Heroes at Risk

by Moore, Moira J.

  “You would have no expectation that I would see it. Not that I think you would wear it just to please me. You don’t do anything just to please me.”

  Prat. I did, too.

  “So that means you have been wearing it all along, and I have to wonder why. And why you would wear the bob in secret, obviously with some effort of hiding that fact from me, as I haven’t seen it on you during prior opportunities. It’s made me very curious.”

  I took another sip of soup.

  “Why do you think I’ve always worn the harmony bob?” he asked.

  Hey, he’d just said I didn’t have to talk in this conversation. I just raised my eyebrows and drank my soup.

  “It did amuse me, of course. People wrapping up so many expectations in these little trinkets. But I was also making a public gesture. Except, clearly, you never perceived that. You know”—he smiled with just one corner of his mouth—“you can be quite clever in some ways but astoundingly oblivious in others.”

  People could stop calling me stupid anytime now.

  “I shouldn’t have to do this, I know,” he went on. “It’s embarrassing, and unmanly, and the very idea of it threatens to send me into a full-body cringe. But you’ll never clue into it on your own, and sometimes you just have to do something flat out humiliating in order to get what you want. You taught me that, on that damned island.”

  Bastard.

  “So here it is. It was a public gesture of my fealty, if you will, to you. An announcement that I love you, and will do so forever.”

  I choked on my soup.

  “And so you laugh,” he said with disgust. “That’s what you do. Strip all the finer attributes out of everything.”

  “I wasn’t laughing,” I protested. “I was surprised.”

  “Why should you be surprised? What have I done to make you doubt that I love you?”

  Nothing. Nothing at all. Nor had he done anything to make me believe he loved me. Not that way.

  Unless he had been expecting me to take seriously all those off-the-cuff comments he’d made about what would be happening in the future.

  This was a horribly uncomfortable conversation, even without having to contribute to it.

  “I take it back,” said Taro. “You’re not clever at all.” He leaned forward, so far forward that he could rest his forehead against mine. “I love you. I plan to continue loving you for the foreseeable future. And I would really appreciate it if you sent Doran packing.”

  I suddenly had trouble breathing. This was nothing like what I’d been expecting.

  “Poor girl,” he said. “I’ve thrown you into a panic.”

  Not a panic. Of course not. There was nothing to panic about. But the very idea of the Stallion of the Triple S telling me he loved me, and that he wanted to have it demonstrated as something more than a passing fancy, it was something out of a farce. The handsome lord did not fall in love with the merchant’s daughter, not in real life.

  Not that I doubted his sincerity. Taro was never cruel, and he didn’t take things as lightly as many would believe. But this was just unnatural. And really, no one swore lifelong love outside of poetry and music. Because people couldn’t know how they would feel about things ten or more years in the future.

  “Do you love me?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  A small quirk of a smile. “Of course,” he mocked. “And do you wish to do so permanently?”

  Permanently? That seemed like an awful long time. Unrealistic, too. But Taro and I did ridiculous things all the time, usually forced into it by circumstances. Why not do something crazy purely for the hell of it? “Yes.”

  “And you’ll send Doran packing.”

  “Yes.” That wasn’t working anyway. And I felt like a skeevy wench for ever entertaining the idea of keeping Doran hanging on until things with Taro settled down.

  This was not what I’d ever contemplated for myself whenever I thought about who a long-term partner might be. Taro was not calm. He drew everyone’s eye whenever he walked down the street. We liked none of the same things.

  And maybe none of that mattered. I’d have to think about that. When I wasn’t so tired.

  Taro kissed me on the forehead, the chin, and each cheek. It felt strangely ritualistic, and although I’d never been fond of ritual, there was something calming about his gestures.

  “Drink the rest of your soup,” he said. “Then I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

  Seriously, this whole thing deserved a joke or three, but I was too tired to come up with anything good. I sipped at the broth, until the mug was empty. Taro took the mug and blew out the candle before kissing me on the forehead again and leaving.

  I snuggled back into bed, feeling relaxed and full and content.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The next morning, I woke aching and tired, filthy and thirsty. Taro ordered me to stay in bed and of course I ignored him. I was tired of lying down. And I wanted to be in a public part of the house. I felt like I’d been hidden away from the other Pairs for far too long. They had all seemed genuinely concerned about my illness, and I felt I hadn’t given them enough credit for the basic decency they all habitually displayed despite their annoying quirks. So I decided to go to the kitchen, easily the most frequented room in the residence, with Taro trailing me anxiously.

  And, of course, the only person there was LaMonte.

  “Has anyone seen Ben?” I asked him.

  “No,” he answered bluntly. “I’d like to speak to you, Dunleavy.” He glanced at Taro. “Alone.”

  Taro didn’t leave. He did cross his arms and glare at LaMonte, though.

  And LaMonte smiled, which was not an expression I was used to seeing on his face. “Has the definition of ‘alone’ changed and no one told me?”

  Taro bristled, and I said, “Whatever you want to say to me can be said in front of Taro.”

  “Really? My dear, I had no idea you’d developed the ability to read minds.”

  All right. I deserved that.

  “The misunderstanding is my fault, of course. People do have the unfortunate tendency to say ‘talking to’ when they mean ‘talking with.’ I’d like you to participate in this conversation, and whenever you and Shintaro are together, you have the distressing habit of letting him do all the talking. You are the one I want to speak with.”

  Well, what if I didn’t want a conversation with him?

  LaMonte sighed with impatience when Taro didn’t move. “Do you really think you need to protect her from me?” he asked the younger Source.

  “She has had a very hard time. She does not need a lecture.”

  “I’m not going to lecture her. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You never think you’re lecturing,” Taro retorted. “Talk about ridiculous.”

  We were all getting ridiculous. We’d be here all day. “I don’t feel as bad as I look,” I said to Taro.

  Taro scowled. I waved a hand toward the door. Taro huffed as he left.

  LaMonte looked at the closed door for a moment. “Might he be listening at the door?”

  Obnoxious creature. “Taro does not lurk about eavesdropping on people.”

  He held up his hands in a gesture meant to be placating. “He seems to be crowding you at times.”

  Not that I’d noticed, but we could continue trading insults or I could hear what he had to say and move on to something more restful. “What’s on your mind?”

  LaMonte sat on the stool next to the one I was occupying. I noticed with a shock that his hair was rapidly thinning. When had that started happening? “I understand it’s been confirmed that Ben had been trying to . . . well, to kill you.”

  “Nothing’s been confirmed,” I objected.

  “He moved out without telling us.”

  I wasn’t denying that it looked bad, only that it actually proved anything.

  “And his daughter has been arrested for killing Izen for his ashes, for the use in casting spells.”


  “Apparently.”

  “It is possible that he might have been killing you for the same reason.”

  “No one has suggested that.” It never even occurred to me.

  “It is a logical assumption, given Ben’s circumstances.”

  I didn’t want to agree. There was a certain logic to it, I supposed, but why would anyone want my ashes? I was privileged, but not particularly lucky. No more so than the other Shields in the residence, who had never been put in the position of having to kill someone, or sent off to a place where Shields and Sources weren’t respected.

  “And that woman who was here, that healer, she cast a spell to heal you.”

  Now I was panicking. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. As if I’d—”

  He put up a hand and I stopped talking. My automatic response to his gesture annoyed me, and I wanted to go on talking just to demonstrate that I knew he had no authority over me, but I had no convincing lies to say about Cree’s use of spells anyway.

  “There is something going on,” he said. “Something monumental. This belief in casting, it’s not just in High Scape. I’ve been writing to Sources at other sites, Shidonee’s Gap, Seldom Go By, everywhere that I know someone. It’s not as prevalent everywhere else as it is here, but there are incidents happening all over, indicating that there are more and more people believing in casting. That is the alarming thing to me, that it is happening in places outside of High Scape. There are reasons why people would want something to believe in here. It has been explained to me that the Harsh Summer shattered people’s understanding of how the world works, and they need something they feel they have some control over.”

  I wondered who had been talking to LaMonte, because it was clearly someone who had made a considerable impression on him. But perhaps that person wasn’t as knowledgeable as LaMonte thought. Because people had been believing in casting for a long time, for generations. How did anyone explain that?

  I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. He’d ask how I knew. I’d have to tell him about the illegal books I had. I didn’t really think he’d report me to any authorities for it, but there was no telling who else he’d tell, and that could result in nasty repercussions. If I told no one, no one would ever know.

  “Many are embracing these beliefs,” LaMonte continued. “Others, including the Crown Prince, oppose it, loudly and publicly. Yet the Triple S is doing nothing about any of it. The council doesn’t react to questions and hasn’t given any public statements. One gets the feeling they are trying to ignore the whole issue.”

  Well, why wouldn’t they? It had nothing to do with them, as far as I knew.

  “I was thinking this was just a temporary foolishness. Like that harmony bob Shintaro insists on wearing. I thought people would become bored with it all, and move on to some other fashion. But this isn’t like other fashions I’ve seen. So pervasive, with followers in every class. And there are equal numbers, including the Crown Prince, who are violently opposed to the idea of casting spells. It’s becoming a serious criminal offense. And I’ve been hearing of episodes in schools, like in Far Flung, where a teacher was teaching spells from a book. She was released from her position and dragged out of the school for an immediate flogging that nearly killed her.”

  Good hell, what was wrong with people?

  “Everyone, everyone, is dealing with this in some way, to support it or deny it or criminalize it. Except the Triple S. I’ve sent them a whole series of letters. They refuse to answer in any way. There has been no guidance as to how we, as individual members of the Triple S, are to react to all this.”

  Why did he have to be told how to react to the trend? He was so quick to behave as though he were the authority in all things, yet he was equally quick to subjugate his opinion to that of the Triple S. Such an interesting contradiction.

  “It isn’t wise to ignore something so powerful.”

  I would have never expected to hear from LaMonte any criticism of the Triple S, no matter how oblique.

  “Whether casting is actually real or not, the belief in it and the reactions to it are having a significant impact on people, and this impact shows no sign of abating. On the contrary, the influence is growing.”

  He had a point. People did seem to be going crazy over this thing.

  “So I am going to ask you a question. And I want your honest answer. I want the truth. I believe you owe me that.”

  I wondered where he got the idea that I owed him anything in particular.

  “Do you believe that people can cast actual, effective spells?”

  Ah, hell. The last question I’d expected, and the question I’d least wanted to answer. I’d been happy enough continuing to avoid thinking about it.

  I could ignore what was going on right in front of my face with the best of them, but really, I wasn’t stupid. And I had been thinking about things, remembering things, whether I liked it or not. The whole time the Reanists were killing aristocrats in a bid to stop natural disasters from striking High Scape, there were no natural events, and since the Reanists were stopped, the natural events had returned, though at a greatly reduced rate.

  The people of Flatwell had been great believers in ritual. I’d thought it all superstitious nonsense, the bad luck the troupe had believed in greatly assisted by a dangerous lifestyle and the deliberate interference of Atara’s murderous son. But the fact was that a member of the troupe died every time they lingered at a place for too long, and unless Yesit had spent all of his life trailing the troupe with no one noticing, it seemed the belief that Yesit’s curse was the cause of all their difficulties might have had some merit.

  And then there were more recent events, the bizarre nature of the fire during which I’d burned my hand, and Cree’s ritual in the cellar. I was better. That hadn’t been a medical treatment. At least, no kind of medical treatment I had ever heard of.

  No one had ever told me spells were nothing more than a figment of imagination. No one had ever talked to me about spells at all, not while I was growing up. When I’d seen them in plays or read about them in books, I had dismissed them as fantasy. It was an assumption I’d made. Most of my assumptions were disastrous.

  I didn’t want to say it. I hated the very idea of it. The possibility that spells could influence the natural order undermined everything I had learned about everything. How did I know what to believe in?

  “Dunleavy.” LaMonte put the tips of his fingers on the back of my uninjured hand. “Stop.”

  I was breathing too fast. And hard. I was close to hyperven tilating. I forced myself to pull in a long, deep breath and released it slowly. I was humiliated over losing control in front of LaMonte.

  How dare he ask me, anyway? There was no good reason for him to do so, except to find yet another reason to sneer at me.

  “I suppose that’s my answer, then,” said LaMonte.

  “It’s not that simple,” I responded. “I don’t feel comfortable giving a solid affirmative. I don’t know enough about it, and part of me is waiting for the announcement that this is all a big hoax. But I’ve seen enough to know that it’s definitely possible that there is real power behind it all.”

  Let the derision come.

  LaMonte sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

  Why? Because it was now his duty to report me to the Triple S for being insane?

  “I was hoping I could continue to dismiss this all as some form of temporary madness.”

  “You and me both,” I muttered.

  He actually smiled again. That had to be his quota for the year. “You will be well again?” he asked.

  “Yes, I believe I will.”

  “Good,” he said, and he cleared his throat before leaning forward to tap the back of my good hand. “I’ll go tell Shintaro he can come back in.”

  “Wait.”

  He paused.

  Really, I was so stupid. “Stone and Firth, they’ve said Taro and I are perverted, that the relationship we have is wrong.” I wasn’t going
to say “sex” to LaMonte. I’d eat my boots first.

  “So they’ve said.”

  I really didn’t need the confirmation that they’d been talking about us when we weren’t there. “What do you think?” Why the hell was I asking him? Why was I asking for more abuse? What was wrong with me?

  “Why, Dunleavy, you’ve never cared whether I approved of you or not before. Why the change now?”

  The weevil was playing with me, damn it. So I didn’t answer. I was very good at not answering.

  Finally, he got tired of waiting. “Like everything else, there will be those who believe it is a vile defilement of the natural order, those who think it is the most natural and the purest relationship in life, and those who fall somewhere between the two points.”

  “Where do you fall?”

  “Dunleavy, it has nothing to do with me.”

  I was clenching my teeth to prevent myself from bursting out with something inappropriate. Was this really LaMonte? Where had this LaMonte been all the other times he appeared to be commenting on matters that had nothing to do with him?

  “This is about you and Shintaro. It’s not about a Shield and a Source. Only the two of you can decide what’s right for you.”

  Well, as answers go, that was about as useful as wheels on a horse, but I supposed it was a little reassuring. I’d really expected him to castigate me brutally.

  “Now, can I get Shintaro?”

  “Yes, thank you very much.”

  I should have expected Risa to show up later that day. Whenever I was involved with Runners in any way, she came around. I couldn’t believe that her superiors really felt it necessary to soothe my feelings by having her act as some kind of liaison for me. I thought it far more likely that she learned of my involvement and came around just to make sure I was all right and that the information the Runners were getting was correct. It was the sort of thing she would do.

  My interpretation of her actions was confirmed when she showed up bearing a bundle of items meant to soothe me during my recovery. A berry wine meant to quiet the mind, a cream soap to soften the skin, a tea smelling of sandalwood to sooth the stomach—and chocolate for, well, chocolate.