The Hero Strikes Back

by Moira J. Moore

  Besides, maybe it wouldn’t be a disaster. The Dowager Duchess was a well-bred woman, after all, and not stupid. What would be the point of antagonizing her son and her son’s Shield? Why wouldn’t she make the minimal effort to be pleasant and make life easier for all of us? No reason at all. It would be fine. Probably. Possibly.

  Long, slow, smooth breath.

  “Now that is lovely.” My mother stood in the doorway of her bedchamber, watching me fidget in front of her mirror.

  My mother had put the fear of taxes into the tailors we had descended on only a few days earlier. Everything I had ordered had been delivered that morning. No second fitting, but I didn’t have either the time or the patience for such fussing. The gown fit well enough.

  In theory. The bodice was tight and the neckline was too low, in my opinion, but Mother told me it was supposed to look like that. The color was deep green, which I had to admit to liking, and the fabric felt slippery and smooth against my skin, which was nice. Only, I couldn’t see myself ever having an occasion to wear such a thing again. I didn’t dine with aristocrats much, except Karish, so it seemed kind of a waste to me.

  “Now you look as a woman of your rank should,” my mother announced with satisfaction.

  I frowned at her, puzzled. “A Shield?” Shields didn’t have a real rank in the social strata sense of the word.

  Mother frowned back. “No, dear. The daughter of a highly rated trader and holder.”

  “Oh.” That.

  I tweaked the lock of hair falling over my forehead. My hair was tied up, high off my neck, twisted in the back, in honor of the occasion. It had taken about an hour to fix. I never really liked my hair up when I was trying to look presentable, despite what my mother would have people believe. It was handy to tie it back from the face, simple and secure, but I was aware it didn’t suit my features. My face didn’t look classic and refined when my hair was pulled back, just rounded and over-exposed.

  I sighed at my reflection. Sometimes, though I hated to admit it even to myself, I thought it would be nice to be stunning.

  “Stop fiddling, dear.”

  Excellent advice. I put my hands down by my side and kept them there. “You look lovely, Mother.” And she did. As always. A draping light blue gown, simple and elegant. Her hair was also tied up, much like mine, but with silver chains braided in with the brown locks. Sapphires in her ears and a plain silver chain about her throat. She looked so well put together, and so comfortable with herself, as though she dressed so elaborately on a daily basis.

  “Thank you, dear.” She came in to check herself in the mirror, briefly touched her hair. “Do you have any questions about this evening?”

  “Questions?”

  “Yes. About how things should go tonight.”

  It took me a moment to realize she feared I might not have sufficient knowledge of the manners one should display around a duchess. “No, Mother. No questions.”

  “Well, good. Then let’s go down the dining room. They should be here soon.”

  That was what I was afraid of. I was sort of hoping the Dowager would be unavoidably, and permanently, detained.

  “Do you think I should have gotten a flutist?” Mother asked as we entered the dining room.

  “No, Mother.”

  “I don’t know. Music often adds that extra something.”

  “Pretension?”

  “No, dear. Class.”

  “Ah. Wouldn’t know about that. Too late now.” Thank Zaire. A musician! “Want to play cards?”

  A chiding look from my mother. “Lee.”

  “What? These sorts of people are never on time, are they? Might as well do something while we wait.” Actually, that wasn’t fair. Karish was always punctual. Maybe his mother was, too.

  Whatever they were in general, they were late that evening. Not monstrously late. Fashionably, I supposed.

  When I heard the firm knock on the door, Mother had to grab my arm to keep me from answering it. “Celia,” she said, and a maid drifted to the door and opened it. She curtsied, then stood smartly to one side. “Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Westsea, and Source Shintaro Karish.”

  How ridiculous. They were the only two people coming, and we all knew who everyone else was. But the poor girl was expected to announce their names. I didn’t roll my eyes but I really, really wanted to.

  And Her Grace wasn’t happy, either. She actually tilted her head back so she could look down at the maid as she removed her stylish evening wrap. “His appropriate title is His Grace, Lord Westsea.”

  He had no such title. Even if she thought he would have it eventually, she couldn’t deny that it wasn’t, for the time being, the appropriate manner in which to address him. So who did she think she was fooling?

  I supposed the Dowager Duchess was a beautiful woman. She looked exactly like Karish. She had the same fine-boned delicacy, the same slanted dark eyes. Her lightly golden skin was still smooth, with few lines. Her black hair, unmarred by so much as a single thread of grey, was elaborately coiled atop her head. Her lean form was draped in a gown of similar style to my mother’s, but black. She wore a choker of silver, diamonds and onyx with matching earrings and bracelets.

  She was poised. She was elegant. She was cold. I couldn’t imagine her laughing. Or being kind. Or just relaxing. So I couldn’t find her beautiful.

  And the maid was no match for her. The poor girl flushed and almost dropped the wrap in her attempts to curtsey as often as possible in the shortest amount of time.

  “Source Karish is both accurate and acceptable,” Karish said to Celia with an encouraging smile. But the smile was brittle. And as he pulled off his cloak he moved not with his usual fluid grace, but stiffly, precisely, as though too much physical activity might cause him pain. He was dressed entirely in black, which was uncommon for him. Black boots, black trousers, a black waistcoat with sleeves buttoned to the wrists and a high, stiff collar, likewise completely buttoned. His braid was there, but as it was black, too, it was easy to miss. I wondered if that was intentional. His hair was tied back, and unlike me he had the features to carry off the severe style.

  He looked hard and remote. Very much the son of a duke.

  He stepped out between his mother and Celia and he kissed my mother on the cheek. “Good evening, Teshia. You are lovely, as always.” The he looked at me and grinned. It was a bit more natural than his earlier expressions, but not by much. “Lee, you are gorgeous.” He took my hand so he could kiss the inside of my wrist, and I ignored the little jolt it sent through me.

  I smelled no alcohol on him. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing. He needed to relax. “As always?” I asked him, straight-faced.

  “But of course,” he answered, equally sober. “You are eternally beautiful, Lee. You know that.”

  What a liar.

  “Yes, Shield Mallorough,” his mother added. Her attention was on me, now. Lovely. “You are looking very appropriate this evening.” Hm. Appropriate. Did that qualify as a compliment? “I wasn’t aware you were so adept at style.”

  “I’m not,” I told her. “My mother picked this out.”

  I heard my Source chuckle and my mother sigh.

  “Your Grace, my mother, Holder Teshia Mallorough.”

  Her Grace tilted her head slightly to one side. “Lady Holder.”

  Mother curtseyed, and I hated to see it. “Your Grace,” she murmured in response. “Please sit down.”

  The Duchess nodded again, a slight magnanimous gesture that screamed of her lack of desire to be there.

  Why was she there? Why did she lower herself to socialize with my mother and me? She couldn’t have any desire to know us. I doubted Karish would have been able to convince her to come against her wishes, if he’d ever tried to. So she must have come of her own will. She must have had a reason, but I couldn’t for the life of me guess what it might be.

  We settled into our seats, Karish and I on a sofa and our mothers in separate chairs.
Celia arrived with a tray of sherries. My, how genteel.

  “I am so pleased we were able to do this,” my mother commented, taking a small sip from her glass.

  The Dowager Duchess held her glass, but didn’t drink from it. “Yes,” she said.

  “With our children bonded it is no doubt best that we are able to contact and know each other.”

  The Dowager Duchess raised an eyebrow, Karish in female form. It was a little eerie. “It isn’t as though they are married.” And wasn’t that a good thing for all involved, because she would hate to be the dead body things were done over.

  Relax, Lee. Stop reading double meanings into everything. All she had done was state a bare, simple fact. Leave it alone.

  “Of course not,” my mother agreed. “Bonding is permanent.”

  Silence. Had that been a joke?

  The Dowager’s eyebrows were up again. Very mobile, they were. “Among quality people, marriage is permanent.”

  According to whose perception of reality? Or maybe they defined marriage differently in the upper class.

  “No matter how miserable they are,” Karish muttered.

  “That’s right, Shintaro,” the Duchess said, her tone shifting to one of mocking congratulations. Look, everyone, my dim child has managed to learn something obvious. “People must honor their commitments, no matter how they feel about them.”

  “You know what, Your Grace, you’re absolutely right.” Karish smirked, looking like he thought he’d scored a point. “Once you’ve made a commitment, you can’t just ditch it just because something new comes along.”

  They weren’t really going to spend the whole evening fighting over his rejection of the title, were they?

  The Duchess nodded again, still holding the glass in midair with no apparent intention of drinking from it. Looked kind of silly, actually. “Yes, a wise general rule,” she said. “But, of course, some commitments are more important than others.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Karish, though, had different ideas from his mother concerning what was an important commitment.

  “Yes, Lee has been telling me how diligent Taro is,” my mother chipped in, her voice warm, trying to diffuse the tension that was already starting to build. Karish looked at me, eyebrows raised. I responded with a half shrug. I’d never said as much to my mother, but I didn’t mind her claiming I had. “She feels very fortunate to be working with him.”

  “I have no doubt,” the Duchess said dryly.

  Wench.

  “Does she plan on moving to Flown Raven with Shintaro?”

  “Lee is right here, Your Grace,” Karish said sharply. “If you have a question about her, ask her.”

  “Hush, Shintaro. The Lady Holder and I were speaking.”

  Hush, Shintaro? What was he, four? Even my mother’s eyes widened at that. She looked at me, the weight in her gaze signalling me that it was time for me to contribute to the conversation.

  Did I have to? And what was I supposed to say? No, we’re not going to Flown Raven because your son has refused the title and that’s the end of it. It wasn’t my place to say that. “I’m afraid we aren’t free to leave our posts whenever we wish, Your Grace.” There. That was nice and neutral, wasn’t it?

  Her Grace made no effort to hide her reluctance in addressing me. Guess who was the least significant person in the room? “Shintaro must return home to assume his responsibilities.”

  “Flown Raven was never my home.” His voice tight with anger, Karish surprised me by taking up my hand. I had expected him to restrain himself in front of his mother. “And those responsibilities were never mine.”

  Her Grace noticed and frowned, and waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t be melodramatic, Shintaro.”

  “Sources are melodramatic by nature, Your Grace. But then, you never concerned yourself with the attributes of Sources, did you?”

  “Of course not,” the Dowager said. “Why should I trouble myself with the Source and Shield Service?”

  Because your son is a member, you stupid twit.

  All right, calm down. No reason to let any of it get under your skin. Just breathe. We couldn’t all get nasty.

  “Your daughter would benefit from a move to Flown Raven,” the Duchess continued. To my mother. “Especially with Taro’s connections. She would meet the finest people, have access to—”

  “We are not going to Flown Raven,” Karish snapped.

  “Please don’t raise your voice to your mother, Taro.”

  Back off, Mother. Don’t you dare presume to chastise Karish.

  Taro’s grip on my hand tightened, for a moment, before he remembered himself and deliberately relaxed.

  “The manners of the younger generation are appalling, are they not?” the Duchess said to my mother.

  If they got into some kind of scenario of mature adults versus callow youngsters, things were going to get ugly. Or I was leaving, whichever came first.

  But Mother had recovered from temporarily forgetting that Karish was her favorite new pet. “Actually, I usually find Taro’s manners impeccable.” No mention of me, but, ah well, I wasn’t the one under attack.

  Still, my mother’s behavior was disturbing me. Both of them were talking about Karish as though he weren’t there. While I expected it of the Duchess, I was deeply disappointed in my own mother. She knew better.

  “Do you?” the Duchess drawled.

  She moved to take a sip from her sherry, but stopped herself before her lips touched the glass.

  I found it fascinating how much information she’d packed into those two words. She thought her son was an unmannered oaf, but of course my mother couldn’t understand that, being an underbred merchant woman and all.

  “I find them to be sadly lacking,” she went on, “but then, one can’t expect much considering the company he’s been keeping.”

  The tension in Karish’s thigh jumped up another notch. “Which company might that be?” he asked tightly.

  “There is no need to go into that at this time,” was the Dowager’s response.

  “You already have,” Karish reminded her. “You brought it up. You can’t make a comment like that and then refuse to give any details to back it up. What kind of company are you talking about?” And then he waited for the answer, expecting to be offended by it.

  The Dowager sighed, looking pained. That was when she decided it was time to talk to me again. “Please consider it, Shield Mallorough.” Her tone was gentle, soft. I didn’t trust it. “You would learn so much in Flown Raven. I myself would be willing to teach you about the necessary manners and tastes required of an associate of—”

  I was supposed to be feeling flattered by this, wasn’t I?

  “There is nothing wrong with Lee’s manners!” Karish snapped.

  “Well, no, not for a common—”

  And Karish was suddenly on his feet, across the room and looming over his mother. “Get. Out. Now.”

  His mother gaped at him, her polish gone. She didn’t move.

  “Leave this house. Immediately.”

  No, no, don’t do that. It wasn’t a lost cause yet. We could still smooth this out.

  I had to hand it to the Dowager, she pulled herself back together quickly. “House? This is not a house. Look at this . . . hovel.” Her tone couldn’t have been more scathing. “This is no fit place for you.”

  I glanced about. It wasn’t that bad. Surely not a hovel.

  “Really?” Karish stretched his arms wide and slowly turned around. “It’s got to be at least half again the size of my room at Flown Raven. And I can come and go whenever I please. Much better than the most luxurious prison.”

  I frowned in confusion. What an unfortunate time for one of Karish’s incomprehensible Source-isms to start cropping up.

  The Duchess’ lip curled. “Your room was not a prison. Stop exaggerating.”

  Oh lord, now we were going to hear about arguments stretching back from childhood. This was going to be awful.
/>   “I couldn’t leave, could I? The door was locked from the outside, wasn’t it? Sounds like a prison to me.”

  Karish, Karish, rebellious children are locked in their rooms all the time. A common form of punishment. Melodramatics would not earn you any points.

  But the Dowager’s next words made me feel ashamed for dismissing Karish’s anger so readily.

  “We couldn’t have you wandering around at will.”

  I stared at her for that. He couldn’t be allowed to wander around at will? In his own house? Why the hell not?

  “Aye,” he said bitterly. “Because the gods forbid anyone should talk to me and find out I was insane.”

  Oh no, oh no. My mother was looking stunned and shocked and disoriented. She didn’t know what to do. I’d never told her that Karish’s parents had thought he was mentally unbalanced. It looked like she was going to learn all about it now.

  “No one thought you were insane,” the Dowager said impatiently. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Then why wasn’t I allowed to talk to anyone?” Karish demanded, his face flushed. “Except the staff, of course, because they didn’t matter to anyone. I wasn’t allowed to see my cousins. You wouldn’t let me have a tutor. You didn’t send me to school. I was eleven years old, and I couldn’t even read. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”

  “The son of the Duke of Westsea does not mingle with inferiors,” the Duchess declared, head raised to a lofty angle.

  “The son of the Duke of Westsea doesn’t need to learn to read?” Karish shouted at her incredulously. “Do you have any idea how stupid that is?”

  “You were out of control. We couldn’t send you to a school where others would . . .” She trailed off.

  Others would what? See? Know? What was there to know except that Karish was a Source?

  “Out of control! What the hell did I do?”

  “Always babbling nonsense.” Her words were thick with repugnance. “It was mortifying.”

  “I was a child! And a Source! That’s what we do!”

  “How were we to know that?”

  “You could have asked!” His voice broke. “Why didn’t you just ask? Any doctor would have known what it meant.”