The Hero Strikes Back (34 page)

I looked up at the Prince again, and I was surprised to find he appeared considerably more relaxed and to be amiably chatting with his host. I guessed he liked the meal after all. And he would be Emperor one day. We were all doomed.

I looked across the room, wondering how the Dowager Duchess of Westsea was reacting to the insult being delivered to her stomach. And if I was surprised by the Prince, I was stunned by the Dowager. She was, or so it appeared from my angle, leaning against the back of her chair and
smiling.

Obviously, the world was about to end.

“Is there something wrong with the meal, my lord?” A servant was hovering over Doran. She appeared distraught by the stack of plates before him. “I can bring you all new servings if these are not fresh enough.”

“Oh no, my dear woman. Everything looks beautiful. But we're wanting to save ourselves for the main course.”

I expected her to nod and leave. She didn't. “His Lordship would be most distressed to learn you didn't partake of the opening courses, my lord.”

Were servants supposed to debate with guests like that?

Doran's eyebrows dipped together in irritation. “I'd wager my miniscule fortune that Lord Yellows doesn't even know where his kitchens are,” he said. “And it's probably physically impossible for him to actually enter them. The mere thought of it is no doubt enough to make him swoon in well-bred disgust. In other words, he'll never know. So do stop being tiresome and take the plates away. There's a good girl.”

She did what she was ordered, with obvious reluctance. Which struck me as odd. I mean, really, who cared?

“They're not eating any of it,” I heard her whisper.

I turned in my chair and saw that she was speaking to the nearest guard. Who would care even less than the host. Realizing she had my attention, the servant hurried away. I watched the guard for a moment longer, but he continued to stare into space.

Cheese course next. And the cheese platters looked normal enough. With substantial portions. The other guests fell on them with audible—very audible—delight. But for Lydia, Doran, Karish and I, it had become almost a challenge not to eat anything that was served to us. A test of our resolve. Besides, I was looking forward to the leek-and-potato soup that was the best in the city, and I wanted to be good and starving for it.

This course was served with wine. Karish broke the pact to take a sniff. Then he grimaced.

“Bad?” I asked him.

He took a careful sip. He jerked his head back, looking as though he had been struck. He quickly put the goblet on the table. On the other side of the table, as though he wanted to get the wine as far away from himself as possible. “Good gods.”

I went nowhere near my goblet. Neither did Lydia. Doran, being male, had to have a taste. His reaction was almost identical to Karish's. “Zaire, that's evil.”

But everyone else was drinking it, and seemed to be enjoying it. Even the Prince, who I would have assumed had access to the best wines in the world.

All right. Everyone was insane. That was the only explanation.

Which made me think of another source of insanity enjoyed by the city, because that was the way my mind worked. “Doran?”

“Yes?”

“You don't perform in the Hallin Festival, do you?” I'd been told it was required by law that every able-bodied person perform, but surely that wasn't imposed on the High Landed.

Then again, who'd made up the law in the first place, eh?

He grinned. “Of course.”

Lydia rolled her eyes.

“You're kidding,” said Karish.

“What do you do?” I asked Doran.

“Sleight of hand.” He picked up one of his unused forks, held it in his right hand, briefly curled his two hands together and held out his empty right hand, the fork nowhere in sight.

“Well done,” Karish said with admiration.

I grabbed Doran's left hand and pulled the fork from his sleeve.

“Hey!” Doran protested, and Lydia laughed.

Karish chuckled. “Don't be too downhearted, lordling. Misdirection may not work so well on a Shield.”

“Well, the circumstances aren't the best.” Doran took the fork back and balanced it on his index finger. “You won't be able to catch me out so easily when I'm on stage with costumes and props.”

If Lydia had not been a well-bred lady I would have sworn she groaned. “And they get more ridiculous and elaborate with every year,” she said dryly. “It took days for the paint he slathered all over my face to finally fade. I couldn't leave the house for a week, nor see anyone. Mother was not pleased.” But the look she shot at Doran was fond. She hadn't minded so much, I guessed.

“You do sleight of hand, too?” I asked her.

“No, I play his assistant. Hand him things on stage so the performance goes smoothly, with no gaps in the action and movement. It's the best way to get through a talent show without having an actual talent.”

What a brilliant idea. “Don't happen to need any more assistants, do you?” I looked at Doran and hoped desperation was beaming out of my eyes.

“Back off, Shield,” Lydia growled. “He's
my
ticket through the Festival.”

“And,” Karish tugged on my hair. “You're doing something with me.”

“We never agreed to that,” I protested.

“We're agreeing now.”

High-handed bastard. “Neither of us have any talent.” Which was a pretty pathetic state of affairs.

“You must be able to do something,” said Lydia.

“You'd be stunned by the level of my ineptitude.”

“Stop that,” Karish snapped.

Doran and Lydia were understandably startled by Karish's swing in mood. There was nothing for it but to let them get used to it. “I can't do anything but shield and dance the bars,” I told our new acquaintances. “I can't do anything anyone else would find entertaining. Except make a fool of myself, and I'd rather avoid that if I could.”

“Do a scene from a play,” Doran suggested.

“I've never acted,” I said.

“Neither have I,” Karish added.

Not on stage.

“That doesn't matter,” Doran was saying. “It's the traditional way of getting through the festival when there is honestly nothing else you can do. Pick a short scene and act it out.”

“Ugh!” was Karish's eloquent response.

Well, it was something, I supposed. Though the very idea of standing on a stage in front of a bunch of people stuttering out a string of tortured lines made me want to cringe.

Uproarious laughter coming from up the table. From the Prince, of all people.

“Maybe he has no head for wine,” Karish commented.

No, I didn't think that was it. Or it was, at most, only a part of it. Others about the table appeared equally relaxed, speaking loudly, animatedly, gesturing broadly. Spines were resting against the backs of chairs all over the room. The Dowager was smiling again.

And she looked so much like Karish then.

“Maybe the wine is unusually potent,” I said. “Would that affect the taste?”

Karish snorted. “It's too new.”

“Too new?”

“If it was waved at a bottle between the vat and the glass I'd be surprised.”

I frowned, my memory twigging.

“Three weeks,” said Doran, eyeing his goblet. “Bet it's three weeks old.”

“I'd take that bet, except it would require actually tasting it again to be sure.” Karish shuddered. “No amount of money is worth that.”

“Hah! Money. Like you have to worry about that.”

Karish stiffened at that. “I always honor my gambling debts,” he said coolly.

Doran's eyes widened. “Forgive me,” he said, with every appearance of sincerity. “I honestly didn't mean to imply anything disrespectful. I only meant that, your being a Source—so how much did you lose in the upset yesterday?”

We all recognized the diversionary tactic for what it was, and Karish's shoulders relaxed. “You mean that vicious stumble in the fourth race?”

Racing. Gambling. Wonderful. I had to admit Karish was good about not boring me to suicide by constantly talking about such things, which were of no interest to me. But I could hardly expect him to restrain himself when he encountered a fellow enthusiast.

I noticed Lydia's avid interest. Make that two fellow enthusiasts. I predicted I would be feeling very ignorant and very stupid soon.

However, before the three could degenerate too far into racing slang the main course was served. Thick round slices of beef covered in gravy and surrounded by steamed vegetables. Mouth-watering commenced immediately. My stomach twisted painfully. “That's it. I'm eating.”

“Lee,” Karish said with disappointment.

“And I thought Shields were supposed to be so disciplined,” Lydia teased.

“Discipline be damned. This smells good and I'm starving.” Besides, I loved roast beef. I neatly sliced off a corner and stuck it in my mouth. I bit down, anticipating a rush of flavor.

But my teeth didn't sink through in the manner they were supposed to, and the taste was . . . different. Because I couldn't spit it out I quickly chewed and swallowed. I put down the cutlery.

“What's wrong?” Karish asked me.

“I don't think it's beef.” And I
hated
eating something when I didn't know what it was. My imagination went to bad places.

“Maybe it's ostrich,” Lydia suggested.

Karish picked up my cutlery and took a slice from my meat. Like he didn't have his own plate right in front of him. “What, do you feel it's less like cheating if it's from my plate instead of yours?”

He chewed and swallowed and returned the cutlery. “It's goat. Quite good, actually.”

“Goat,” I said. Things starting clicking in my head.

“Aye.”

“Just as well, then.” Doran grimaced. “Can't stand goat.”

Oh god.

Could
I have been any more stupid? If I gave myself a year? And tried really really hard?

Wine of the new moon.

Mountain mammal.

Cheese.

Honey.

Plants would be in soil. Earth. Fireplace. Waterfall. Window for air. Everyone seated in a circle. Of a sort. In a stone room. It couldn't have been more obvious if there'd been a sign saying SITE OF RITUAL SACRIFICE hanging over the door.

Everyone was an aristocrat, except me. Almost everyone had a title. Risa had mentioned a belief that one big sacrifice would still the planet for a good long while. Maybe indefinitely. The Reanist who'd stopped me in the street had told me killing off one aristocrat at a time wouldn't accomplish anything.

Yet they had been killing them off one at a time. Or at least taking them. Why would they bother if they were just going to have this big party and kill everyone. Why not just invite them to the party with everyone else?

A test run? Proof killing aristocrats would work? There hadn't been an event for months. Not, of course, that that meant anything. Of course killing aristocrats didn't actually calm the world. Not in a geophysical sense, anyway. But someone could probably point to the coincidence and make a convincing argument.

Except no one who wasn't a member of the Triple S knew there had been no events.

This was Lord Yellows' home. He had served the food. He was High Landed. He'd have to be involved, if the Reanists were planning something that evening, but why would he be? Did he have his own reasons for wanting the Crown Prince dead? Surely he couldn't be foolish enough to believe he would get away with it.

On the other hand, if we were all dead, who knew what story he could tell?

What could I do? Who was involved with this? The guards? The servants?

But the Reanists had all been captured at the parade. Risa had said they were.

Everyone working for Yellows had their heads covered.

What was I going to do?

How could I have been so thrice-damned stupid?

But maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was all a coincidence. Everyone said Yellows was eccentric. Maybe he'd stumbled on a description of the Reanist sacrificial rituals and thought they were charming. I could be about to make a huge public fool of myself.

Better humiliated than dead.

Of course, I might not be killed. Not yet. My bad merchant blood might taint the rest. Just one more reason to be grateful for not being an aristocrat.

Stop rambling.

What the hell was I going to do?

I put a hand on Karish's shoulder and subtly pulled him closer. “We have to get everyone out of here,” I whispered. “I think this is a Reanist ritual.” Damn it. What an idiotic way to put it. It demanded doubt.

He stared at me, and I could tell he was wondering whether I'd been nipping at the wine without him noticing. “You what?” he demanded. But he kept his voice low. Good boy.

“Trust me.” I didn't have time to explain it all. We had to think of a way to get everyone out of the manor, or at least out of the room, without alerting whoever was responsible for this.

Karish studied me a few moments more before nodding.

I wasn't relieved. He didn't try to talk me out of it, didn't think the idea was beyond the realm of possibility. Hell.

He looked up towards the Prince.

I could hear movement behind me. I could see guards moving around behind the guests at the other table.

Something slipped before my face and around my throat, squeezing tight, cutting off air. I opened my mouth and no sound came out.