.
“Of course.” Linder stroked Mika’s cheek, smiled at me and followed the Dowager back to her house.
That had happened quickly.
“Where’s Dias?” I asked Mika.
“In bed, the last I saw him.”
“This late? Really?”
“He’s enjoying sleeping late here. We’re not often able to do that at home.”
“Huh. Could you dig him out?”
“Yes, Mother,” he muttered.
“Thank you, my love.”
Finally, I approached Fiona. “My lady,” I said quietly. “I have a favor to ask. Another one.”
Fiona seemed weary, but she said, “Certainly.”
Which made me feel worse about asking. “Our contract dictates that my family provide housing for the Prides at this time. Your manor is the closest thing we have to a home.”
“You want me to invite them to stay with us?”
“It is a great deal to ask, I know.”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
People who didn’t ask troublesome questions were fantastic. “Thank you.”
Taro and my mother were in the suite when I got there. Taro was pacing, his expression grim. Blaming himself for his loss. And yes, technically, it was his fault, but I couldn’t really hold him responsible. His intoxication was just so uncharacteristic. Something was odd about the whole thing.
My mother was holding a scroll. “Is that it?” I asked her.
She held it out to me. “Don’t expect to understand all of it. Some of the language is dense.”
The scroll was thicker than I would have liked. Just to check, I unrolled it, to see how long it was. I had to stretch my arms wide. It was ridiculous.
After a knock, Mika and Dias came in. I felt the tension in the room crank up. “I’m ready to hear you,” said my mother, and she was saying it to Dias.
“Oh?” was all my brother said as he dropped into a chair.
There was a stiff pause as I tried to think of a way to divert the potential argument without revealing how irritated I was that they were going to indulge in one in the first place. We had important matters to discuss.
Before I could act, my mother ran out of patience. “You have appalling behavior to apologize for, boy.”
“I’m not a boy,” Dias snapped.
“You’ve certainly been acting like one.”
“You always say that. The accusation is getting stale.”
“I’m entitled to some respect.”
“And I’m entitled to some freedom.”
“You have to earn freedom.”
“Just like you have to earn respect,” said my brother, and I had to admit I agreed with him.
“Not as a parent.”
“As anything.”
“I’m not even concerned about your reprehensible manner toward me yesterday—”
“I said nothing I’m ashamed of.”
“—but you got Taro drunk—”
Taro stopped pacing to lean against the wall. “I got myself drunk.”
“—and he lost the race today.”
Taro pinched the bridge of his nose as Dias stared at him. “You lost?” he demanded.
“I would have lost anyway. He was fast. Faster than I could ever run, hungover or not.”
“Getting drunk didn’t help,” said my mother.
“Getting drunk was entirely my fault.”
“And you have a habit, do you, of getting drunk in the middle of the day?”
Taro hesitated. He didn’t want to incriminate my brothers. He didn’t want to get in the middle of their argument. He was a smart man.
“When was the last time you got drunk, Shintaro?” my mother asked.
She had no right to ask him that. Taro agreed. His smile was slight. “I don’t remember.”
“This one makes a regular habit of it.” Mother thrust a thumb at Dias.
I didn’t like this. What was she hoping to accomplish? If she merely wanted to give him a dressing down, it should be done in private.
“Why are you attacking him?” I asked her. “You said yourself there was a clause in this contract that stated we would suffer weakness and disharmony if we failed to provide the Prides with housing.”
“So what if there is? It’s just a weird coincidence.”
“Do you really believe a solicitor would put language in a contract that had no use or meaning?”
“You clearly haven’t read any contracts.”
That was true. Still, it didn’t make sense to make a contract longer than necessary. Unless . . . “Are solicitors paid by the word?”
Mot
her looked pained. “Of course not.”
“Then every word must be significant. We were supposed to house the Prides. We didn’t, and now you two are at each other’s throats.”
“We always are,” Dias said flippantly.
“In front of others?” I asked.
Dias frowned, clearly thinking about it.
“Taro does not get drunk when he might have to channel,” I declared.
Taro scowled.
“How do you explain that?” I asked my mother.
“How do you?” Mother countered.
Oy, this was going to be awkward. “I believe the contract is supported by a spell.”
Mother stared at me. Dias snickered. Mika raised his eyebrows.
“What happened to you?” Mother demanded. “You’ve always been so sensible.”
“Spells are real. Casting is real. And I have reason to believe that casting was involved in the creation of the contract.”
My mother and my brothers all stared at me. “Are you drunk?” my mother asked.
Of course, they couldn’t just take my word for it. “Excuse me.” I went to the bedchamber and closed the door behind me. I unlocked the overmantel and took out the ingredients I would need. After putting the overmantel back together, I returned to the sitting room.
I hesitated for just a moment. I was showing my ability to cast to people who didn’t believe in spells, who might be shocked. But surely there was no danger. This was my family.
“Choose something,” I told my mother. “Anything you can easily pick up with your hands.”
With a sigh of impatience, she stood and picked up a small vase.
“Put it anywhere you like in the room, as long as it’s in sight.”
She merely moved it from one table top to another.
With the ingredients I needed, and the words I’d learned, I made the vase rise from the table top. I heard gasps and a “What the hell are you doing?” from my mother. I set the vase back down.
“I don’t know all that spells can do,” I said. “That’s only the most minor of tasks. But I have good reason to believe that the contract has the power of a cast supporting it.”
“What have you been doing?” my mother demanded. She looked at Taro. “What have you gotten her into?”
“Hey hey hey! This has nothing to do with Taro.” How dare she blame Taro for this? For anything? “He can’t perform spells. Only some people can perform them. I’m one of them. And spells work only in certain places. Flown Raven is one of them. And more than that, I can feel when spells are being cast. I felt something this morning, during the race.”
Mother closed her eyes for a moment. “All I wanted—” She cut herself off, then started again. “It isn’t enough that you’re a Shield. You have to be involved in . . . in . . . that sort of thing as well?”
Amazing. She’d learned about spells and decided there was something wrong with casting them in under a minute. And since when did she have a problem with my being a Shield? She’d always acted as though she were proud of me for it. All those visits, the letters, nothing had hinted that my family was disturbed by my status, or annoyed or disappointed.
Was this yet another effect of the contract?
Please let it be just another effect of the contract.
I took a seat and let the scroll open to the floor. I read the first paragraph. It was about two trees, one an ancient specimen, the other a young stripling, braiding their branches in order to create healthier, more glorious fruit. It was poetry of the saccharin sort, and while its meaning was clear, it wasn’t the sort of thing I’d expect to see in a contract. Not even a marriage contract, which might tempt one to emotional terms of expression.
What followed was more mundane language, listing my mother and Marcus’s mother as the parties of the contract, Marcus and me the fruit of it, and summarizing the purpose of the contract, which was to join our families and finances through marriage. It listed the payments the Prides were to make, the connections they were to share. These same ideas were repeated in the following paragraphs, to a degree I thought unnecessary, though the exact wording changed with each iteration.
From there, the language swerved back into metaphor. Should the Prides fail in their payments, no future grafting would be successful. I read those words out loud. “What does that mean?”
“I understood that to mean connections with other families,” my mother said. “Marriages or financial alliances.”
There followed a list of communications and meetings that were to take place, gifts to be exchanged, certain trading processes, which I didn’t understand, to be completed. None of this occurred, I assumed, as I had been sent away by then. For each requirement, there was a punishment—described in bad poetry—for those who failed to fulfill it. “Do you remember your wells drying up when I was around six?” I asked my mother.
“No.”
“You don’t even have to think about it?”
“No,” Mother snapped. “We never experienced dry wells on any of our properties. To my knowledge.”
“And what about clause number—” I cut myself off. I couldn’t ask my mother if she had ever miscarried, not in front of the boys.
But my mother appeared to know what I was referring to. “No.”
That provision was horribly harsh. And there was a comparative punishment on the Prides’ side, namely Cars suffering sterility. I wouldn’t be able to find out whether that happened. There was no way I was asking him.
The obligations and forfeits went on. It was quite a list. I went through each item and each sanction. According to Mother, none of the conditions had been met after the initial gifts and contacts had been provided by the Prides, and none of the punishments had occurred. Which was probably one reason why my parents had been able to dismiss the contract as invalid.
And then Marcus had extended his challenge, and Taro had accepted. I couldn’t be sure the sanction for failing to provide the Prides with housing had actually come to fruition. While I had never witnessed the bickering I had seen between Dias and Mother, I’d never really seen a lot of them throughout my life. But I couldn’t dismiss it altogether. I’d seen what spells could do.
And the tension was still there, though Mika seemed to have escaped most of it.
The list ended with the wedding. If Marcus didn’t comply, he would lose the person most important to him. The contract didn’t say how. If I didn’t . . . “What does it mean, that I would lose my identity?”
“There are certain sanctions that are described in very vague terms,” Mother said. “The matchmaker said the nature of such provisions would be determined by future events. I thought it might refer to your status as a merchant’s daughter. That something would happen to separate you from the family.”
Something had, though I had never considered that a negative event. “How could you see these clauses and not think something was odd?”
Mother shrugged. “Every contract includes consequences for failing to comply.”
“Things like wells drying up? Losing identities? That’s normal? How were these sanctions to be enforced?”
“It didn’t matter. We weren’t going to fail to meet our obligations. We never had before.”
That seemed overconfident and careless. But then, it had been over twenty years before that the contract had been created. Maybe my parents had been less savvy back then. “How was the marriage contract created?” I asked.
“Their solicitor contacted our solicitor,” said my mother.
“Was your solicitor new to the position?”
“No. She had been with us for, I don’t know, about four years at that point.”
“What about the Pride solicitor?”
“I have no idea. I had no reason to ask.”
“Was there anything unusual about how they contacted your solicitor?”
“No. Their solicitor sent our solicitor a letter. She showed it to us. There was nothing that struck me as strange.”
<
br /> “All right. So what was the next step?”
“We agreed on a matchmaker, and he—”
“Why would you need a matchmaker when the two parties had already been chosen?”
“Matchmakers also draft marriage contracts.”
“Huh.” I never knew that. “I would have thought your solicitors would draft the contract.”
“The solicitors draft business contracts. They know nothing about marriage contracts.”
“I see.” A contract was a contract, wasn’t it? “How was the matchmaker chosen?”
“He was recommended by our solicitor, and the Prides agreed to our choice. Matchmaker Jong-il was well known for producing excellent contracts.”
“What made his contracts so particularly sought after?”
“They could never be broken. That was the reputation, anyway.”
Oh, hell. Oh, hell. “And then what?”
“I and Holder Pride met with the matchmaker to sign the contract.”
“And how was that done?”
She looked surprised to be asked, and then she thought about it for a few moments. “After we entered the room, we stood on opposite ends of it. At the matchmaker’s prompt, we each announced our full titles and names. We took one step forward. We each named the child to be bound by the agreement. After another step, we announced what each of us wanted from the contract, and the next step, our obligations under the contract. And so on, until we met at a small table in the middle of the room. There were three goblets on the table. One goblet had red wine, the other white, the third one was empty. We each took a sip from the goblet closest to us. The matchmaker then poured the wine from both goblets into the empty one. Holder Pride and I each took a sip from that goblet. Then we signed the contract.”
I stared at her. “You went through all that and you didn’t think it was strange?” I demanded incredulously.
Mother looked impatient. “It’s a ritual, Lee. All important events have ritual. Births, deaths, weddings. That’s just the way of things.”
That was true, I supposed. If I had heard of this ritual before I had learned spells were real, I would have thought it nothing more than another ridiculously elaborate procedure to do something relatively simple. “So that’s all normal?”
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