Heroes at Risk

by Moore, Moira J.

  “Hm,” he said. “That sounds familiar.”

  “Really? I can remember no place like it.”

  “I can’t remember if I’ve actually seen such a place. It just seems familiar.” He shrugged. “Oh well.”

  In my mind, he was dismissing it too easily. “Don’t do it again.”

  He arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

  I was reluctant to talk about what I had seen within him as he channeled. The images, the potential for danger, had been too gruesome. “Your heart was going far too fast. For a moment, I thought it was going to rip right out of your chest.” That was a nightmare of mine, watching his body literally burst apart because I’d failed to Shield him properly.

  “You can handle it,” he said with utmost flattering and foolish confidence.

  “I’m serious, Taro. I almost lost control there.” It was hard enough admitting my failings without having him disregard my warnings so lightly.

  “Almost means nothing. You did your job and that’s all that counts. You always do your job.”

  It seemed to me that as time went by, Taro was becoming a little careless, a little too quick to believe that I could follow wherever he went, with no warning. I wasn’t sure what to do about that. A part of me believed that it was only natural for him to become more confident in his abilities as he acquired more experience. The other part wondered why I wasn’t acquiring the same confidence.

  Our watch dragged by. The episode of channeling seemed to have calmed Taro down considerably, and it had washed my anger away. Still, we bickered as we usually did when we were stuck somewhere with nothing to do. It occurred to me that Taro and I never really talked about anything of any substance, except for our work. We either bickered or bantered. I wondered if that was a problem.

  Eventually Source Chris LaMonte and Shield Fehvor Hammad showed up for their watch. A little more eventually than I’d been expecting. Source LaMonte was a pompous, aggravating stiff who thought too much of his advanced experience, but his sense of duty was infallible. The very idea of him being late for anything was shocking.

  “My apologies,” was his greeting, which shocked me even more. “But there’s madness in the streets. Empress Constia has died.”

  My mouth fell open as I stared at him. “She what?”

  “Apparently the word reached the deputy mayor last night. The Empress died nearly three weeks ago. Some sort of wasting sickness.”

  Taro, who had risen upon the opening of the door, fell back into his seat. “Zaire,” he muttered.

  It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Rumors of Her Majesty’s poor health had been circulating for the past couple of years, and she hadn’t looked all that well the last time I saw her. And even if she weren’t ill, well, she’d been in her sixties. At that age, people started dying for no reason.

  It was just that I wasn’t ready for her to die. I didn’t like who would be taking her place on the throne. Even though she was married, no one assumed that her husband, Prince Albert, would be taking over her title when she died. Spouses usually didn’t if there were children to inherit, and given Prince Albert’s complete absence from public life, I, for one, wasn’t sure he was still alive.

  The only surviving child of the Empress was Crown Prince Gifford, and his mother had been so thrilled with him she’d sent us out to Flatwell to look for possible options for heirs. Prince Gifford, who’d conspired with Taro’s mother, for some bizarre unknown reason, to get Taro’s title back after he’d abjured it. Which was illegal, but it wasn’t like the Prince was the one who would have suffered the consequences. That would have been Taro. And me, by extension. That little plot had been easy enough to circumvent, but it had caused a lot of sleepless nights.

  Gifford’s interest had resulted in my enduring a lot of exposure to Taro’s mother, which I could have lived without. I’d never met someone I’d so very badly wanted to hit, and considering she had usually ignored me, her ability to raise my ire so quickly and so thoroughly revealed real talent.

  I didn’t know a lot about Gifford, but my limited exposure had shown me a man of exceptional arrogance, and little concern for the law. And he was to be our new ruler. Zaire save us.

  Chapter Five

  “So, Dunleavy, how’s married life treating you?”

  Oh, no, that wasn’t the first time I’d heard that in the week since that ridiculous harmony bob ceremony. Instead of answering, because it was a stupid question, I took a sip of wine. As I let the wine roll over my tongue, I wondered why wine always tasted so much better in taverns than it did at home, even when it was the same kind of wine.

  “Ya done it now,” said Shield Giles Sabatos. “She’s fuming.”

  I was not fuming. I was calm. I was serene. It was merely that the comment was so lacking in originality, it deserved no reaction at all.

  The misunderstanding of the bob ceremony was far worse than I’d predicted. Those who had seen us indulge in it had thought we were getting married, of all things. Married! Why in the world would we be getting married? We had neither titles nor property. But the gossip about the married Pair had spread everywhere. Including to the other Pairs of High Scape. Who abused us mercilessly.

  Harshly, actually. I was surprised by some of the things they’d been saying, about a lack of proper control and a weak understanding of professionalism and ethics. Especially Source Claire Firth and her partner, Shield Dee Stone. I was a little relieved they weren’t able to join us for Riley and Sabatos’s farewell dinner.

  Taro’s only comment about it was that he hoped the gossip reached his mother. She’d have an apoplectic fit.

  I hated it. It was stupid, irritating, humiliating and no one’s business. Of all the things to be right about, all the things I’d been worried about when I’d first experienced the dizzying disappointment of being bonded to Taro, this had to be it. People who didn’t even know me, talking about me, about my private life. It was awful.

  It was baffling. Where were people’s priorities? The Empress had just died, but while those who could afford it wore the dark purple of mourning, few were speaking about her, and it seemed to me there was too little being said about the man who was going to be ruling our lives. More than enough was being said about me, though, and about Taro. I couldn’t believe it.

  Really, we weren’t that interesting.

  “This is not a matter for levity,” LaMonte scolded, and I had to silently rebuke myself for being on the same side as he on any issue. “Really, what were the two of you thinking, to make such a spectacle of yourselves?”

  “But being a spectacle is what I do best, Chris,” said Taro.

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t embarrassing. I hadn’t objected to the little ritual because Taro had wanted to do it, and the merchant had been gorgeous. I wasn’t admitting that.

  “At least Dunleavy has the good sense not to wear the trinket,” LaMonte continued, ignoring Taro’s response. I didn’t blame him. “I’ve yet to see you without it, Shintaro. I imagine you enjoy the attention it brings you.”

  It was true. Taro did wear the thing all the time. Even I’d noticed it. I hated seeing it on him. The symbol of eternity seemed to be mocking me, a grotesque reminder of how fragile the more emotional side of our relationship was, how it would be ended at any time, with no warning. Despite this, my only words to him on the subject had been that I thought he was too much of a gambler to believe in luck. He’d said a little good luck never hurt anyone, and I guess I had to agree with that.

  Besides, I tried to avoid being a hypocrite. I was wearing mine, too. It was stupid but I just couldn’t leave it off. I wore it every day. But I didn’t let Taro know. Every night I took it off in my bedchamber before joining him in his.

  I had to recognize in myself the unworthy trait of cowardice.

  “This is our last night in High Scape,” Riley announced. “And yet we are speaking of Dunleavy and Shintaro. How unusual.”

  “Not at al
l,” said Taro. “We are the most interesting people here.”

  “Here” was the rather reclusive Silver Penny, one of the few taverns that hadn’t become a dangerous place to eat during the Harsh Summer. At least, the servers had continued to treat us well, so I chose to believe they hadn’t spit in the food, or done anything even more disgusting that I didn’t want to contemplate. We were supposed to be eating and drinking and talking of old times. Except we didn’t have many old times in common. Taro and I had been bonded for only around three years, and were the Pair who had been in High Scape the longest. Of those three years, over half of our time had been spent either absent or otherwise off the roster. And the other Pairs had never worked together before coming to High Scape.

  Besides, we all lived together. We talked to one another all the time.

  “One would think,” Sabatos said in response to Taro. “But you’ve been characteristically closemouthed about what you were up to while you were away.”

  See? It wasn’t our fault that the conversation stayed on us. They kept asking questions they should have known better than to ask. “Why don’t you tell us what you’ve learned about Ice Ridge?” I asked.

  Sabatos shrugged. “The name is the result of someone’s twisted sense of humor. It’s hot and humid and far from anywhere civilized.”

  It sounded like Flatwell.

  “The only ridges are those belonging to the volcano. And every spring they sacrifice a virgin to it.”

  Hammad’s eyes widened. “You’re not serious.”

  “Well, not literally, because it’s been totally inactive until recently. But aye, they dress up some old spinster crone and carry her up and around the top in a litter, and cut off some of her hair and throw it around. Then they bring her down and there’s a big feast and dancing. It’s supposed to bring good luck.”

  Of all the idiocy. Were there really so many superstitious people in the world? How had I missed them?

  “At least it sounds interesting,” Riley muttered. “The volcano may keep things active enough to keep me from falling asleep on watch. Or getting pregnant.”

  Hell, I hadn’t thought of that. Channeling prevented pregnancy. I had gone about a year with very few events, and had managed to avoid getting pregnant. If High Scape was settling down to the point where I rarely channeled, or didn’t channel at all, I did risk quickening. Not that I didn’t want children, I did. Just not yet. I didn’t know anything about kids yet.

  I’d have to see how regular women avoided having children.

  “Something strange is going on, though,” said Shield Elata Benedict.

  “Strange how?” Riley asked.

  Benedict shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”

  Source Derek Beatrice, Benedict’s partner, snorted in derision.

  Benedict ignored him. “All this new dabbling in superstition and casting. I know Karish is wearing that bob as a joke, but there are people who are really starting to believe in this stuff.”

  “A fad,” LaMonte said in a dismissive tone. “I doubt it will last the winter.”

  “I’m not talking about those ridiculous metal cages some women are weaving into their hair,” Benedict objected. “Aye, those’ll go out of style, and none too soon. This is different. People are really starting to do things out of the belief it will bring them good luck. And not just the peasants, either. Lord Noirden sacrificed a cow on his front lawn this morning.”

  My wine almost went down the wrong way at that. Riley sputtered and coughed. “He what?”

  “He did it personally, and of course he didn’t know what he was doing. The poor animal was moaning and practically squealing as the idiot was sawing at its neck”—Sabatos grimaced and dropped his knife and fork on his plate before pushing the remains of his meal away—“and there was blood everywhere. Once the poor thing was finally dead, he poured oil all over it and set it on fire. There was a merry little blaze going before the Runners showed up, and once they got there, they didn’t really know what to do. Apparently no one knows whether it’s illegal to sacrifice an animal on your own property, because no one’s done it before.”

  “I thought the casting was being attempted only by people with that riverfront illness,” I said.

  “Who told you that?”

  What did that matter? “So it’s more widespread than that?”

  “Clearly, if Noirden was trying it. His son has a bleeding disease and probably won’t live to be a man. It’s said the healers can’t do anything.”

  “Did he end up getting arrested?” Hammad asked.

  “I don’t think so. And if he did, he’d just buy his way out of it.”

  “I wonder if that’ll become illegal after this,” Taro mused, whirling his wine in his goblet. “Sacrificing animals, I mean.”

  “The Runners have a hard enough time trying to catch people who murder other people. I don’t think they can afford to add murdering animals to the list of crimes,” said Sabatos.

  “Who was he sacrificing the cow to, anyway?” Beatrice demanded.

  “No one seems to know.”

  “And where did he get the ritual? He didn’t just make it up, did he?”

  “He got it out of a book.”

  “A book about what?” I asked.

  “Now you’ve got her started,” Taro groaned.

  “How could anyone not be interested in a book about how to murder animals for the purposes of healing someone? It’s insane.” Who would write such a book? Who would print it? How would Noirden even learn about it?

  “I don’t know anything about the book,” Benedict told me. “The Runners confiscated it.”

  Maybe Risa would be able to tell me. She wasn’t supposed to give me details about investigations, especially those that had nothing to do with me or Taro, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to tell me the title of a book. I wanted to read the book that taught people to kill animals as some kind of ritual. I thought the writer was brilliant to be able to pander to this fashion so quickly. Cruel, and possibly lacking any normal sense of responsibility, but definitely brilliant.

  None of this made any sense. A whole bunch of people couldn’t just start believing in spell casting, all out of nowhere, no matter what difficulties they were experiencing. How did all of this start? The lunacy of it kept me distracted through the rest of the evening.

  Taro and I were the first to leave. We had an early watch in the Stall the next morning, and it would take us a good hour and a half to walk to the Triple S residence from the tavern. Not that the distance was so great. It was just that Taro would need the time to chat with the dozens of people who would want a word with him when they saw him.

  However, the first person to stop us was not one of Taro’s many admirers. It was someone far worse. Someone much more able to create the sharpest discomfort within me.

  It was Doran Laidley. Doran was a lord who, he said, had no money. There was an estate, which he claimed was really nothing more than an ugly stone house on a miserable plot of land with a handful of tenant families barely eking out an existence on the barren soil. Doran joked that the family kept a roof over their heads by marrying money, though he confessed himself unable to understand why anyone would be willing to pay for such a tired old title.

  Doran Laidley. With whom I had been shamelessly flirting before Taro and I had been sent to Flatwell. With whom I’d been contemplating doing considerably more than flirt, because he had a pleasing face and shining green eyes and a comfortable manner. To whom I had given a too polite brush-off because I wasn’t sure how long I’d be gone or if I’d ever really be coming back.

  Doran, whom I’d forgotten all about almost as soon as I’d stepped beyond the city borders of High Scape and hadn’t thought of once since our return. I couldn’t believe it.

  He looked startled to see us, and then he grinned with genuine cheer. “Lee! Taro! How wonderful to see you! When did you get back?”

  Taro slung an arm around my shoulders. “A few we
eks ago,” he answered in an attempt at a casual tone that he didn’t quite pull off.

  “Just one week, actually,” I added quickly. I would not have Doran believing I’d been back for ages without seeing him. “I do apologize for not contacting you immediately, Doran. Things have been strange here, since we got back.”

  “Yes, there have been a lot of changes since you’ve been away,” Doran agreed. “Have you heard about—”

  “Our apologies, Laidley,” Taro interrupted with civility so cool it was almost rude. “But we’re on our way home. We have an early watch tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” Doran said, clearly taken aback by Taro’s manner. And I couldn’t remember Taro ever calling Doran by his family name, not once since they’d first been introduced. “Yes, of course. Will you have time to meet me tomorrow, Lee?”

  “No,” Taro answered, curtly, before I could.

  I gouged him in the ribs with my elbow. “Take your lordly temperament on ahead. I’ll catch up.” And I stepped out from under his arm when he seemed disinclined to remove it.

  “It is inappropriate to leave you alone on the street at this time of night,” Taro objected.

  “I didn’t turn into a child over the last half hour.” Really, he was acting like a prat. “I won’t be long.”

  He glared at me.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. What was his problem?

  He stormed away, muttering under his breath.

  I turned from watching him to see a pensive look on Doran’s face. “Your relationship with him changed while you were away,” he commented.

  I didn’t know what to say to that. On the one hand, it was no one’s business. On the other hand, one might say it was Doran’s business, due to the nature of the relationship we’d had before I’d left. And if I had another hand, I could worry about how I was going to explain to Doran that the current stage in my relationship with Taro was only temporary without sounding addled or desperate for reassurance. So I said nothing.

  “When can we meet?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I answered. “It’s not the best time. We just got back, and we’re scrambling hard to catch up.” Oh, such lies. Could he tell I was lying? He appeared only politely interested. “May I contact you in a few days?”