The Hero Strikes Back (3 page)

“Right then.” Mother nodded. “How about we come to an agreement? I won't comment on your way of doing things and you won't comment on mine.”

“Fine.” My mother was a grown woman. If she wanted to make a duplicitous, unfaithful fool of her . . .

I shook my head, actually shook my head right there in the middle of the room where everyone could see me. It was none of my business. Really. I hadn't lived with the family since I was four years old. I had no idea how they behaved on the day-to-day basis. Maybe my father was a flirt, too.

It was strange, seeing my mother every day, without the rest of my family. I wouldn't have thought of such a visit myself. But I'd barely settled back in to High Scape after returning from Erstwhile before I got a letter from my mother, telling me she was going to visit and teach me how to live in the real world.

She didn't actually write that last bit out, but that was what she meant. I could tell. And I didn't mind. It had been made clear to me, not long after I left the academy, that I didn't understand how regular people lived.

And I didn't really know my mother, despite what I had said to Erin. Despite what I often actually thought. I knew her better than most of the students of the academy had known theirs, for my family had had the means and the inclination to visit me almost annually. But those had been short visits, only a couple of weeks, barely worth the trip. And they had been on academy grounds, where we were all subject to academy rules. And it had been my mother and father and sister and brothers and me.

This was different. Mother was staying for an indefinite time—and with her behavior with the Captain I was beginning to wonder why, if there was something going on with the family that I knew nothing about—and it was just her, with none of the others for distraction. We were both adults, free of anyone's rules but our own. She was staying at an expensive boarding house called the Lion's Den, but she spent most of her days at the Triple S house, occasionally staying the night. Which sort of made me the host, but she was my mother, which meant—didn't it?—that she had some kind of authority over me. It was a logistical mess. Who was supposed to be making the decisions for whom?

I went back to my drink. It had started to melt. It didn't taste as good that way.

Risa and Erin returned from the kitchen, halting the conversations because they were carrying food, which always had that effect. And the food was on fire. Chunks of meat and whatnot on sticks, on fire. Apparently it was supposed to be served that way. I didn't know if serving flaming food to alcohol-filled people was the best idea ever, but it certainly made a good spectacle.

After everyone who cared for some had been served with torched meat and fresh drinks, Erin came back to me. “Sorry about that.”

“Is she all right?”

“She seems to be, just washed off the blood and wrapped a bandage around her hand, but with Risa it's always hard to tell. You know these law enforcement types. Can't show any pain unless you're actually dead, and then, well, what's the point?”

He said that as though it were a bad thing.

“Ah hell!” Samuel shouted, disgust blatant in his tone, his words silencing the conversation and music once more. He was staring out a window. “It's snowing!”

Snowing? Was that what he'd said? As in white, frozen precipitation?

A rush to the other windows in the flat, and I was no better than the others. I flipped aside a curtain and, aye, it was snowing. Hard. Pretty.

“But it's summer!” Delia wailed.

“Don't suppose there's anything you can do about this,” Samuel said to me.

I was startled by the question. This was snow, not an earthquake. Why would he even think to ask me that? I shook my head. “I can't do anything without Taro. Besides, we can't do anything about snow.”

The expression on Samuel's face suggested that might have been one of the stupidest things he'd ever heard. “You don't
do
snow?” he demanded.

That was not what I had said, and I certainly hadn't used a tone that implied mere snow was somehow beneath the efforts of a Triple S Pair. “We can't do anything about snow, rain, overcast days. You know, normal weather. Just cyclones and earthquakes and the like. Big, unnatural events.”

“Are you trying to tell me snow in the middle of summer isn't unnatural?”

He had me there, but it didn't change the fact that there was nothing I could do.

I set my drink down. No more alcohol for me. It was depressing me. And really, there was no reason for feeling inadequate. Karish would be back soon; he'd promised in his last letter. Then I'd be back on the roster and back at work and life would feel normal again.

“Damn it,” said Zeva. “As if business weren't bad enough this summer. This'll just kill it.”

“You're telling me.” Delia, who'd been holding up a curtain to stare at the snow, let it slide back into place. She looked at Zeva and smiled wryly. “I'm sure you'll do better then me, though. I have a feeling there are more willing to brave the cold for your product than for mine.”

Zeva snorted. “Maybe,” she said, “But then I just have to spend more money on frostbite cream, and I have to put it in the most unusual places.”

That earned chuckles from everyone, including my mother, so I decided not to be shocked on her behalf.

“If things continue as they are, I'll have to leave town,” said Shaka. “I'm thinking of heading south. Maybe to Three Keys.”

“You're running out of money?” I asked Shaka.

“Aye. Business is real slow.”

“But you've always been popular.” His shows involved a combination of juggling, sleight of hand and vocal comedy, and every time I'd seen him he'd been surrounded by a throng of spectators.

“No one wants to stand around in this cold.”

“But—” I cut myself off. I had no right to ask why, with day after day of huge piles of coins tossed at Shaka's feet, he now found himself without because things had slowed down for a while. While I couldn't understand why someone whose livelihood was so reliant on the weather didn't fortify himself against the event that the weather turned difficult simply by putting aside some money, it wasn't my place to say anything about it. I didn't have to pay for anything. What did I know about budgeting or saving for the future?

“Hey,” said Risa, her voice sharp. “That's enough talk about money. I happen to know no one with any class talks about money at parties. Amia, start playing.”

The music resumed. Erin fetched more wood and built up the fire until it was roaring. It gave the room a cheery atmosphere, and after a while everyone seemed to forget it was an atmosphere unsuited to the season. More drink, more food, more conversation. All in all, a successful party, despite lacking any outbreak of scandal or a brawl. I had a good time.

But when Mother and I left the warm flat, it was still snowing. That was strange. And I didn't like strange. The last time things were strange, it was because a twisted crazy Source had used his abilities to deliberately create said cyclones and earthquakes and the like. For the fun of it. Because he could. Because he was bored. And crazy. He had chosen toppling cities and causing the deaths of thousands as a sort of hobby.

Strange was bad.

I pulled the collar of my dress closer to my neck. The chill was making even me uncomfortable. And it seemed to me a bad sign. Bad signs put me in a bad mood. And bad moods were just plain unprofessional.

So I ignored the chill. Problem solved.

Chapter Two

It had been snowing for three days. Big fat flakes that stayed on the ground, and accumulated, and built up, and soaked through boots and caused collisions in the streets and killed crops and generally infuriated everyone. Except the kids, who were having a grand time building snow forts and engaging in snowball fights. But it was winter, in the middle of summer. It was weird and frightening and really, really irritating.

I tapped my boot against the door frame, dislodging the snow that had been caked to the sole. On the second day, when I realized that the snow was going to be around for a while, I had dug out my winter wardrobe, which only gave my mother fresh fodder for eye-rolling and pained expressions. My choice of winter clothing caused her some distress. She claimed it was possible to have clothes that were both practical and stylish. I had begged to differ. It seemed to me one always had to be sacrificed to the other, and I preferred to ditch the style and keep the comfort. Besides, there was a rush on materials that merchants had packed away or left to dwindle for the summer season. The tailors were in a panic and their services were scarce. As a Shield I could be put on the top of any list, my orders given priority over any, even the High Landed, but I'd never felt right about pulling rank like that. Especially when I already had clothes I was perfectly happy with, my mother be damned.

“You're back quick,” the bedamned woman called out as I pulled off my boots.

“The stalls weren't out.” I'd been sent out by my mother to hunt down bay leaves. Being sent out on errands for my mother was a new experience for me. One I couldn't say I cared for.

“Oh well. I guess I can do without it.”

I hung up my cloak on a peg by the door and wandered into the kitchen. “That smells really good.”

My mother shrugged. “It's only stew,” she said, stirring the pot. “Nothing special. I should teach you how to cook.”

I pulled out some cutlery. “Ben usually cooks for us.”

“Ben's not here, though, is he?”

There was something censorious about her tone that irked me. “No, Mother, he isn't.”

“You shouldn't have to rely on others to cook for you.”

I'd often thought so myself. Why did having her say the exact same thing irritate me so much?

We heard the entrance door open and close. A loud thud on the floor, followed by some lighter ones, as of someone stamping their feet.

“Ah, good, one of the others are here,” Mother commented. “I've made enough for everyone. I can't believe, with six and a half Pairs living here, how empty this place always is.”

I hated being called half a Pair.

I quietly stepped out of the kitchen, into the corridor to the foyer. I wanted to see who it was before calling out an invitation to join us. If it were La Monte or, far worse, Wilberforce, I'd back into the kitchen unnoticed.

There was no chance of that once I saw who was standing at the door, reading a letter. He was shorter and slighter than most men, with golden brown skin and his black hair growing long in lazy curves, and he was most definitely a sight for sore eyes. I smiled. “Taro!”

Lord (former) Shintaro Karish looked up from his letter, the frown between his eyebrows melting away. “Evening, my love!” he said before grabbing me up in a bear hug and lifting me clear off my feet. I rolled my eyes and hugged him back and didn't dwell on the fact that I probably would have felt hurt had he done anything less.

It felt good to hold him. I'd missed him.

“You're back earlier than you'd said,” I commented once he'd put me back on my feet. I brushed snow off his shoulder, the one with the black Source braid.

He grinned, the completely carefree grin, the one that made his black eyes crinkle at the corners. “Her Royal Imperial Majesty got bored with me, didn't she?” he announced gaily. “With what she most enjoyed contented least.”

I was taking a good look at him, and I was shocked. Karish was a fine-boned, slender man. Right then he looked gaunt, his cheekbones jutting out harshly through his skin. He seemed a little pale, and he was obviously exhausted. “What the hell have you been doing to yourself?” I demanded. “You look awful.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Thank you so much, darling. You always know just what to say to make me feel good about myself.”

“Were you revelling every night or what?”

“So I must have been.”

“Zaire, Taro. You're not ill, are you?”

He was starting to look annoyed. “I've just gotten off the road, Lee. I pushed myself hard to get here. Give over.”

All right. Fine. The solution was not to nag but to get him back into decent shape. “Of course. You're just in time for supper.”

His eyes widened in panic he manfully attempted to hide. “Uh—”

I could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he desperately searched for a graceful way to back out. I thought about letting him hang in torment but decided to take pity on him. I hadn't seen him in months, after all. There would be plenty of opportunities to torture him later. “My mother's cooking, you snob.”

“Oi, your mother! I forgot she was here. I'm sorry.” He looked up the stairs and bent to pick up his bags, with the obvious intention of heading up to his suite.

I grabbed his arm. “Don't be ridiculous. She'll be thrilled to see you again. It's probably the real reason she came.” She'd been disappointed, when she'd first arrived in High Scape, to learn he was still in Erstwhile. “Your cloak, sir. Mother!” He winced at the shout. “Taro's joining us for dinner.”

“Good!” she shouted back. “There's plenty.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. See? I took his cloak and hung it on a peg, then led him into the kitchen. “I don't know if you remember meeting my mother—”

“Holder Mallorough,” he interrupted me smoothly. He just as smoothly took her hand and kissed the back of it. “My memory is indeed faulty. I'd forgotten you were so lovely.”

“No flirting with my mother, Karish,” I growled at him.