The Hero Strikes Back

by Moira J. Moore

  I was not looking forward to this evening. It was not going to be fun. Aristocrats had no use for slip collectors. Being a Shield didn’t really increase my value in their eyes. And the only people I’d know would be Karish and his mother. Loved him, wanted to kill her. Balanced, eh? Then there was the Prince. I didn’t want to deal with royalty. That sort was barely human.

  “I don’t want to be late, Lee,” Karish called in from my living room.

  “We won’t be late.”

  “There’ll be a whole line of carriages. It’ll take us ages just to get to the front door.”

  “So we won’t be any later than anyone else.” What was his rush? Wasn’t there a certain cache to being late?

  “Come on, Lee. You look gorgeous.”

  Liar. He hadn’t even seen me yet. But I supposed there wasn’t any point in stalling any longer. Deep breath in and I went out into the living room. Karish stopped pacing at my entrance.

  He looked stunning, of course. A long sleek doublet of dark blue—an unfortunate coincidence—that framed his slim shoulders and lean waist. The high stiff collar was completely buttoned, and I wondered when he’d gotten so modest in his dress. The doublet was decorated with subtle black brocade that blended perfectly with the braid on his left shoulder. Why did Sources get the black, while Shields were stuck with the white? There was so much more that could be done with black.

  I didn’t like the outfit, though, for all its beauty. It made him look unreachable and hard and rigid. Not like him.

  A carriage was waiting for us. The driver wasn’t too impressed with the delay, especially as she wasn’t going to be getting paid. People were still tense, and still resented us. The weather had tilted in turns from hot to cold, from humid to blasting rain, with only the odd day of reasonable weather sprinkled here and there. The loss of lives and livelihoods continued.

  But it really wasn’t our fault. Or I hoped it wasn’t. I really hoped my experiments weren’t just making a bad situation worse.

  “So how are you going to handle it?” I asked Karish once the carriage was moving.

  “I’m still not sure,” he admitted. “The Prince has no reason to love me. Merely bringing the subject up could be interpreted as pursuing the title, if someone wanted to look at things that way.”

  “You can’t afford to wait too long,” I warned him. “He’ll hate you if he asks the Empress about this and learns the title has already passed. He’ll think you made a fool out of him.”

  “I know that,” he said sharply. “Give me time. I only found out myself yesterday.”

  He had gotten a letter from his cousin, confirming that she had used the code and officially received the title from the solicitor. “When will you tell your mother?” I bit back a grin. I wanted to be there when he told her. Even though I knew it wouldn’t be as fun as I found myself imagining it would be. The Dowager would probably just deny the reality of it. Order Karish to go back to the new Duchess of Westsea—what was her name again?—and try to wrest the title back from her. Or she might ask the Prince to interfere again. On the other hand the impossible might happen and she might actually accept that her will had been permanently foiled. And that, I wanted to see.

  “I don’t think I’ll tell her at all,” he said. “I think I’ll let it be an unpleasant surprise. Let some gossipy hag drip insincere sympathy all over her, condoling with her about her wastrel son’s idiocy, and Her Grace will have to actually ask someone what the hell is going on.” He chuckled, a brittle flat sound. “Or better yet, she’ll nag at the Prince for not acting on his promise, and he’ll get to tell her. Oh, I would like to watch that.”

  That didn’t seem like a good idea to me. I mean, yes, there was a certain vengeful appeal about it, but that sort of petty behavior tended to blow up in a person’s face. “Are you sure that’s how you want to handle it?”

  “Yes.” He drew out the s sound. “This is all her fault, interfering in things that don’t concern her. This will teach her to leave me alone.”

  He was tense beside me, and I decided to drop it. Perhaps he was right. Maybe that sort of social humiliation was what it would take to keep the Dowager out of his life. And, coincidentally, out of mine. I might not like the means but I would certainly appreciate the ends.

  As the carriage drew up to the long driveway to Lord Yellows’ manor, I began noticing mounted Runners trotting up and down the street. They weren’t being particularly discreet, but maybe that was just me. I’d known they were going to be there and why they were there. Maybe no one else noticed them, or thought their presence was standard procedure. Karish didn’t comment on them.

  The huge crush Karish had predicted did not materialize. We had to wait only a few moments in front of the large manor of Lord Yellows as the carriage before ours disgorged its passengers. Karish helped me down to the sidewalk—such a gentleman—and we started our climb up the obligatory long staircase.

  I had never been to Lord Yellows’ manor before. It looked much like I would expect a manor to look. One of those huge stone monsters that weren’t practical in a region subject to earthquakes. Lots of windows that were no doubt a nightmare to keep clean. Probably hard to heat in the winter. But very pretty.

  I wouldn’t want to live in it. Even with a horde of servants to take care of it.

  I wondered whether the manor at Flown Raven looked like it. If it were bigger. It was probably bigger. The title of Westsea was apparently a powerful and wealthy one. Fortunately, I was unlikely to have to find out for myself.

  “It’s not too late to back out, is it?” I muttered to Karish.

  “Hush.” He squeezed my hand.

  A servant met us at the door. I was momentarily distracted by his livery which was, frankly, weird. “While the shirt, vest and trousers were normal enough, on his head he was wearing some kind of wimple, worn low over his eyebrows and draping over his ears.

  He relieved us of our wraps and escorted us down a long, wide corridor. I tried to be discreet as I examined the portraits and hangings and furniture. I didn’t want to look too much like a rube among all these High Landed and their servants.

  I didn’t like it. Too many things fighting for attention, pictures on the walls and knickknacks covering every flat surface. So busy with stuff I wanted to close my eyes to give them a rest. And probably no fun at all to keep dusted.

  We were led through a series of corridors and then into a long narrow room which, I presumed, was the ballroom. Thousands of candles, a good half dozen chandeliers, and yellow walls. All very bright, but not in a warm, comfortable way. It felt . . . prickly.

  Which made no sense at all.

  There weren’t as many people in the ballroom as I’d expected. I’d heard of aristocratic parties where one could barely move across the room, it was so packed. And for a party for the Crown Prince, I would have expected huge crowds. But if there were more than a few dozen people there that night I would be surprised to hear it. And in the large room the gathering was looking particularly scanty. Was that normal?

  There were pairs of guards standing at each doorway and at each window. Stoic in their master’s livery, their faces nearly covered in odd black helmets, they certainly drained any festive feeling out of the air. Perhaps such precautions were necessary, given the attendance of the Prince, but I couldn’t imagine anyone being able to relax and enjoy themselves with those black helmets scowling from every angle.

  Of course, relaxation and enjoyment weren’t what the party was about. The party was about power plays and prestige and showing off and shoring up, and a bunch of other High Lander priorities I would never understand. Why was I there?

  At least it was easy to see everyone. Like Karish’s mother, standing near the wall with two other extremely stiff women, holding what I was sure was a scintillating conversation about other people’s lack of money and morals while scanning the room for someone interesting to molest. I saw the Dowager notice her son, but her face didn’t reveal any emotional
reaction to his presence. Karish’s attention was directed towards Crown Prince Gifford, who was seated in a huge wooden carved chair that might as well have been a throne. To his right sat Lord Yellows. To his left was his third wife, Princess Jane. Their chairs were on a wooden dais, raising them above us mere mortals.

  “Source Karish and Shield Mallorough, Your Highness,” the servant announced. A few people turned their heads to look at us.

  Karish bowed and I curtseyed.

  “Please approach us,” the Prince said.

  I didn’t like his voice. It was a rather high, thin tenor. I doubted he could sing.

  I could feel everyone’s attention on us as we stepped up closer to the dais and bowed again.

  “How are you this fine day, Source Karish?” the Prince asked.

  Fine? It was raining. Cold biting rain that wasn’t far from sleet.

  “Quite well, thank you, Your Highness.”

  “High Scape has been experiencing some difficulties this summer,” the Prince commented.

  “Aye, Your Highness.”

  “We must admit to some surprise that you have not used your special talents to rectify the situation.”

  Oh damn. As discreet as an elephant. I held down a gasp and wondered if I could glance around without looking like I was glancing around. It felt like there was no one else close enough to hear what the Prince was saying, but I would have liked to make sure by looking at their faces.

  On the other hand, Princess Jane and Lord Yellows were hearing every word and didn’t appear surprised. Was that because they already knew something, or were they just wearing their High Landed masks?

  And what was with that royal “we”? That was a privilege reserved for his mother, the Empress.

  I couldn’t feel any reaction at all from Karish. “I fear the weather is beyond my abilities, Your Highness,” he said calmly.

  “Ah. Inconvenient, that.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Karish said because, I supposed, he had to say something.

  “But, fortunately, such concerns will soon be beneath you.”

  Here it came. I hadn’t expected it to happen out in the open, where others might overhear us. Maybe the Prince didn’t care, but I found it odd, since, after all, Karish’s alleged pursuit of his title and any assistance the Prince might give him in said pursuit were illegal.

  “Your Highness?” said Karish, sounding uncertain.

  “Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Westsea, has made us aware of your difficulties. We assure you we will address this.”

  Damn damn damn.

  “I fear I don’t understand, Your Highness.” Karish gave the impression that he was narrowly avoiding stuttering. I was impressed.

  The Prince looked irritated. I suspected he’d already spent more time talking to Karish than he’d originally planned. “Come come, my man. You are in no danger. You seek the return of the title you so foolishly abjured.”

  Again, no reaction from Princess Jane nor Lord Yellows. I found it disturbing. Just who was discussing what about Karish’s life?

  Karish, however, appeared stunned. “Your Highness,” he said after clearing his throat. “I can’t imagine—I had no idea . . .” He pulled in a deep breath, as though giving himself time to gather scattered wits. “Your Highness, my cousin, the Lady Fiona of Centerfield, has delivered the code to our family solicitor and has taken the title. She is now the Duchess of Westsea.”

  The Prince’s eyes narrowed.

  Karish bowed again, more deeply than before. “Please, Your Majesty—”

  I glanced at him. Was that mistake of title intentional?

  “My most humble apologies. Please forgive my mother. I cannot imagine how she came to be so egregiously misinformed. It must have been some fault in me. I must have said something that . . .” He broke off, raising his hands helplessly.

  The Prince’s nostrils flared. “We are not pleased.”

  Karish bowed for a fourth time, and this time he kept his head down as he spoke. “Please, Your Highness. I beg you mercy. She meant no harm.”

  To see Karish grovelling before that man was disgusting. I resisted the urge to tug him back up. I kept my eyes on the floor, so no one would see how much this disturbed me.

  “If the title has already passed, there is nothing to be done,” the Prince declared.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “And you might want to take your mother in hand.”

  Oh, I really wanted to take a hand to his mother.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “You may rise.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.” Karish straightened to his full height.

  “Enjoy the evening, Source Karish.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.” Karish linked my arm through his. We bowed once more and left the dais.

  That was it? That was it. Thank Zaire.

  I wouldn’t have to go to Flown Raven. I wouldn’t have to not go while my partner did. I wouldn’t be taken off the roster again. I wouldn’t be made useless and redundant. Who could I kiss for this?

  As we walked away from the Prince, Karish turned his head and unerringly found his mother near the other end of the room. So he’d known she was there the whole time. She arched one eyebrow in inquiry. He nodded once. She turned back to her conversation, confident her will had been done.

  And the tension flowed from Karish’s arm. “It’s done!” he hissed into my ear with sudden glee. “Lord, I half wish I could be there when she finds out.”

  “You could guarantee it if you told her yourself,” I reminded him. And the evil side of my nature wished he’d do it right then, in the ballroom, in front of everyone, where she would have to control herself and might actually physically explode from the repressed rage and frustration.

  “Ha!” he said rather loudly, drawing attention from others in the vicinity. He showed no signs of caring. “I’ll never speak to that woman again. Ever.”

  “You say that now, Taro—”

  “And I mean it.”

  No doubt he did, but if she summoned him again he would go. Because there would always be a part of him that hoped there was some real connection there. A hope that she would show some recognition that her actions of the past had been wrong, and that there would be some desire on her part to know him as something other than a disgrace or a tool. How could he feel otherwise? She was the only family he had left.

  There was no point in saying so, though. He would never admit it. “Can we go, now?”

  He laughed, relief ringing out through the sound. “Do you have so little faith in me, my love?” he asked me. “Do you doubt my ability to make this evening a delightful experience for you?”

  Delightful? Where had he been? Last I heard we were counting ourselves lucky if we could just get through the evening without stabbing ourselves out of sheer boredom. “Why? Who are you planning on killing?”

  “I am shocked,” he avowed. “I am appalled. I am hurt. I am currently looking at young Lord Nairn.” He indicated a handsome sandy-haired young man standing across the room. “He’s engaged to Lady Iona, but sleeping with his valet.”

  “Karish!” I hissed at him, scandalized. “I have no interest in gossip.”

  “You’re surrounded by the High Landed, Lee. It’s time to wear togas.”

  Karish didn’t personally know as many of the people in the room as I would have expected, and those he did know were those I remembered meeting myself in Erstwhile. It made sense, when I thought about it. He didn’t actually grow up in aristocratic circles, and I guess he didn’t frequent the same kind of establishments or go to the same parties as they did. So he couldn’t really tell me many of their intimate secrets. But that was no obstacle. Once he ran out of things to say about the people he knew, he made up stories about the people he didn’t. I found those easier to laugh at.

  The ballroom never became very full. Only a couple of dozen more people were introduced to the Prince before the musicians began playing
the first waltz. “Is it normal to have so few people at an event like this?” I asked Taro as he led me to the middle of the floor. At least I knew the waltz, possibly the only form of ballroom dancing I could perform to aristocratic standards. Hopefully I wouldn’t cripple my partner with my newly-discovered levels of clumsiness.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, curving his arm around my waist and guiding us through the first steps. “I’ve never been to anything quite like this before. But it seems to me that everyone here is a titleholder. None of the usual hangers on, escorts, untitled Landed. Maybe it’s a select crowd because of the Prince.”

  “Well, then, why were you invited?” Because he’d gotten the invitation before his mother had arrived in High Scape, so it probably hadn’t been done at her urging. Unless she had started contacting the Prince about Karish’s title before she’d even reached High Scape.

  Karish grinned. “I don’t know. An oversight on someone’s part.”

  “And why were you allowed to bring me?”

  “The invitation didn’t forbid us to bring untitled guests. I think we were supposed to gather it from the hints. Too bad I’m so dense, eh?”

  I couldn’t grin back at him. I was thinking about a few of the hints the Prince had been tossing about. “Do you think Gifford knows what you did in Middle Reach?”

  “No one really knows what I did in Middle Reach, except you and I. Have you been talking to the Prince behind my back, Lee?”

  “Be serious, Taro.”

  “Be at ease, Lee. Not everything happens for a reason. Sometimes things just happen. And sometimes people just say things that have no logical connection to anything else. That can happen when you open your mouth more than three times an hour.”

  Ah, he was being flighty, and determined not to think. It would be impossible to get anything useful out of him. “Is your brain hurting you again?”

  He punished me by kissing my forehead, right out there where everyone could see us. And his mother.

  True to Karish’s word I did, surprisingly enough, enjoy the following hours. He kept me laughing, in a manner I’m sure no one else approved of. They were all being very correct, smiling when required, and if anyone so much as giggled they kept it quiet and short and hid the failure behind a hand. That, in itself, was entertaining.