The Hero Strikes Back (5 page)

“Flown Raven
is
the country,” I muttered.

“City slave,” he said.

“Farm boy,” I shot back.

“I've never even seen a farm.”

“Don't trifle me with details.”

“Anyway,” he continued, but he looked a little less grim, which had been the point of the interruption. “The gossip failed to catch up with her at the rustic chalet where she was meditating or whatever,” he sneered at the word ‘meditating, ' “and she only recently learned that I had abjured the title.”

“Ah.” I could see where this was going. “Displeased, was she?”

The sound he made might have been a breathy laugh. “Furious. Enraged. Maddened. I fear for the life of the poor servant who handed the letter to her.” He opened a cabinet—the correct one, as it happened—and placed the dish inside. “She has informed me that my behavior is nothing more than rebellious nonsense. She is coming here to give me the code and drag me back to Flown Raven—only she used the word escort—to deliver said code to Archword. The solicitor. Who must be at least a thousand years old.”

Damn it. Not this again. I'd thought that was all settled. “Would it matter if you did give it to him?” I asked, dumping the last of the cutlery into the dish basket. “He can't give you the title now.”

He was never meant to be the Duke. His older brother had had the title, and from what I learned had been thrilled to indulge in all the aristocratic lifestyle implied, but he'd ruined everyone's expectations by dying before marrying or having children. That left it to his mother, the Dowager Duchess, to choose the new titleholder. For some reason she'd chosen her second son, the Source she'd been happy to send away to the academy, the son who'd never had a moment of training in the duties of being a titleholder and a landlord, when there were several more qualified cousins clambering to take the title.

The title didn't automatically devolve on Karish. Heirs were supposed to be chosen according to suitability, and while there was the dominant trend of passing the title to the next available sibling, lateral devolutions were not uncommon. The Dowager must have had her reasons for setting her sights on Karish, but damned if I knew what they were. The Westsea estate was reputed to be wealthy and powerful. Wouldn't she want someone competent at the head of it?

Different families had different ways of determining who was competent. Some demanded feats of strength, others feats of cunning. The Karish family had cut all of that out, and decided that the current titleholder would give a code—that's what Karish called it, and I knew nothing more about it than that—to the person they deemed worthy. At the appropriate time, when the current titleholder died or stepped down, the new heir would go to the family's solicitor and recite the code, and the title became seized on the heir and, consequently, the new titleholder.

The Karish family history was littered with occasions when the titleholder hadn't handed down the code before dying, and there had been no one else in the family who'd known it. But the blood feuds and the assassination attempts weren't enough to sway the family from their time-honored traditions. Apparently they'd been forced to develop new codes a few times.

Karish hadn't wanted the title, for which I would be forever grateful. He couldn't be both a Source and a duke, with all the duke's responsibilities. If he had taken the title, he wouldn't have been able to work as a Source, which would mean he'd have no use for me. Bonded to him, I wouldn't be able to work with any other Source. I would have been left with nothing to do.

Karish had petitioned the Empress to relieve him of any possibility of ever inheriting the title, and right up until he'd actually said the words, I'd been unable to believe he would really do it. Because to give up all that wealth and power and respect had to be next to impossible. And yet he had. And it had taken all my willpower to not hug him in gratitude the moment he did it.

“According to Her Grace, the Empress has no business meddling in our family's affairs.” As though reporting her opinion called the presence of the Dowager Duchess into the room, Karish pulled back his shoulders and straightened his shoulders, a posture of formal attention. “And the very idea of the title going to a collateral line is unthinkable. The Empress obviously misunderstands the gravity of her mistake, and merely needs instruction on the proper way of things.” Just as suddenly, he relaxed. A wry smile. “Never say the Karish family is lacking in arrogance.”

“And the fact that the very act of pursuing the title could get you hanged, what about that?”

“That's just the law. What is the law to her?”

Marvellous. The blasted woman was going to get us both killed. “Will she know you're back in High Scape, or does she think you're still in Erstwhile?”

“The letter said she was coming here.”

This was my town. She could just keep her distance. “When?”

“Couple of weeks.”

I spent a moment scraping meat remains from the bottom of the roasting pot. “So what are you going to do?”

“Deal with her,” he said simply. “I'm not going to Flown Raven, of course. It's all been settled. I can't go after the title now even if I wanted to. I'll just have to wait her out.”

I dried my hands and pulled out a fresh bottle of wine. I uncorked it, and poured a glass for each of us. “I'll distract her while she's here.” I gave him a glass.

“You damn well will not!” he snapped. “She's a perfect bitch.” I choked on my wine at that. Well, at least she was perfect about it. But then, she was a Karish. “She'll show you no respect at all. She'll be appalling to you.”

“I can handle that, Taro.”

He had a glass of wine in his hands so he sipped it, sniffing the bouquet out of habit, but I didn't think he actually tasted it. “No, you can't, Lee. You don't know what it's like. What she's like.” And, on cue, he started pacing. “You're used to being treated with a certain amount of civility. You're a Shield. People are naturally respectful. But Her Grace doesn't have any respect for anyone who isn't Landed, and for few people who are. She thinks there's no reason to waste manners on those she doesn't admire.” And he paused in his pacing to drain half his glass. “She'll be horrible,” he said. “She'll insult you to your face and act shocked if you dare to reciprocate. And she always knows the perfect thing to say to make you feel stupid and small and unworthy.”

How would he know this, if he hasn't seen her in seventeen years?

There were the letters, though. At times, he had offered to let me read them. I'd always refused, because their contents were none of my business. Perhaps that had been a mistake.

He leaned back against the counter, one arm crossed over his chest, his other hand holding his wine glass near his lips. “So tell me about this Erik,” he ordered, the previous subject swept off the table. And it was an order. Sometimes his lineage influenced his behavior. He couldn't help it.

“Who?”

“This too good looking non-Triple S solicitor that has your mother seeing wedding letters.”

Oh. Erin. “I told you I wasn't interested.”

“Aye, and you were lying.”

“I was not!” I objected, offended. I
wasn't
interested in Erin. What, my mother could drool all over the Captain and it means nothing, but I have a civilized conversation with a man and I must be in love with him?

“Oh, please! You were blushing!”

I was
not.
I never blushed.

“And your legendary self-assurance was notable for its absence.” The smile widened into a malicious grin. “What's wrong with this one?”

I resented the implications of that question. “Nothing's wrong with this—with him.”

“So he's not planning anyone's murder?”

I grit my teeth at that, biting down a sudden spurt of anger. Bastard. Why the hell did he think I was being so careful, making so many rules? I learned from my mistakes, I did. But of course he couldn't understand the concept of careful, he who slept with every living thing on two legs.

He looked repentant. He raised a hand to touch my shoulder and I avoided it. “I'm sorry, Lee.”

Huh. Well, that was irrelevant. I shouldn't be letting myself get upset. I smoothed out my eyebrows and nodded.

Too quickly for evasion, Karish grabbed the back of my neck and leaned down, putting his forehead against mine. “Don't do that,” he said. “I just said something stupid and hurtful. I'd rather you admit you're angry with me and yell.”

I repressed a sigh. I'd forgotten how annoying Karish could be. He insisted on wearing his emotions on his skin and thought everyone else should be the same way. Well, that was his privilege. He was a Source. I was a Shield. Different standards applied.

What the hell. I sighed anyway. “Welcome home, Taro.”

Chapter Three

So maybe High Scape wasn't such a great place to live after all. It was big, the buildings were ugly, it was noisy and crowded. And it was the only city currently experiencing these weather abnormalities. Tilting Ark, only a few leagues down the Fish Free River, was enjoying lovely summer warmth. Which was good for us insane residents of High Scape, because it meant food was growing somewhere and was available to those who had the money for it, but it was annoying all the same. And odd. Because why was this happening to us and no one else? It made no sense. I hated things that didn't make sense.

I wasn't the only one. For the first time since I'd moved to High Scape, there had been called a formal meeting of all of High Scape's Pairs. It was being held in the Stall, a shortened form of the name Paranoia Stall bestowed on the one-room shack by a former Source. It had been built just outside the city limits, and it was where the Pair on duty sat and performed its watch, calming whatever natural events threatened to shake High Scape apart. I didn't know why any meeting had to be held there in the first place; it was so far out of everyone's way.

Walking in deep snow was hard work, I had to raise my feet so high and I could never be completely confident about my balance. I envied Karish his extra inches. He wouldn't reach the Stall exhausted and flustered.

“Hey! Source!”

Karish's arm tensed under my hand. We halted and turned.

A woman was charging up the street after us, trying to hold her homespun skirts over the snow with work-hardened hands. A farmer, I thought. An unhappy one. People's heads turned as they watched her pass. “When are you going to do something about this?” she demanded.

No explanations needed about to what “this” pertained. Karish held out his free hand, palm up. “We can't do anything about the snow, ma'am,” he answered in a gentle tone.

“Why the hell not?” She halted before him, holding herself up to her full, considerable height. “This is what you're trained for, isn't it? Why you spend years being coddled in those schools of yours. Why you have everything handed to you your whole life without having to pay for it. Nor work for it hardly.”

Nor hardly work? We risked our lives every time we channeled. Even the regulars knew that.

“This is very different from a hurricane or an erupting volcano, ma'am,” I said in a voice that was low and, hopefully, soothing. “The world goes about creating these things in very different ways, and the truth is, we
aren't
trained for things like snow.”

But the farmer wasn't interested in hearing logical explanations. She was angry, and she only wanted to vent. “Our crops are ruined,” she hissed. “We'll have nothing to sell come harvest. We'll have nothing to eat next winter. What do you plan to do about that?”

I hesitated, because what could I say to that? We couldn't do anything about the weather. That was the simple truth. And everyone knew it. No one had ever expected Pairs to regulate average weather. And there was nothing we could do about dead crops or unpaid mortgages or ruined occupations. “I am sorry.” A weak answer, made all the worse by the audience—yes, some people had stopped to watch and listen—that was witness to it.

“Sorry won't feed my children,” she spat. She glared at Karish. “While you've been off cavorting with the Empress instead of watching your post, our livestock has been freezing to death. You've ruined us. Be proud, Lord Shintaro.” And she turned on her heel and stalked away.

Karish looked ready to call her back. I squeezed his arm to stop him. No one else said anything, but they looked at us. Little surreptitious glances, muttered comments to companions, a few scowls.

Karish didn't look as shocked by the incident as I felt. “Has anything like that happened to you before?” I asked him.

His only answer was a shrug. That meant something had happened. And he hadn't told me about it. He should have.

“You shouldn't have to put up with that sort of thing,” I said.

“But I don't, do I? I have my Shield to protect me.”

There was an edge to his voice. He didn't like my stepping in as I had. Too bad. That was my job. We headed on to the Stall in silence.

Arriving there we found it uncharacteristically crowded. In my memory, there had only ever been four people in it at a time. The Pair on duty and the Pair relieving them. This time, there were six Pairs. La Monte and his Shield Hammad hadn't arrived yet, and I wasn't sure how they were going to squeeze in. There were only four chairs for the single small table. Those who stood had to lean against walls that were lined with shelving units or were otherwise obstructed by pieces of cheap art. And there was the ancient stove taking up a good chunk of space. Not too comfortable.