“That’s fiction.”
“So’s casting.”
She looked irritated by the reminder. “That may be, but selling materials purporting to instruct the reader in how to perform spells is illegal.”
“Really? Since when?”
“Since always.”
“Really?” That was surprising. On the one hand, it kind of made sense, in that if it were illegal to pretend to cast spells, it had to be illegal to print materials teaching someone how to pretend to cast spells. On the other hand, really, where was the harm? “But people are getting it from somewhere.”
“Not from this shop, they aren’t,” the woman declared. “And you should be ashamed of yourself for looking for it. You should set a better example.”
“A better example?” I frowned. “Of what? To whom?”
She stared at me as though she thought I’d said something outrageous. “You’re a Shield! You are to be a good example of honor and decency for all.”
“I see.” That was the first I’d heard of it. “Thank you for your time.”
I left the shop feeling puzzled and a little disturbed. I didn’t like the idea that printed material about casting was illegal. I could sort of see the sense of it, if idiots tried whatever was in a book and ended up setting their houses on fire. But I wasn’t an idiot. And I wasn’t going to try any spells. I just wanted to know what was being written and read. And I didn’t like being told I couldn’t see it.
Of course, I knew that just because something was deemed illegal didn’t mean it wasn’t being done. People were getting the books from somewhere, and book stalls and printing shops were the logical places to look. My search required a lot of stops, a lot of walking and a few carriage rides. I would wait until the shops were empty of customers, which sometimes took some time, and then I’d have to convince the printer that I was no kind of authority and that I had neither the ability nor the desire to entrap anyone. Only once that was accomplished— and it wasn’t always—would I be allowed to see the hidden cache of banned goods.
The end result was a collection of pamphlets and small, cheaply bound books with no indication of the contents embossed on the covers. I was given a cloth bag to carry my bounty, so no one could guess that what I was carrying wasn’t anything other than respectable literature. I supposed I should have been feeling guilty or nervous or something, since I was doing something illicit. But it didn’t feel illicit, and in my opinion it shouldn’t have been illicit. I was tempted to sit down on a bench by the road and start reading one of the pamphlets, just to see what would happen.
But I didn’t have time to sit and read and scandalize everyone who walked by. It had taken me much longer than I’d expected to find the books. I had to go home and bathe and change for my meeting, my picnic, with Doran.
I was glad that Taro knew about the picnic in advance. And he was apparently fine with it, having gotten over his initial reactionary snit. And so he should be. Nothing Doran did would have any impact on my relationship with Taro, which was more than could be said of Taro’s friends.
When Doran came to the residence, he was not carrying the same sort of supplies he had had the previous day. He said he’d left everything at the park, and I wondered if that was a wise decision. Surely there was a good chance of something being stolen.
“I confess, I half expected you to find yourself suddenly unavailable today,” he said as he insisted in helping me into the carriage he had borrowed for the occasion.
“Really,” I said coolly. “And why is that?”
“Your Taro seemed a little upset with you last night.”
He had better not expect me to complain to him about Taro, because that was never, ever going to happen. “He can get nervous if I’m away too long and he has no idea where I am. Things have happened in the past.” Though they had usually happened to Taro.
“I hope there was no unpleasantness after I left.”
I studied him for a moment. If he had expressed any hope that there was unpleasantness, I would have been unimpressed with him. But his face showed only polite concern. “No, no unpleasantness.” And it wasn’t really a lie. Not when one took the long view. We had had a little, insignificant spat, and made up for it gloriously.
“That’s good,” he said, and he seemed sincere.
I wondered if he would feel the same way after I told him what I had to say.
Stepping down from the carriage, I saw a vision that put Taro right out of my mind. Under a large tree with a wide, solid trunk and leafy branches stretching out into a glorious sun-spattered umbrella, the ubiquitous picnic blanket stretched out on the ground in loose white waves. Where it sheered off from my experience was the small white table set up on the blanket, with two white cane chairs. There were two servants, one male, one female, and they either ruined or complemented the look of the scene by being dressed entirely in black; I couldn’t tell which. They were moving a little before they noticed our arrival, at which point they stilled into silent attendance.
“Where did you get them?” I asked, nodding toward the servants.
“Borrowed them from my mother.”
We sat at the table, the servants waving serviettes into our laps. From side bars they produced covered plates, revealing slices of cheese and skinned grapes.
“Is it really that bad?” Doran asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You look tense, like you’re expecting something to be dropped on your head without notice.”
I forced my shoulders down, and I knew I was blushing. I could feel it, damn it. “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting anything like this.”
“Don’t you like it?”
“It’s lovely.” It was conspicuous. It made sure that everyone who entered the park or passed on the road would get a good look at us. But it was definitely lovely.
The cheese was great. Strong and chewy.
“I had some difficulty choosing the menu for today,” Doran commented.
“Oh?”
“I was thinking of a light spinach salad,” he said.
“Oh.” Not my favorite but it would have been fine.
“Followed by a light serving of sliced roast goat.”
“Goat meat?” I couldn’t help wrinkling my nose at that. The only time I’d ever had goat meat had been at that horrible dinner party at the Yellows estate. “Oh my gods. Are you serious?” That would have been in such bad taste.
He chuckled. “The meal we were enjoying the night we met.”
“Or not enjoying, to be precise.” It had been a ritualistic meal meant to prepare us to meet whatever gods the Reanists believed in. Meant to make us slow and stupid and easier to sacrifice. And Doran had thought that meal might be something appropriate to serve to me? “You can be a twisted sort of fellow, can’t you?”
He grinned. “My dear, sometimes the best results can come from the worst circumstances.”
“I suppose.” I knew what he was implying, but I didn’t want to encourage that line of thinking.
“But given how unpleasant those circumstances ultimately ended up being, I decided to spare you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Ugh. Could this conversation be any less witty? What was wrong with me? What was wrong with us? We were usually so much more relaxed than this.
“Dunleavy!” I heard a voice call out, and I looked to the right. The woman I saw, leading two young children by the hand, was a prostitute I’d met through Risa. Doran rose to his feet.
“Zeva.” I smiled. “Good afternoon.” The woman was gorgeous, curvaceous and blond, her hair tightly pinned back and coiled at the back of her head. “Who are your friends?”
The young woman smiled down at her charges, wearing a warm, gentle expression that I couldn’t recall seeing on her before. “This is my daughter, Amber.” The little girl dipped into a cute little curtsy. “And my son, Viker.” The little boy, he was maybe four, bowed. “Say good afternoon to Shield Mallorough.”
“Go
od afternoon, Shield Mallorough,” they said in perfect unison, and it would have been a little creepy if it weren’t for the fact that Viker had trouble pronouncing my name.
“And who’s your friend?” Zeva asked, an eyebrow raised.
“This is Lord Doran Laidley,” I said, avoiding his proper title in favor of his actual name. He could correct me if he didn’t like it. “Doran, this is Zeva Smith.”
Doran took her hand and bowed over it. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said.
“It certainly could be,” she smirked. Then her eyes widened in alarm and she looked at me. “Dunleavy, I’m—”
I waved away any impending apology. For some reason, the idea that Zeva might flirt with Doran didn’t disturb me. He deserved more fun than I could give him.
“I’ll wager everyone wishes they had husbands as understanding as yours,” Zeva said impishly, quickly over her discomfort. “Allowing you romantic picnics with other handsome men.”
Oh lords, spare me.
Doran narrowed his eyes at me. “Really, Lee? You’ve gotten married in the last couple of days?”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by those words, or by the odd tone in his voice. He seemed annoyed. Did he think I had gotten married and just hadn’t bothered to tell him? “You’ll have to ask Zeva, I suppose. I didn’t have a husband the last time I looked.”
Zeva pretended to pout. “You’re not wearing it.”
“Not wearing what?” Doran demanded.
I sipped at the apple wine that had been poured into the goblet before me. It was nice. Sweet.
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard, my lord,” said Zeva. “Dozens saw it.”
I looked at her more closely. Was she trying to cause trouble? She appeared to be teasing, but I didn’t know her very well.
I decided to stop any further insinuation or misunderstanding. “Taro had his eye on a matched set of those harmony bobs, and the merchant made us go through a ritual that was supposed to trigger their power. It was in no way a wedding. We are not married and won’t ever be married. And”—just to be thorough— “Taro was there when Doran invited me to this picnic.”
Zeva cackled. “You’ve got him well under heel, then. Good work, Dunleavy.”
Strangely enough, I didn’t find the suggestion that I was somehow oppressing my Source at all flattering.
Really, this picnic wasn’t turning out to be nearly as pleasant as I’d expected.
The boy tugged on Zeva’s hand, and she leaned down so he could whisper into her ear. “I’m afraid we must be going,” she said. “It was pleasant to meet you, Lord Laidley. Nice seeing you again, Dunleavy.”
“You, too,” I lied.
“She likes to stir things up, doesn’t she?” Doran commented once she was out of earshot.
“Apparently.” Not a trait I’d noticed in her before.
“I don’t think I’ve once seen you wear a harmony bob.”
I shrugged. “It was a whim of Taro’s.”
“Hm,” said Doran.
All right. It was time to get the unpleasantness started. “You were right when you said things had changed between Taro and me,” I confessed. “We do have a different sort of relationship now.”
“Do you plan to marry him?” Doran asked.
“What? No!” Why would I do that?
“Have children with him?”
“Definitely not.” It wasn’t likely, within a Pair, both of us channeling. Channeling and Shielding tended to prevent conception. And even if it were possible, Zaire, what a bad combination. With our luck any children would have my looks and his mood swings.
“So it’s not a permanent liaison,” he said.
I knew the answer to that, but I wasn’t prepared to say it out loud. To anyone.
Doran nodded, though, as if I had spoken. “I understand that Taro was almost grown before he was sent to the Source Academy.”
“He was eleven.” And what did that have to do with anything?
“No doubt he was taught something of the courtship rites.”
As far as I knew, Taro didn’t learn anything from his family except how to sit excrutiatingly straight and use his cutlery. Apparently, he could barely read when he’d left his family. And at the age of eleven, that was just shocking. “The what?”
“The way we do things.”
“Who’s we? What things?” It suddenly felt like we were speaking in a different language. And maybe we were. The language of the aristocrats, which I had never learned.
“Nothing is settled between you. There has been no promise made, correct?”
I wasn’t sure where this was going, but it didn’t seem a positive place. “That’s really none of your business.” Aye, yes, blunt, but if he had any manners, he wouldn’t be pursuing this line of questioning.
“Sometimes being open and honest can really save a lot of time,” said Doran.
And when had I started appearing closed and dishonest?
It wasn’t about being honest, anyway. It was just that I didn’t want to talk to anyone about this thing between Taro and me. I didn’t want to add to the gossip. What rule said I had to talk about it, anyway?
Was Doran entitled to know about this? Did the relationship we had before I left for Flatwell give him that right? Really, I had no idea.
“I like Taro very much,” said Doran. “I mean no disrespect to him in what I am about to say. But he is not the sort to make that sort of commitment, is he?”
I was suddenly amused. Doran’s aristocratic upbringing was showing. What normal person talked about commitment in reference to sexual relationships? And even if normal people did think that way, Taro and I were bonded. An expression of commitment was redundant. Where could he go?
Doran’s eyebrows rose. “My dear, where did you pick up that smirk?”
Smirk? I did not smirk. Smirking was something children and obnoxious men did. I was far too mature for such an expression.
“He hasn’t spoken of commitments, has he?” Doran persisted.
“Of course not.” I wanted to add that I wouldn’t welcome any such discussion, but I had a feeling Doran would interpret such words as evidence that I really did want a commitment, I was merely too proud to admit it.
Which was stupid. If I wanted a commitment, I would ask for one.
“I really don’t care for this subject of discussion,” I said coolly.
And suddenly, his posture relaxed, and he smiled. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
I certainly could, even when I didn’t know exactly what he had been trying.
“Lydia would like to see you,” he said, mentioning a friend of his, whom I had met and liked.
She was another person I hadn’t thought of since leaving for Flatwell. What was wrong with me? “How did the wedding go?”
He grinned. “It was a total disaster. Her fiancé’s father forced himself into the planning and turned it into an overly elaborate nightmare.” He took a sip of wine. He didn’t appear about to expound.
“You can’t just leave it there,” I chided. “Details.”
Details there were many, from people being given the wrong location for the ceremony in the invitations, to the celebrant showing up dead drunk, to no fewer than seven chairs collapsing under guests during dinner. It was clearly a day of endless calamity and Doran described it with heartless glee. I couldn’t help laughing, badly though I felt for Lydia.
It felt good to laugh.
The list of problems was so long that Doran wasn’t able to reach the end of it before a Runner appeared beside the table, without warning. I’d forgotten we were in a public place. I felt embarrassed for having laughed so much while being observed. Was that why the Runner was approaching us? Were we not supposed to laugh so much in public?
“My apologies, my lord, Shield,” the Runner said. “Due to the illness in the riverfront spreading to other parts of the city, the deputy mayor has outlawed the use of the parks. Any unnecessary public gatherings ar
e prohibited.”
I was shocked. “I had no idea the illness was so severe.”
“Well,” said the Runner, “there is no reason why you would, is there?”
What was that supposed to mean? Was that an insult? “So this illness is contagious?”
“No, not at all,” the Runner answered rather quickly.
“If it’s not contagious, what does it matter whether people gather in public or not?”
“It is a preventative measure.”
“In case it might be contagious?”
He looked impatient. “It is not contagious, ma’am. I know nothing more about it.”
That sounded cagey, to me. Maybe I was always too suspicious, but this seemed odd.
“How long is this ban expected to last?” Doran asked.
“I don’t have that information,” the Runner said in a rather snippy tone. “Please gather your things. I have other areas to clear.”
I wanted to object, or to think about it, or ask more questions. This had all come out of nowhere. But I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry, Lee,” said Doran, which was the cue for the servants to start packing up.
“Not at all,” I answered without thought. What was the nature of this illness? Where had it spread? What were the healers doing about it?
Why hadn’t I learned more about it? How could I be so ignorant of what was going on in the city in which I lived?
“Well, that was disappointing,” Doran commented once we were back in his carriage.
“It was very pleasant, aside from the interruptions.”
“So you wouldn’t mind doing it again?”
We couldn’t do it again, because they were closing all of the parks, but that wasn’t what he meant. “Not at all.”
“We can remain friends?” he asked.
Relief seemed to loosen every muscle in my body. He understood. I smiled. “I would like that.” I couldn’t believe he would be willing to do that. And yet, why not? I’d always known he was an exceptional person.
“We can still see each other?”
“Of course.”
Moira J. Moore - Heroes at Risk Page 12
