The Hero Strikes Back (21 page)

“I am not going to Flown Raven!” he shouted.

“You are. It is your duty to your family.”

“The family can go to hell!”

Damned straight. They treat him like dirt his entire life and then expect him to ditch everything to help them out? Not if I had anything to say about it. And well, I didn't, but I could tie him down if he lost his senses.

The Duchess' eyes narrowed. “Is that the kind of sentiment whoring about with catamites and prostitutes has given you?” she asked coolly.

Had she forgotten that we—my mother and I—were still there? Or were we so insignificant in the grand scheme of things that it didn't matter what was said in front of us, what we knew? Wasn't this the same woman who was so worried about gossip a moment before?

Karish snickered, of all things. “I do not whore about,” he said. “I am not my brother.” Thank god, since his brother had died as a result of his whoring about. “I am not my father.” Well, wasn't that an interesting piece of news. “And I am not you.”

Oh.

My.

Two spots of color rose to prominence in the duchess' cheeks. She jumped to her feet. “Apologize to me this instant!” she hissed.

He laughed, a harsh jagged sound laced with unshed tears. “All this bilge about your reputation,” he sneered, looking exactly as his mother had when she'd sneered at him. “I know what the right people say about you, Your Grace, and then I know what everyone else says. I know what you really are. And I've spent my whole life being as unlike you as I could possibly be. Because you're just a cold, hypocritical, manipulative fraud and there's no way in hell I will ever apologize to you. For anything.”

This would be the time when she would slap him. She didn't. She just stood there, her hands clenched into fists, and fumed. I considered being impressed by her restraint.

My mother was pale, sitting there, staring at them in shock.

I felt I should be doing something. I had no clue what.

“This was obviously a mistake,” said Her Grace. “Fetch my wrap.”

Celia, who had been standing with her back to the wall and watching the whole affair with undisguised glee, leapt into action. She jumped across the room to the wardrobe, practically yanking the Duchess' wrap free and draping it over her shoulders.

Then Celia left. I frowned at my mother, who mouthed the word “carriage” at me. Oh. Celia was thinking ahead. Good thing someone was.

“Is there no way I can change your mind?” my mother asked, but not with any real sense of sincerity. I didn't think she cared to change the Duchess' mind. She was just going through the motions. Which was ludicrous. No effort had been made by anyone to make this seem like a normal, civil night. Why start now?

Well, this was a nice mess. Hadn't even lasted an hour. I rose to my feet, as my mother did, because the others were standing and it was polite, and I think we were all too stunned to really think about what we were doing.

The Duchess was adjusting her wrap. “Shintaro is rarely able to stay civil for more than a few moments,” she told my mother, and I thought, seriously, about smacking her. “I had hoped in the company of others he would remember his upbringing, but . . .” an elegant shrug.

Seemed to me he was remembering his upbringing all too well, and that was the problem.

“I apologize for my son, Lady Holder, Shield Mallorough.”

That was it. “How fortunate he has someone to apologize for him,” I said, my voice dripping with feigned sweetness. “Too bad there's no one here to apologize for you.”

She stared at me, clearly astonished that I would say something like that to her. She looked at my mother, and then Karish, perhaps expecting one of them to either chastise me or beg pardon from her. What she got was silence.

She closed her mouth. “I will see myself to the Imperial,” she said to Karish. “I don't care for your presence right now. I do hope you remember how to comport yourself in time for the Prince's ball.”

Karish stared back at her, and I could no longer determine what he was feeling. His mask was on, his eyes blank.

She turned to the door, and halted. Celia was still out hunting up a carriage. Normally I would have been content to let her open her own damn doors, but I wanted her out of there. So I jumped forward and yanked the door open.

Without looking at me she swept—yes, swept—out into the corridor. I shut the door behind her, a shade shy of slamming it. Then I turned back into the room, ready to sigh in relief.

Karish was standing near the wall, the fire drained out of him. He was staring off into space, his shoulders slumped.

Things weren't over yet.

My mother walked up behind Karish, laying her hand on his shoulder. He didn't move. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I'm so sorry. I thought I could . . .” His voice choked off.

He
had nothing to apologize for.

“It's my fault.” She rubbed his back, slow circular movements. “You told me it was a bad idea.” She raised her hand to lightly stroke his hair. “I thought I knew better.” She rose to her toes to kiss his cheek. “I should have listened to you. I'm so sorry.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, no, no. It's me. It's my fault. I'm a grown man. I should be able to . . . I shouldn't . . . damn it!” His voice giving out on him. “I'm sorry. You went to all this trouble. I'm so sorry.”

Karish sometimes berated himself, denigrated himself, made fun of himself. Never have I heard his voice so filled with self-loathing. It infuriated me. He should never be made to feel that way.

“It is my fault, for not listening to someone who knew better,” my mother told him. “I can be arrogant that way.” She smiled at him.

He didn't smile back.

She shot me one of her communicative looks. I nodded.

She kissed him again. “I am going to drop in on the Hunters,” she announced.

“No, no. I'll go.” Karish started looking around as though he wasn't sure where he was.

“I need to speak with you, Taro,” I said. Though I had no idea what I was going to be saying.

He lowered his head, and if anything his shoulders slumped even more. What, he thought I was going to yell at him? Did he really think I was going to be angry at him for any of this?

Mother kissed my cheek. “I'll be late.”

“Good night, Mother. Thanks for everything.”

She slipped out, closing the door quietly.

Chapter Thirteen

I looked at Karish. He had drifted closer to the wall. His back was to me.

I had no idea what to do. I was sure I had understood only about half of what had happened, what had been said, and I was sure there was a whole lot more that hadn't even been touched on. I was shocked at what I'd heard and wasn't sure I could believe it. I mean, Karish hadn't really been secluded in his room for eleven years, had he? That wasn't possible. There had to be some detail that hadn't been mentioned, that explained it all the way. Because if it were true, Karish should be insane.

What was I going to do? How was I supposed to make him feel better? Was that even possible right now? I didn't know what he needed. And whatever it was, I probably wasn't the one to give it to him. He was no doubt longing to find his friends and drown himself in their company. But I couldn't let him go out like this, looking so shattered. It would be wrong. Cruel.

I could let him know, at least, that I wasn't angry with him, and that I didn't blame him for anything. That he didn't have anything to be ashamed of. That much I could do. And then maybe he wouldn't throw himself into the drink quite so desperately. Maybe he'd avoid making a mistake he'd otherwise make.

I walked to him and put a hand on his back. He jumped at the contact. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my face against his shoulder-blades. He was so tense.

He shuddered, and he choked off a sound trying to escape from his throat.

I tightened my grip. “It's all right.”

He leaned his head against the wall, and breathed. An obvious effort to control himself.

That wasn't good. That wasn't him. The one time he had every reason to indulge in a screaming fit, and he was trying to stay calm. “Don't, don't,” I whispered. “It's only me. There's no one else here. No one watching.”

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“There is no reason to apologize.” As I said them, I knew the words were of no effect. They were the words the situation called for, the words one said when one was being merely polite. They were expected. How could I convince him that I meant them? “No one is angry, Taro.” Except maybe his mother, but who cared about her?

He started laughing, laughing into the wall, the same bitter jagged sound as before. “I'm angry,” he said. “Why can't I—” He slammed his fist against the wall.

Don't do that. Don't hurt yourself, not over her. “
I'm
sorry,” I said. “We shouldn't have done this. We should have listened to you.” So stupid. So arrogant. Dismissing his misgivings, because, of course, he was exaggerating. He was a Source, that was what they did. We had been so sure all we had to do was sit down like calm rational adults, and we'd be able to clear up nearly thirty years worth of bitterness with a single conversation. We, who had never met the Dowager and knew nothing about her, had so quickly thought we could handle her better than her own son, dismissing Karish's concerns without a second thought. I was sick with self-disgust.

Another hard laugh. “Should have known I would have behaved like an idiot.”

“No.” Imitating my mother, I rubbed his back with my hand. “There's obviously a lot of things going on there that we know nothing about.” And we shouldn't have interfered. How long would it take me to learn that lesson?

Karish was refusing to accept any reassurance. “Doesn't matter,” he said to the wall. “I shouldn't have humiliated everyone like that. Leave it to me to turn a common event into a tawdry melodrama.” His voice was deep with repugnance, all directed at himself. “All I had to do was get through one dinner. I couldn't even manage that.”

“Your mother wasn't even trying, Taro. It was exactly as you said. As soon as she stepped through the door she was needling you.” And not us, not much. That had been surprising. I'd been expecting her to pour her disdain all over us, but her principal target had been her own son. How cannibalistic of her.

“You think I would have learned to handle her with a little grace.”

“Why should you? She wasn't showing any.”

He shook his head, sort of, his face still pressed against the wall. Enough hiding. I pulled on him. “Come on, sit down.” He resisted a moment, then let me manhandle him onto the sofa, but he immediately covered his face with his hands.

I went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of red wine and a couple of goblets. I sat beside Karish on the sofa and filled the goblets. Then, I pulled his hands from his face.

He was so pale, his eyes wide and lost. “Taro.”

“I couldn't even last an evening, Lee.”

“Neither could she.” And she was the one who had walked out, given up, scuppered any chance of turning the evening around. It was easy enough to stir up chaos and sweep out with grand dignity. Much harder to stay behind and deal with the aftermath. “You don't have to do it again.”

“That's not the point!”

No, I knew that, but what else was there? I had no doubt that his mother was muttering to herself about how ill mannered we all were and chiding herself for expecting better. While she, she was assuring herself, had conducted herself impeccably. If his mother didn't recognize that there was a problem, it couldn't be fixed. The best thing for him would be to acknowledge that and put it behind him.

I put a goblet in his hand. “Drink. It's your favorite.”

For a moment he looked down blankly, as though he didn't recognize the foreign object that had appeared in his hand. I could practically feel him pulling his mind together. “That's what you think,” he said with a weak attempt at a smile. “I happened to have discovered the Deep Valley vineyard last week. It's assumed top rank.”

Well, aye. “I know that,” I said, and I knew I sounded offended.

He looked at me, surprised. Then he took a careful sip. “It is Deep Valley,” he said, frowning.

The frown disturbed me. “What, is it a bad year?”

“No,” he said quickly. “It's not that. It's just . . .”

I waited a moment for him to continue, but he didn't seem to want to, so I explained, “You spoke of it to Sabatos.”

“Yes, but . . .” But what? He didn't say. Just trailed his fingertips down the side of the goblet.

Maybe it unnerved him, that I knew without him telling me. “I listen to you all the time, Taro. And I watch.” Ah. Maybe that was the problem. I certainly wouldn't like someone watching me all the time. “It's part of my job. It's practically become my hobby. And hey, you're nice to look at.” He didn't react to my joke. Well, it had been pathetic. “Everything I can know about you by observing you, I know.”

His mouth bent wryly. “You think so?”

“I know so.” I'd better. Else I'd have to say I stared at him all the time just to look at him. Couldn't have that. “I don't know anything about those first eleven years, though.” Not the most elegant way to segue into the topic, but I had a feeling he'd avoid it all night if I let him.

He lowered the goblet, resting it on his knee.

Ask a question. One that was easy to answer. That might enable him to start. “Did you really never leave your room?”