The Hero Strikes Back (28 page)

“It doesn't matter, Lee. It's not your fault. It's not something you've done. Not really. I came here expecting things, things I obviously shouldn't have been expecting. It's completely my doing. But I have to think about this.”

“Think about what? What is there to think about?” I didn't know what to say, what I should be saying. What had happened? I really couldn't understand. How could she be upset that I wasn't complaining about my life, that I wasn't asking her questions she didn't know the answers to, that I was handling things on my own? Wasn't that what parents wanted, for their children to be self-sufficient? Wasn't that supposed to be a source of pride for them?

What was I doing that was so wrong?

“I'm not comfortable here, Lee. I need to think about what my place is in your life.”

She was my mother. That was her place.

Suddenly, two servers entered the room, bearing armfuls of plates.

“Maybe, in a little while, when you have the time, you can come visit,” my mother said. “Maybe with all the family together, it will be easier. You can watch us. See how we are together. Maybe it will help you understand.” She rose to her feet, suddenly looking regal and untouchable. “I think I will retire.”

She wanted to end things like that? But nothing had been accomplished. “Mother—”

She raised a hand, cutting me off. “Sleep well, Dunleavy.” And with an elegant tilt of the head, she left the table and the dining room.

And she had accused me of treating her like a stranger.

Chapter Seventeen

“This is a stupid idea.” So said the rational part of me. Most of the rest of me was practically bouncing from the feeling in the air, the excitement and the noise and the activity.

Karish didn't even slow down, mercilessly dragging me along behind him. I had to jog to keep up with his long strides. “Stop complaining, Lee,” he said impatiently. “I'll keep you under control.”

“Don't you have any friends?” I demanded. I mean, really, we were spending more and more off-roster time together, and it wasn't natural. Aye, his mother was still in High Scape, and while I hadn't told him the real reason why my mother had left he knew it wasn't due to her business interests, and that I wasn't calm about it. So we were both a little tense. I wasn't sure that the best solution was to spend even more time in each other's company. That was just begging for a serious argument to erupt and I didn't think we needed to add those kinds of problems to the mix. If he wanted to have company for the parade, why hadn't he gone with someone he didn't have to watch over?

“Why do you do this every time?” He hurried me across the street, cutting pretty close to an indifferent—and moving—carriage. “Is it a test?”

“Test of what?” I stepped over a pile of horse remnants, carefully keeping the green skirt high. One could not dress practically while attending a parade in honor of the Crown Prince.

“To see if I'll insist on your coming.”

I frowned. “Why would I do that?”

He looked back at me with exasperation. “Never mind.”

I shrugged. All right.

“Just trust me.”

“Of course.” It wasn't like I thought he would let me do anything stupid. It was just that having to be restrained while foaming at the mouth lacked a certain dignity. And guards and Runners might decide to lend a hand.

The parade would be traveling down First Center Road, from east to west. Following the path of the sun. Earlier the arrogance implicit in that choice of route had made me smile. I had since heard, however, that it was an arrogance that was supposed to be reserved for the ruling monarch, currently the Empress. For the heir to presume in such a manner was apparently something the Empress couldn't afford to let slide. And she wouldn't be well pleased with High Scape for allowing it. Though how the mayor was supposed to refuse an order of the Crown Prince was beyond me.

The route had been decorated, of course, and everyone was dressed in their festival best. But the mood was subdued. People were excited to be seeing the Prince, but they weren't happy. They'd had a hard summer so far and it didn't look like it would be getting better any time soon. No doubt they were hoping for answers from the Prince, but what could he say? What would he know about the weather? What could he do to change it? Nothing more than we could.

We were having no more luck with it. Every time I tried anything the weather experienced a nice flip, into rain, into hail, into horrific humidity. Never anything pleasant or useful, and nothing I could predict ahead of time. Karish had said it was a waste of time, and I was beginning to suspect he was right, but I wouldn't let him stop. As long as we continued to claim we were working on it, we would be.

We chose a corner where Way Street crossed First Center. People were already crowded along the street. One of the disadvantages of being short made itself evident. Karish released my hand to blow into his—it was a little nippy—and rose to his tiptoes. But there wasn't anything happening yet.

To be honest, there was a whole other reason why I wasn't keen on being at the parade. I wasn't all that comfortable around regulars anymore. The attack on the Triple S house had scared the hell out of me. And apparently it had scared the hell out of the regulars, too, that they had descended to that level of violence. They'd reverted back to the hostile looks and muttered criticisms, and invitations to leave their places of business. Unpleasant but not dangerous. But I was a bloody coward. Surrounded by regulars wasn't where I wanted to be.

But it was where I was. So I could just stay calm, damn it.

Besides, I was too pessimistic. There was a chance I would actually have a good time. I had never been to a parade before. They had to be fun, or people wouldn't keep having them.

We waited. I heard children complaining of boredom, or being tired or hungry. I heard snatches of conversation. People drooling over Karish. The usual sort of thing. But no one harassed us. I started to relax a little.

I could hear them then. Very faint. Drums and trumpets. I felt a shiver.

I laced my fingers together. I would keep myself under control. I was not going to rely on Karish. I was an adult. It was ridiculous that I couldn't stay calm. Just breathe. Remember who and what you are.

And the drums and trumpets got a little louder.

Karish could hear them then. He looked at me, eyebrows raised in inquiry. I shook my head. I was all right. He nodded and looked back to the street.

There was a loud explosion, and everyone jumped in alarm. My heart leapt into my throat. It was only some kind of firecracker.

Men came running up the street. Men dressed in rags of bright blue and red and yellow, paint exaggerating their eyes and mouths. They jumped and rolled and spun into hand-flips. My shoulders relaxed.

Following the acrobats were dancers, jugglers, animals and their trainers. A lot of color, a lot of movement. Some of it moved me to laughter, and that felt good. The animals, walking awkwardly on their hind legs and smothered in vests and hats, were disturbing. Watching the contortionists made my back hurt in sympathy.

Wagons were pulled past, gaudily decorated with ribbons and flowers. One wagon carried a scantily clad young couple who flung out candies and coins to the crowd. People scrambled for them. I thought it was pathetic. Then I reminded myself that I had no idea what it was like to lack for money, and if I ever wanted candy I only had to grab some up without thought and without paying for it.

Still, though, so undignified.

Another carriage drew up, bearing the mayor. Four white horses, an open carriage, the mayor seated with her husband. Occasionally she waved at the spectators, but she looked subdued. Almost grim. But then, no one was particularly happy to see her. If I'd thought about it I would have come to the logical conclusion that people were blaming her for their difficulties, too. Only I'd never thought about it.

I could be a self-centred wench when I wanted.

Other wagons slowly drove by. Other dignitaries whom I didn't know. I supposed I should learn who they were, sometime. I was living in the city they ran.

The drums were getting louder. The rat-ta-tat-tat of those annoying military drums. Strangely, while they made me kind of jumpy they didn't seem to influence me to do anything, perhaps because there wasn't really a melody. The trumpets did have a melody, occasionally blaring out something suitably majestic. That didn't move me much, either. How disloyal of me.

Dancers, twisting to mandolins I hadn't been able to hear earlier. The mandolin music was light, pretty. It made me want to dance but it didn't take me over. I felt Karish touch my arm but I refused to look at him, and his hand fell away.

More jugglers, and I thought they were probably the Southerners Karish had mentioned seeing a few days earlier. They were gorgeous, long dark limbs gleaming through flowing red garments, black tattoos slithering over their skin, silver rings hanging from ears and wrists and ankles as they tossed flaming torches and gleaming knives at each other. They were totally insane, and I wondered how many injuries they acquired about the face and shoulders and who knew where else before they learned to handle those tools of destruction so competently.

And then the drums were overpowering everything else. Troops were marching by. Rows of young men and women, draped in chain mail, wearing bulky helmets with the nose guards I always thought looked so awkward and useless. They wore cloaks of black, yellow knotting crossing from right shoulder to left corner hem. The personal guard of Lord Yellows.

Lord Yellows himself followed, surrounded by more members of his guard, riding a black gelding and looking suitably Landed. He didn't nod or wave or smile. He stared straight ahead and appeared very bored. Well, I would be, too, to be honest. Riding at a snail's pace through the city streets with hordes of people staring and screaming at me. I didn't even know why he was part of the parade, except perhaps because he sponsored it.

More guards trailed after him—how many did he have?—and the blare of the trumpets became deafening. The crowds settled down. The man himself approached.

Crown Prince Gifford, riding a huge white gelding, dressed in armor, though as far as I knew he'd never lifted a sword in any battle. A thin, dark man in his early forties. Everyone knew he was desperate to get the throne; not that I could blame him entirely. It had to be awful having nothing to do, having to wait until your mother died before you could take on the role you'd spent your whole life being trained for, and in the meantime not being able to pursue any other goal because it wasn't fitting for your station. A very hard, tiring, useless place to be.

He waved. He smiled. His eyes looked kind of blank. It felt artificial to me.

And then, shouting. From behind. Almost drowned out by the trumpets, but the long wordless howls held out against the brassy notes. I turned around to look and through the crowds saw people running up Way Street, bearing clubs and swords and bricks. “What the hell?”

People parted ahead of them, instinctively drawing out of their way. Some of those running let loose with the bricks. The bricks arced high into the sky, and landed in the general vicinity of the Prince.

And chaos.

There seemed to be a sudden storm of bricks and rocks and sticks. Someone shoved me from behind, and Karish caught me by the shoulders. Horses reared up, people screamed. The members of the Yellows guard drew their swords and split into two groups, one circling around Lord Yellows and the Prince, the other wading into the crowds. People started running. The noise burst into my ears.

I didn't know what to do. Running seemed so cowardly. Staying seemed so suicidal. Would I be a help or a hindrance if I stayed? Would I be abandoning some sort of duty if I left?

Pain exploded in the back of my head, a sharp jolt that seemed to shake my skull, hard. I felt the color slipping from my vision and the sound draining from my ears.

When I could think again—kind of—I was off my feet and being jolted about in a manner that both my head and my stomach warned me might occasion unfortunate results. “Karish,” I said, but my voice came out all whispery and useless, and Karish was too busy yelling at people to get the hell out of his bloody way to hear me.

At least he was cradling me and not carrying me over his shoulder. The latter would have been bad. Very. As it was there was too much noise crashing into my ears and Karish was holding me too tight and my feet kept hitting people. What was happening?

And then there was less crowding, but that only meant Karish felt he had space to run. I was jolted with every footfall, and that was really not fun. I grabbed at his shoulders, trying to stop the bouncing, but my hands weren't working right and all the strength had been sapped from my arms. “Karish.”

“Just a bit more, Lee,” he said, his words strained with breathlessness. “Just hold on.”

He kept turning corners. I wished he'd stop that.

Why was I nauseous, anyway? I hadn't eaten anything odd. Had I?

Don't think about what you had for breakfast. It doesn't matter. Thoughts about food weren't going to do anyone any good right then.

He turned another corner, and then he stopped. Thank Zaire. He swooped down and sat me on the sidewalk, leaning me against the wall. I let my head fall back, which kind of hurt. “Ow.”

“Lee,” he gasped, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort of breathing. “What happened? You just crumpled all of a sudden.”

“Uh, dunno.” I was kind of tired. And kind of not. I wasn't sure. “Uh, something hit me on the back of my head, I think.”