The Hero Strikes Back

by Moira J. Moore

  I grimaced. The fascination with watching people killed had always escaped me. “No thanks.”

  “Suit yourself,” Risa shrugged. “But here’s the really big news.”

  “Bigger than hordes of Reanists trying to kill Prince Gifford?” Karish asked as he re-entered the suite. “I’d wager he wouldn’t think so.”

  “Aye, but you will.” Risa tapped me on the knee. “You were right. The Reanists were behind the other disappearances. And the clubs.”

  “What’s this?” said Karish.

  “Dunleavy had a theory that the Reanists were behind the abductions of the aristocrats. And she was right.”

  Huh. Interesting. And this time I hadn’t needed to be led to the obvious conclusion by my nose. Maybe I had the makings of a Runner after all.

  “They lured in lower status Landed by inviting them into those Raiborn clubs,” Risa continued. “Then they’d sacrifice them.”

  “So they’re dead?” I asked.

  Risa nodded. “We think so.”

  “Really?” Karish crossed his arms and glared at me. “She didn’t bother telling me any of this.”

  “You hate it when I hover,” I said.

  His eyebrows dipped. “Eh?”

  “She was worried about you,” Risa told him. “You being an aristocrat and all. And one without any real power. You fit the category.”

  Karish sniffed, unimpressed. “She could try walking down the middle of the yardstick once in a while,” he announced. “Excuse me. The kettle’s boiling.” He gave me a look that told me this was not over and left the suite again.

  Risa and I looked at each other for a moment, realized neither of us had any idea what the yardstick comment was about, and shrugged it off.

  “What about that ritual space you were talking about?” I asked.

  “Do you know about the condemned hospital in the southern quad?”

  “I do now.”

  “It had a stone cellar. It had a pile of dirt, a bucket of water, embers, and a window.”

  “The window sufficed for air?”

  “I guess so. The directions—you know, north-east-west-south—were a bit off, but I guess that doesn’t matter so much.”

  So. The naive young aristocrats, desperate to belong to something, were taken down to a dank cold cellar and ritually sacrificed. How awful. “You got them all?”

  “All the Reanists in High Scape. We’ve sent an envoy to Shina Lake warning them any other Reanists discovered in High Scape will be arrested on sight. That’ll hold them there for a while, I think.”

  “So it’s all over?” I just wanted to be sure.

  Risa smiled. “It’s all over.”

  A long, slow breath. Thank the gods. Well, no, that wasn’t quite right under the circumstances. Thank Zaire. Thank the Runners. Karish wasn’t going to wind up missing one night. Good thing, too. I didn’t think I could handle that again, the blind, ignorant fear of having him taken by someone and not knowing what was being done to him.

  Having an aristocrat for a Source was so inconvenient.

  Karish returned bearing a tray. He set it on the coffee table and poured out three cups—mine from a separate pot—with mindless precision that bespoke years of practise. Was that something he had been forced to practice, whiling away the hours locked in his bedroom? But pouring tea with grace was considered a feminine skill, was it not? Yet Karish looked completely natural doing it. Totally un-self conscious.

  It was, perhaps, a question his mother could answer. She arrived that afternoon, after Risa had left, and during an argument over whether Karish should stop mothering me or not. When the light knock sounded on the door, Karish sighed with impatience and hauled himself to his feet to answer. Then he’d just stood there in front of the open door. “You’re not welcome here,” was his cold greeting.

  A soft “Don’t be ridiculous” from his mother, who was able to move him to the side with a wave of a hand that didn’t even touch him. She noticed me as she entered. I was grateful that, at least, I was dressed.

  “Please dismiss your little friend, Shintaro. This is family business.”

  Little friend? Man, did I want to stick my tongue out at her.

  The front door slammed. “This is her room.” Karish declared. He stepped around her and sat beside me on the sofa, taking up one of my hands and lacing his fingers through mine. “It’s customary to greet an acquaintance when you see them.”

  “It’s customary to rise when a duchess enters the room.”

  Oh. That’s right. I’d forgotten. Oops.

  “What do you want?” Karish demanded.

  “Send the girl away, Shintaro.”

  I really didn’t want to be there, anyway. “Maybe I should—” I started to rise.

  He squeezed my hand. Hard.

  All right, maybe I shouldn’t. I settled back down.

  His mother drifted over the floor and alighted into a chair. She waited. There was silence, for a moment. “Are you not going to offer me refreshment?”

  “I didn’t even offer you a seat.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “This discourteous manner you’ve assumed is inexcusable.”

  “Isn’t it just?”

  “I’ve really had enough of it.”

  “You may leave any time.”

  I didn’t look at him. I carefully kept my eyes trained on the Duchess. Because if I looked at him she might perceive that I didn’t agree with how he was behaving, and I didn’t want to give her any ammunition.

  Stay civil, I thought at him. Stay calm. Be polite. It’ll make dealing with her so much easier, and you won’t be so upset once she leaves.

  Her Grace evidently decided to abort the unproductive trail of conversation and try one equally disagreeable. “I spoke to Prince Gifford this morning,” she said.

  Really? The day after his arrival and, incidentally, an attack on his life, and she managed to get a private audience with him? She really did have influence.

  “I explained to him your situation.”

  I felt Karish freeze beside me.

  This sounded bad.

  “I have no situation,” said Karish, his voice low and cold. “Certainly not one that needs to be brought to the attention of the Crown Prince.”

  Please, please, please let this not be what I thought it was going to be.

  “Gifford was very interested in the possibility of your re-attaining your title.”

  It was exactly what I’d thought it was going to be. Damn woman.

  And Karish was on his feet. “Get out!” he shouted, full roar.

  The Duchess was unmoved by his choler. “Sit down, Shintaro.”

  My, she was cocky. If I were her I’d be worrying about being slapped around some.

  “How dare you discuss my business with the Prince!”

  “He said—”

  “I don’t care what he said! Get out!”

  Deep breath. “Taro!” I snapped out, deepening my voice so it would cut through the noise the two of them were making. He whirled at me, stunned I was interfering. I caught his gaze. “We should hear what was said.”

  “I don’t—”

  “We should hear—” I repeated firmly, “what was said.” I stared at him, wishing our all-powerful mystical bond allowed actual communication.

  Karish clenched his jaws and crossed his arms. I didn’t think I’d convinced him of anything, but he trusted me enough to know I wasn’t doing this for no reason.

  Her Grace interpreted the silence as permission to proceed. If she thought she needed permission. “I informed His Highness of your difficulty.”

  “I don’t have a difficulty!”

  Shut up, Karish.

  “I told him that when you abjured your title, you had been enduring a very trying time. Newly bonded, hunting down that mad Source, mourning the loss of your brother”—Karish snorted—“it was no wonder you were not quite yourself.”

  “What did you do, Mother?” he demanded in a voice grown hoarse.<
br />
  “Really, Shintaro, I don’t know why you’re acting this way. I told His Highness you were seeking to regain your title and—”

  “Oh, gods!” He pushed his hands into his hair. “Oh, gods. You didn’t. You didn’t really tell him I was hoping to get the title back. Please tell me you didn’t.”

  “Be sensible, Shintaro. How can he assist you if he doesn’t know what you want?”

  Oh Zaire. Oh hell. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She was supposed to be adept at political games. She was, at the very least, supposed to possess a basic level of intelligence. What did she think she was doing?

  Was she trying to get him killed?

  “You stupid bitch!”

  The Dowager’s expression was one of total shock. I couldn’t believe it. How could she think he would be anything but horrified to hear this? “Shintaro!”

  “I’m going to end up in prison! Or dead! Gods, woman, how could you be so phenomenally stupid? What are you trying to do to me? Once I’ve given up the title, I can’t ask for it back! You know that!”

  Shock faded away to be replaced by anger. “You ungrateful little parasite!” she hissed. “Do you think I want you taking the title? A mad wastrel of no manners and no morals, no education and no discipline? You could not be less worthy, and the idea of you stepping into your brother’s shoes disgusts me.”

  His brother’s shoes? That would be the man who slept and gambled his way through life, dying at an early age through a sexually transmitted disease? That brother?

  “Then let the title go to my cousin!”

  “I will not! You are my son, much may I wish it otherwise. You are your brother’s natural heir. You will take the title. That you don’t wish it, that it is inconvenient to you, is irrelevant. It will happen. Prince Gifford assures me there is no reason why you can’t have the title, as it hasn’t passed to your heir yet. He will arrange it.”

  “The Empress won’t allow it.” This was said with desperation. I could see he wasn’t entirely certain that she wouldn’t. Maybe she would. Maybe it would suit some other plans of hers that we knew nothing about.

  “The Empress’ power is waning. Much like her health. You must learn to watch for these developments, Shintaro. They will be essential for your survival.”

  She was so sure. She had calmed down from her shock and was passing on political advice. As though it were all a done deal, and all that was left were the formalities.

  What if she were right? What if Prince Gifford did manage to saddle Karish with the title?

  Damn it. Damn her. Why did she have to interfere? Why couldn’t she just leave us alone? What did she care who was the next duke? It wouldn’t change her life, her title, her home.

  Karish stood there silently for a moment, his hands still clenched in his hair. Then he let his hands fall again, his shoulders slumping. “Get out,” he ordered in a quiet voice.

  His mother cocked her head to one side, a gesture eerily like her son’s, and she studied him for a moment. Then she began gathering up her gloves and purse. “You can be sure I find our association as distasteful as do you,” she said. “I promise you it won’t continue once you assume your proper role. Do your part, and we never need have anything to do with each other again.”

  I hated her. She had to know that she was cruel. She just didn’t care. And watching her leave I just wanted to tackle her and pound her head against the floor until her skull cracked open and what few brains she had dribbled out.

  That might stain the wood, though.

  I waited until the door had closed behind her. I watched Karish rub his face with his hand, trembling with rage and pale with shock. “Taro, come here.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Taro.”

  “She’s going to get me killed,” he whispered.

  “Or ennobled.” He didn’t find that funny. Imagine that. “Come here, Taro.” He kind of drifted over the floor, as his mother had. When he sat beside me I draped my arms over his shoulders and stroked my finger though his black hair.

  “What am I going to do?” he asked, his voice breaking.

  “Well,” I said, drawing out the word, trying to think. “You told the Empress you didn’t want the title. You told the court. You told your mother.”

  “So?” Karish said after a moment.

  “You were honest. You were forthright. Your mother is trying to circumvent your honesty.”

  “And?”

  “You have to act quickly. Before the Prince talks to anyone else about the possibility of reinstating you. If we do anything, it has to be before the Prince has committed himself. Slighting and humiliating him won’t help us at all.”

  “All I’m hearing is negatives here, Lee, and I kind of knew about them already.”

  “It’s time to use guile.”

  “Guile?”

  “Deceit.”

  He frowned. “I don’t like that.”

  “You’ll like being headless even less. I wouldn’t care for it myself. I’d miss your mane.” I ruffled his hair.

  “I don’t think I can do guile.”

  “Of course you can. It’s in your blood.” He was an aristocrat, after all.

  He growled. “What are you suggesting?”

  “You go to your mother—”

  “Oh, no!”

  I grabbed the collar of his shirt before he could jump up and start pacing. “Hear me out, Taro.”

  “What!” he snapped peevishly.

  “You go to your mother tomorrow or the next day. You don’t have to be particularly civil, though that would help. You don’t have to act like you like her. But you take a page from her book. You stay calm. You tell her that her promising you she won’t interfere with your life once you’re the duke has put a whole new perspective on things. Complain about the shoddy way the regulars have been treating you over the weather this summer. That people are rude to you, and the shopkeepers don’t give you appropriate service. No way at all to behave towards a duke. Tell her being a Source has brought you nothing but danger and inconvenience.”

  “She’s not going to believe I suddenly changed my mind.”

  “Tell her you were bragging about being disrespectful to her in front of La Monte. And he chastised you about the deference that must be shown to one’s mother, and a lady. You came to realize that you were behaving childishly.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at that. “It’s awfully weak, Lee.”

  “Aye. It is. A good thing, then, that we are dealing with a person who shows a tendency to believe in whatever she wants to believe, regardless of how unrealistic it is. This is exactly what she wants to hear, Taro. Are you going to tell me she won’t grab onto it with both hands?”

  He didn’t say anything to that. He couldn’t deny it.

  “The first day, you go to her and apologize. Not con-tritely. Not with any emotional fervor. Merely tell her you recognize that you have been behaving inappropriately, and it will not happen again. Use me, if you like. You could say after she left I started slagging her, and that made you angry. The second day you start complaining about being a Source in High Scape. The rigid schedule, the constant demands on your attention. And having to watch me all the time is a serious inconvenience. At least if you were a duke, you could hire someone to watch me. The third day you admit that she was right and you’re feeling guilty for neglecting your family duty. Say you had a fight with one of your lovers, someone you’d been serious about but who wouldn’t marry you because you were nothing but a feckless Source and she wanted a normal man with a normal life. The fourth day, you ask her for the password, so you can race back to Flown Raven and tell the family solicitor and attend Lord Yellows’ ball as the Duke of Westsea.”

  “And then what? Because I know you aren’t suggesting I actually go to Flown Raven. You would never suggest that.” His tone plainly told me that I’d better not ever suggest that.

  “You send it to your cousin. Tell her to race to the solicitor and get the ti
tle, and send you word when it’s done, so you can somehow let it be known to the Prince that the title has been passed. Discreetly, and before he’s made any moves about it himself.”

  “Send the code through the mail?”

  I couldn’t help smirking at that. “How much do you care that the code might fall into the wrong hands?” And a ditch digger becomes the next Duke of Westsea. It would serve his mother right.

  He sighed, and I felt some of the tension drain out of him. “It’s going to be hard.”

  “I know. But being honest isn’t protecting you. Your mother won’t let it. You have to move fast and I can’t think of any other way to do this.”

  “Me, neither,” he admitted.

  “So you’ll have to lie.”

  “Aye,” he said wearily. “Won’t be the first time.”

  “And you’ll be able to stay here. With people who care about you. And not just because you’re so pretty.”

  He snickered. Then he groaned. “This is going to be awful.”

  “Poor boy,” I said. And this time I meant it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was a nice gown, especially considering it was a rush job. Tailor Dagong had not been at all pleased to take me on, and was downright temperamental about putting my gown before her other orders. Not that I could blame her. I had no doubt that customers were hellish to deal with, just in general. Ask them to wait even longer than they’d planned for a product and it could only get worse. I was afraid she would make the dress too tight, or make the seams rough, or enact some other form of subtle revenge that I probably wouldn’t notice until after I’d been wearing the gown an hour or two. But so far so good. Too much pride in her profession, perhaps, to indulge in such petty punishment.

  The gown was well-made, a simple cut that suited my frame as much as any garment could, the sleeves less narrow than the fashion to de-emphasize my too-broad shoulders and a less severe waistline that obscured the fact that my figure was other than hourglass. It was royal blue, as opposed to my usual dark green. It made my hair look really red.

  The white braid on my left shoulder was a glaring accent that ruined the whole look, as far as I was concerned. Too bad I couldn’t wear white sometimes.