The Hero Strikes Back (13 page)

She looked shocked, like I'd said something dreadful. “If you'd been raised at home you would never dare utter such a thing, even if it were true, which it wouldn't have been.”

“But I wasn't raised at home,” I reminded her, and I knew I sounded really, really patient. “I was raised in the academy. And I am not a trader or a holder. I am a Shield. And as a Shield, I do not need a limitless wardrobe, nor to spend so much time shopping for one.”

“This material is of excellent quality, and it's perfect for your coloring.”

The way I was starting to feel, I wouldn't have cared if the material were threaded with real gold and woven by the Empress herself. “I don't want it, Mother.”

“And it's not too heavy. Your skin will be able to breathe.”

I wasn't even sure what that meant. Skin, breathing? “No, Mother.”

She turned to the attendant. “Perhaps half a bolt.”

All right. That was going too far. Completely ignoring my wishes, pretending I hadn't said anything at all. No. So I spoke to the attendant, too. “Make sure she pays for anything she takes, because I won't be using it.”

“Dunleavy!” She looked stunned. Like I was the one acting inappropriately.

And I left the shop. I wondered if I could possibly get away from her before I said something one of us would regret. I was surprised at how irritated I felt. I was too old to be reacting so emotionally about something so trivial.

I heard her running up behind me. “Dunleavy Mallorough! That kind of behavior was completely unacceptable!”

I didn't turn around. Let her catch up if she was so desperate to talk to me. “And ignoring what I said, what I wanted, that's good breeding?”

“You need more clothes, Lee.”

“That's my decision to make, and I've decided my clothes are fine.”

I felt her hand on my elbow. I couldn't help tensing up. I was not in the mood to be touched.

“You haven't been out of the academy very long,” she said.

“So?” What did that have to do with anything?

“Well, maybe you haven't had enough time to learn what society expects of you. I'm just trying to—”

Oh, no, no, no. How dared she? “For one thing, Mother, all society has a right to expect from me is that I fulfil my duties as a Shield. For another, I was living in a school, with professors and other students. I was not living alone in a cave.”

“An academic setting isn't the best environment for teaching social skills.”

“What?” That was all I could say, because . . . what?

“I mean, look at you, Lee. No idea what to wear. And you're so withdrawn all the time. You can't sit in social situations and not speak for hours. It's rude.”

When had I ever done that? “Unlike spilling out a person's flaws to their face without being asked.” Not that I thought they were flaws. A disregard for work-a-day clothes and keeping my mouth shut when I had nothing to say was not the sort of thing to irritate a rational person.

My mother sighed. “Lee, I'm not trying to . . . I'm just worried about you. All right? You were so young when we had to admit you to the school.”

What did that have to do with anything? “Kaaren and Mika and Dias weren't much older when they started boarding,” I reminded her.

“Yes, but they were able to come home for the holidays, and learn our ways and know us. We were lucky if we got to see you once a year.”

Well, aye, that was the way it had to be. So, what, she didn't like the way I had turned out, thought I'd become some sort of freak because I hadn't benefited from her superior influence? “So sorry to be a disappointment to you, Mother.” And did that sound bitter. Calm down.

“I'm not saying you're a disappointment, Lee,” she retorted with impatience.

“Of course you are.” I crossed the street with a fine disregard for the carriages driving down it. I was the way I was, and there was no turning back. If my character was not to her liking, there was nothing to be done about it.

I'd hoped that would be the end of it. My mother, unfortunately, didn't know when to let things rest. She scrambled across the street after me. “I'm saying you weren't given the same opportunities to see the world as your siblings were. As anyone has. And now that you're out in it, maybe you don't know how to see it. How to go about in it.”

Of all the condescending . . . “Mother, the reason I don't have more stylish clothes is because they take too long to purchase, make, put on, take off, and clean. I am aware that most of my clothes are plain and not stylish. I just don't care. And if you don't like it, don't look.” I couldn't believe I was being forced to explain myself because of my clothes. My clothes!

Mother reached for my hand and I neatly avoided her. “Don't be like that, Lee.”

“We weren't completely cut off from the rest of the world, Mother.” She'd visited the academy. She knew that. “We were aware of things like fashion. I just never cared. Dragging me into an endless string of shops and treating me like a child in front of the shop assistants won't change that.”

“I wasn't treating you like a child,” she protested.

I had nothing to say to that. I was right and she was wrong. If she didn't want to admit that, well, it didn't matter and didn't change anything.

Mother sighed again. “All right, Lee. No more. I won't discuss your clothing anymore.”

Uh-huh. I'd heard that before.

“Oh, except—”

All right. I let myself glare at her. She deserved it.

“Classic Lines, Lee. It's new. I just heard about it the other day.”

Unclench teeth. “Mother.” I was tired. My feet hurt. I wanted to go home.

“No, no, I guarantee it will be worth your time.” She smirked at me. “It's supposed to cater exclusively to aristocrats. If you don't find anything you like we can make fun of the pretentious sales assistants.”

Now there was an evil gleam in her eyes that was hard to resist.

I rolled my own eyes.

“Good girl.”

I let my mother drag me into the shop. I had no spine.

The shop, to me, looked like all the others we had visited that day. The same fabrics. The same styles. The furniture, flowers and refreshments were finer, but the shop had the same stifling overstuffed feeling that all places attempting to sell goods had. An artificial environment that couldn't help being uncomfortable no matter how plump the cushions on the chairs were. The only unusual thing about the shop was the sales assistant, a young woman with an odd head covering, some kind of dense white cloth that folded low over her forehead and covered her ears and draped down her back. I thought I might have to take back my claim of being aware of fashion, as I couldn't remember seeing anything like that head gear before.

As usual, the mercenary gleam in the sales assistant's eyes faded as soon as she saw the white braid on my left shoulder and realized she would be getting no cash for anything I took out of the shop. She rallied admirably, though. “Good afternoon, ladies,” she greeted us with feigned warmth. “I wasn't aware any of our Shields were quality.”

Huh. Quality. What a ridiculous term. “You were mistaken. We are all of very high quality. If you are referring to aristocratic status though, then no, I haven't that.”

“I see,” the woman said, her tone cooling. She shifted her posture so she was facing my mother. “My lady—”

Mother raised her chin. “I am not an aristocrat,” she announced proudly.

“Then I must ask you to leave. We cater to an aristocratic clientele.”

My mother tilted her head, looking as arrogant as any High Landed. “Well, you're catering to us, now.”

“I'm afraid not, ma'am. Please leave.”

I felt my eyebrows fly up. How breathtakingly rude.

“My daughter is a Shield,” said my mother. “You cannot refuse to serve her. That is the law.”

“True.” The woman crossed her arms. “But the service I provide isn't legally required to be pleasant.”

That woman really didn't want to serve us. It was bizarre. If I chose to report her she could be fined, and her licence could be taken away. I could even have her arrested. Did she know that?

My mother, losing her hauteur in a hurry, suddenly looked ready to spit. “We will tell people about this.”

“Not anyone who is a patron of this establishment,” the woman sneered.

Mother drew herself up to her full unimpressive height. “As a matter of fact—”

“No, Mother,” I interrupted loudly, desperately. No way was I going to let her tell this complete stranger we would be dining with the Dowager Duchess of Westsea. Or perhaps she was going to tell her my Source was Shintaro Karish, son of said Dowager Duchess of Westsea. Either way, if she didn't shut up she was getting wrestled to the floor with a stocking stuffed in her mouth. “You've committed one of the cardinal sins of haggling. Trying to sell an item you know nothing about.”

That snapped my mother out of the staring contest she'd engaged in with the sales assistant. “What?”

“We're leaving.” I looked at the sales assistant. “But I'm taking your chocolate wafers.” Karish loved them, and there was a great big silver bowl of them on the refreshment table. I could carry a great many of them in my handkerchief.

There was a stack of business cards on the table as well. I picked one up, thinking this woman definitely deserved to have Her Grace inflicted on her. Except a quick glance showed me the card wasn't for the shop.

Raiborn Ladies' Society.

The name triggered a memory.

“Dunleavy?” my mother said, waiting by the exit and impatient about it.

Was it normal for a ladies society to recruit in a shop?

I stuck the card in my pocket and took a half dozen chocolate wafers.

Mother was still fuming as we stepped back onto the street. “Jumped up little fishmonger,” she muttered. “How could a shop assistant think herself superior to a holder?”

I was struggling to wrap up the wafers without handling them too much. “She never found out you were a holder,” I reminded her. “And when did you turn into an elitist?”

“That sort of behavior is reprehensible.”

“It certainly is, but it's her own business she's hurting.” Rude people often got what they deserved in the end, I found, though they never seemed to connect their misery with their own actions. It was almost enough to make me think there was some kind of method to existence after all.

“I suppose you're right,” my mother said reluctantly. “And only a fool bases their entire business on aristocratic clientele. They're the worst for paying their bills and—oh, Zaire!”

“What?” I looked down the street, expecting to see a mishap. “What's wrong?”

“I hadn't noticed it was so late.” She started walking faster.

Frowning, I sped up with her. “What difference does it make?” I asked. “Do you have plans tonight?” It would be kind of nice if she did. I wouldn't mind having the evening to myself. Take a bath. Read a book. Go to bed early.

“Just to treat my daughter to a properly cooked meal.”

“Oh.” Well, that was a good choice, too.

“And I just hate getting dinner started late. It means you eat too late. That's not good for sleeping.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How very maternal of you.” I couldn't remember anyone ever caring when I ate once I was older than fourteen or so.

My mother's boarding house was designed along similar lines as the Triple S house, only grander. Not nearly as expensive as the Imperial, where Karish's mother was staying, it was still beyond the purse of the average person. On the main floor was located a large dining room where all the guests could eat, three sitting rooms, and a private room comprised of a sitting area and a dining area, to be reserved for private parties. That was where we would be dining with Karish and his mother.

The guests stayed on the second floor, in large bedchambers, each with a water closet for bathing. Mother's suite was furnished entirely in shades of green. It was a nice enough room, everything matching and nothing overdone, but it was striving for homelike and hitting artificial.

The first hint that something was going on, was learning that Mother wanted to eat in the private dining room that evening.

The second was when she bullied me into wearing one of my new gowns, one she consented to my requisition despite it being premade and off the shelf, because, as she said, it suited me so very well.

Still, I didn't step wise to the plan until after we had been served appetizers and wine in the private dining room. There was a knock on the door. One of the serving maids answered.

And Erin walked in.

My mother was a dead woman.

I plastered a smile on my face. “Erin! Come in!” A dead woman. A dead, dead, dead, dead woman. I was going to kill her. Slowly. A lot.

Erin grinned, and I had to admit that my heart did skip a beat. “Dunleavy, you look lovely!”

“Thank you, Erin. I'm so glad you could come.” My mother was taller than I, but I could reach her throat. That was all I really needed.

“Holder Mallorough, I'm so glad you could join us this evening!”

I looked at my mother.

Who refused to look at me. “Oh, no. I was only keeping Lee company while she waited. I have an engagement with the Yings, and I'm going to be late.”

I gaped at her, the significance of her words hitting me hard. Then I shut my mouth. Because I had to be wrong. She wouldn't dare.