The Hero Strikes Back (19 page)

They
had caused the damage. Let
them
clean it up.

Only I didn't want
them
coming back into my home.

When Karish stood behind me and slipped his arms around my waist and pulled me into him, it was comforting.

“Oh, for Zaire's sake, find a room!” Beatrice snapped at us.

“Aye, the honeymoon should be long over,” Ladin added.

Karish's only answer was to rest his chin on the top of my head. I wasn't in the mood, myself, to worry about appearances. I was soothed by Karish's proximity.

“This is bad,” Wilberforce said, pacing by the wreckage. “This has to be illegal.”

Garrighan looked at him with an expression of disbelief mixed with disdain. “Of course it's illegal,” he sneered. “They destroyed a building.”

Wilberforce, as always, was resilient to the contempt of the other. “Yes, but this is a Triple S building. Surely that deserves a harsher punishment.”

What an odd thing to say. Why should our buildings be treated with any more reverence than any other? Did Wilberforce spread that kind of attitude around? No wonder the regulars hated us.

Besides, they paid for it. One could almost say they owned it, and had the right to tear it down if they wished.

“I think they did us a favor, personally,” said Sabatos, nudging a stray board with the toe of his boot. “Wasn't exactly a palace.”

“We need it repaired, though,” said Riley.

Sabatos shrugged. “So they repair it.”

“‘They' being regulars,” Garrighan reminded him. “Who aren't exactly enchanted with us right now. Don't know if I would want to be spending a lot of time in something they built especially for us.”

Wilberforce halted his pacing to give Garrighan a condescending look. “They wouldn't dare build a defective house for us.”

“Uh, considering they tore the first one apart, genius, it's not outside the realm of possibility.”

Wilberforce chose not to respond to that. I would have respected him for his maturity if I weren't convinced it were more a case of him not being able to think of anything cutting to say.

“I am thinking the ‘we're working on it' approach isn't endearing us to the regulars.” Riley picked up a piece of paper, trying and failing to uncrumple it without tearing it.

“Toast to you, Mallorough, you saw that one a mile coming.” Garrighan raised his hand in a gesture that I supposed was meant to be celebratory.

Wilberforce was predictably outraged. “Triple S fully supported our telling the regulars what we did.”

That wasn't the story I'd heard. Not that they'd said no. Just that they hadn't responded yet.

“Doesn't make it any more of an intelligent idea,” said Garrighan.

“I certainly don't remember hearing you say anything like that when Chris first came up with the idea. To his face. When he was present.” Wilberforce crossed his arms, his tone snide and challenging.

“Didn't have to. Mallorough already was.”

Well, it would have been nice to have some support then. Though I doubted Garrighan throwing in his lot with me would have been enough to change anyone's mind. Garrighan was known for highlighting the dark side of any situation, and I suspected it was usually just for the sake of being contrary.

“And I didn't have a better idea,” he continued. “I try not to criticize when I don't have any constructive suggestions.”

Rayne looked at Garrighan like she'd never seen her Shield before. “You what?” she demanded.

“Do you have any suggestions now?” Wilberforce challenged him.

Garrighan wasn't intimidated. “Fresh out,” he admitted.

I had one, but no one wanted to hear it.

“Well, we've got to do something.” Riley dropped the balled up paper and brushed off her hands. “I think a lynching party is the next logical step.”

Wilberforce gasped. “They wouldn't dare!”

“Not usually, no,” said Rayne. “But they're not themselves right now.”

“They're all very anxious about what's going to happen next,” Sabatos agreed.

“No, it's more than that. Lauren and I have been at sites before, when they were going through hard times. This is something else.”

“Like what?”

Rayne shrugged. “I don't know. It just is.”

Well, wasn't that lovely?

“We could leave,” said Beatrice, who practically squirmed when we all looked at him. “Well, if our lives are in danger . . .”

“We can't leave our post,” Garrighan stated.

“Especially after that last earthquake,” said Riley. “That was brutal.”

Karish's arms tightened around me.

“Yes, dear, we all felt that one,” Firth said. She sounded sort of sympathetic, and sort of annoyed, as though she had been personally inconvenienced.

“I told you, it was strange,” Riley insisted. An argument had been brewing, perhaps. “I've never felt an earthquake like it. When I was channeling, it felt like it was fighting me.”

Garrighan snorted. “Fighting you. Takes a mind to fight.”

I felt awful, standing there knowing we had caused that damage, knowing Riley was doubting herself, that there was tension there that didn't need to be there. Wasn't going to say anything, though.

Neither was Karish.

“So what are we going to do?” Riley asked.

I could give them an idea of where to start. And Karish knew I was tempted. I could feel his arms tightening around my waist in warning.

He needn't have bothered. I was tempted, yes, but I was also reluctant to let the others know, at this stage, that I suspected we could affect the weather. First of all, I wasn't sure that we could. Had I caused that rainstorm? I really didn't know. But I was pretty sure I'd done something. And once I let that knowledge loose, I'd lose all control of it, and there was no telling what the others would do with it.

Was it arrogant for me to believe I could take better care of this ability than any other Shield? Undoubtedly. But I'd seen other people do awfully stupid things. I couldn't quite trust them.

Besides, they probably wouldn't believe me.

Karish and I were on our own.

They'd never taught me anything about this at the Academy.

Chapter Twelve

It was unacceptable, just flat out not allowed, for a Shield to be nervous. Just no excuse for it. Fear was fine, given acceptable circumstances. Love, as long as it didn't turn into obsession or possessiveness, was always to be encouraged. Hatred, while not actually condoned, could sometimes be forgiven, provided one didn't allow it to poison one's thinking.

But there was no excuse for nervousness. A person was nervous due to an exaggerated sense of anticipation of an event that was in no way life threatening. It did not provide one with a sense of determination or a source of strength. It was groundless, it was debilitating, it served no useful purpose and there was no reason for it.

So breathe in, long, slow—no, damn it, no hitches! Start again. Let it all out in a quick huff and then slowly pull it back in: slow, smooth, there, that's better.

So Her Grace the Dowager Duchess of Westsea was an unpleasant woman. That couldn't hurt me. I wasn't a debutant or an aristocrat of uncertain origins or anyone else clambering for the recognition and acceptance of the loftiest circles. What the woman said would have no effect on me. There was no reason for me to feel nervous. As there never was.

Long smooth breath, and then a slight touch up on the eye paint. Long languid dark lines that gave my eyes a nice catlike tilt and made them look a strange pale green. I'd been told more than once that the effect was odd but striking. That seemed like a good combination to me.

It was Karish I was really nervous for, not me. He just got so unbelievably tense when he spoke about his mother. This evening was going to be sheer hell for him, I had no doubt. I don't think my mother really understood that, else she wouldn't have arranged the dinner. And I didn't blame her for that. I'd had no real idea how bad it was going to be for Karish, either. It was only his behavior over the last couple of days that had me thinking this was really a very, very bad idea.

But the plans had all been made, and there was no backing out of it. We could only make the best of it. I was going to be calm. I was going to be gracious. No matter what that woman said or did, I would be the archetype of elegant courtesy. I owed that to Karish.

Besides, maybe it wouldn't be a disaster. The Dowager Duchess was a well-bred woman, after all, and not stupid. What would be the point of antagonizing her son and her son's Shield? Why wouldn't she make the minimal effort to be pleasant and make life easier for all of us? No reason at all. It would be fine. Probably. Possibly.

Long, slow, smooth breath.

“Now
that
is lovely.” My mother stood in the doorway of her bedchamber, watching me fidget in front of her mirror.

My mother had put the fear of taxes into the tailors we had descended on only a few days earlier. Everything I had ordered had been delivered that morning. No second fitting, but I didn't have either the time or the patience for such fussing. The gown fit well enough.

In theory. The bodice was tight and the neckline was too low, in my opinion, but Mother told me it was supposed to look like that. The color was deep green, which I had to admit to liking, and the fabric felt slippery and smooth against my skin, which was nice. Only, I couldn't see myself ever having an occasion to wear such a thing again. I didn't dine with aristocrats much, except Karish, so it seemed kind of a waste to me.

“Now you look as a woman of your rank should,” my mother announced with satisfaction.

I frowned at her, puzzled. “A Shield?” Shields didn't have a real rank in the social strata sense of the word.

Mother frowned back. “No, dear. The daughter of a highly rated trader and holder.”

“Oh.” That.

I tweaked the lock of hair falling over my forehead. My hair was tied up, high off my neck, twisted in the back, in honor of the occasion. It had taken about an hour to fix. I never really liked my hair up when I was trying to look presentable, despite what my mother would have people believe. It was handy to tie it back from the face, simple and secure, but I was aware it didn't suit my features. My face didn't look classic and refined when my hair was pulled back, just rounded and over-exposed.

I sighed at my reflection. Sometimes, though I hated to admit it even to myself, I thought it would be nice to be stunning.

“Stop fiddling, dear.”

Excellent advice. I put my hands down by my side and kept them there. “You look lovely, Mother.” And she did. As always. A draping light blue gown, simple and elegant. Her hair was also tied up, much like mine, but with silver chains braided in with the brown locks. Sapphires in her ears and a plain silver chain about her throat. She looked so well put together, and so comfortable with herself, as though she dressed so elaborately on a daily basis.

“Thank you, dear.” She came in to check herself in the mirror, briefly touched her hair. “Do you have any questions about this evening?”

“Questions?”

“Yes. About how things should go tonight.”

It took me a moment to realize she feared I might not have sufficient knowledge of the manners one should display around a duchess. “No, Mother. No questions.”

“Well, good. Then let's go down the dining room. They should be here soon.”

That was what I was afraid of. I was sort of hoping the Dowager would be unavoidably, and permanently, detained.

“Do you think I should have gotten a flutist?” Mother asked as we entered the dining room.

“No, Mother.”

“I don't know. Music often adds that extra something.”

“Pretension?”

“No, dear. Class.”

“Ah. Wouldn't know about that. Too late now.” Thank Zaire. A musician! “Want to play cards?”

A chiding look from my mother. “Lee.”

“What? These sorts of people are never on time, are they? Might as well do something while we wait.” Actually, that wasn't fair. Karish was always punctual. Maybe his mother was, too.

Whatever they were in general, they were late that evening. Not monstrously late. Fashionably, I supposed.

When I heard the firm knock on the door, Mother had to grab my arm to keep me from answering it. “Celia,” she said, and a maid drifted to the door and opened it. She curtsied, then stood smartly to one side. “Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Westsea, and Source Shintaro Karish.”

How ridiculous. They were the only two people coming, and we all knew who everyone else was. But the poor girl was expected to announce their names. I didn't roll my eyes but I really, really wanted to.

And Her Grace wasn't happy, either. She actually tilted her head back so she could look down at the maid as she removed her stylish evening wrap. “His appropriate title is His Grace, Lord Westsea.”

He had no such title. Even if she thought he would have it eventually, she couldn't deny that it wasn't, for the time being, the appropriate manner in which to address him. So who did she think she was fooling?

I supposed the Dowager Duchess was a beautiful woman. She looked exactly like Karish. She had the same fine-boned delicacy, the same slanted dark eyes. Her lightly golden skin was still smooth, with few lines. Her black hair, unmarred by so much as a single thread of grey, was elaborately coiled atop her head. Her lean form was draped in a gown of similar style to my mother's, but black. She wore a choker of silver, diamonds and onyx with matching earrings and bracelets.