The Hero Strikes Back (4 page)

“Mind your own business, dear,” my mother chided me in a preoccupied tone, her eyes never leaving Karish's face.

He laughed.

I went back to the cutlery drawer. Perhaps reintroducing my mother and my Source wasn't the best idea after all. They were both impossible.

“Most people who aren't my children call me Teshia, Lord Shintaro.”

“Ah.” A flicker of discomfort crossed his face. “It's just Shintaro, now. Taro, preferably.”

“I told you that, Mother.” I let an edge develop in my voice. This was a sensitive subject for Karish, and I had warned her about it. She should have known better.

But my mother was unapologetic. “Some things transcend officialdom.”

“Sit down, Taro.” I returned the bottle of white wine to the icebox and pulled a bottle of red from the cupboard next to it.

“Yes, do,” said my mother, moving back to the stove. “And tell us what the Empress' court is like.” She poured the stew from the pot to a bowl and set it on the table.

Karish snickered as he sat. “They'll be breaking their necks any time now.”

I thought about that for a moment, then shook my head. Context wasn't going to help with that one. “Huh?” I said.

Karish picked up a serviette and refolded it. “Prince Gifford came to a party wearing gold. All gold clothes and some kind of gold cosmetic all over his skin, and gold glittery stuff in his hair. People went crazy for it. And at the next party, at least half the guests were entirely in blue, or entirely in red, and so forth. No gold, of course. That belonged to the Prince. Yellow was as close as anyone dared to go.” He jeered. “Looked ridiculous.”

“Oh, and what color did you prefer?” I asked him, filling up his wine glass.

He looked at me with scorn. “I did not wear paint,” he sniffed.

“Ah, that's why only half the guests wore it,” I teased him. “It must have been a horrible quandary for them, poor nobles. Do they follow the illustrious example of their prince, or that of the dazzling . . . Shintaro Karish.” Oops. I'd almost said ‘lord.'

He stuck his tongue out at me.

Mother looked a little shocked at that. I was, too, really. Karish was usually a bit more reserved—uh, maybe the more appropriate word was adult—around people he didn't know well. But perhaps he was tired.

Mother placed a bowl of salad and a platter of sliced bread on the table and took her seat. “Certainly after all those months at court you saw more than absurd fashions?” She ladled some stew onto his plate.

“Oh, of course. Lots of drama. Lots of intrigue. Who was friends with whom. Who was sleeping with whom. Who had fallen out with whom.” He smiled, a wry expression. “It reminded me a lot of the academy, actually. Only with harder edges and more serious consequences.”

I suddenly had a vision of growing up at the Source academy. It wasn't pretty. Just imagine, day after day surrounded by hyper-emotional Sources. While they were children. And adolescents. What a nightmare.

Karish tasted the stew. “Teshia, this is delicious.”

“Thank you,” my mother answered, her tone pensive as her mind was clearly on other matters. “What do you think of the movement to put members of the merchant class on the council?”

Karish shrugged. “The general answer is that it's a good idea. They no doubt have a better understanding of economics than your average risto, which will make for a better budget plan, if nothing else. Er, maybe. But I do hope the merchant class isn't expecting some kind of revolution should their members make it to council. They'll just likely take on the opinions of their aristocratic colleagues.”

Mother pursed her lips. “That's a cynical attitude.”

“Wands are evil.”

Mother cocked her head to one side. “I'm afraid I don't understand,” she admitted.

Karish's expression was one of untrustworthy innocence. “Understand what?” he asked.

“Why I'm talking politics when you must be sick of dealing with them,” said my mother, though I knew that wasn't what she had been thinking about.

“Well, I am happy to be getting away from it,” Karish said. “There's too much ritual involved in everything the courtiers do, from saying good morning to asking someone to dance.” And all of a sudden, a look of dismay blossomed over his face.

Oh no. “What's wrong?” I asked him in alarm.

He grimaced. “I have to go to that ball party thing Yellows is throwing for Gifford,” he said sourly. “There was an invitation waiting for me in the hall.”

I started laughing.

“It's not funny.”

“It's hilarious.” I could think of nothing more boring than a party thrown by aristocrats. Oh, I'd heard of the twisted things some of them got to, when they indulged in private house parties, but this sort of affair, widely known and with the very proper Prince in attendance, would no doubt be as dull as cricket.

“Cruel, evil woman.”

“Are you going to let him speak that way to me, Mother?”

Mother wasn't listening to us. She appeared to be studying Karish. “I don't suppose you're wearing a wig.”

Karish appeared startled. He wasn't the only one. My head was hurting with all the leaps in subject. “No. Why?”

“That hair is wasted on a man.”

He grinned. “Shall I shave it off?”

“Do I want to win the acrimony of every woman in High Scape?”

“And every man,” I muttered into my wine.

“Please don't encourage her,” said Karish, but I wasn't sure who he was talking to.

“But you might want to trim it a little.”

“Mother!” How Karish wore his hair was absolutely none of her business. How could she?

Again, she knew no shame. “And you,” she said to me. “You have this beautiful red hair that you insist on wearing scraped back from your face in that unappealing fashion.”

So I didn't like my hair hanging in my face. Who cared for fashion?

“Not always,” said Karish, spearing his last morsel of meat. Mother gave him more stew. “She dresses it nicely for parties and whatnot.”

No no, it wasn't at all irritating to be spoken about in that way.

“She had it scraped back like that for Risa's party the other night.”

Hey, with all that flaming food being flung about I was the safest person in the room.

“And this horrible—”

“It was not horrible!”

“—shapeless—”

“It wasn't shapeless.”

“—drab sack of a gown.”

“I thought you were going to give this a rest?” Because surely it wasn't right to criticize my appearance like that. Surely it was rude.

“I lied.”

Karish snickered.

“I will dress in the way that makes me comfortable, Mother.” Especially after hearing her go on about it. Yes, I was that obstinate, contrary and petty. I was not going to let her shoehorn me into anything now. Not even if I liked it.

“Yes, that's all very upfront, this is me, take it or leave it brutally honest,” my mother said dismissively. “And while Erin demonstrated his maturity and depth of character by being able to see beyond the bland exterior, don't you think you should reward his remarkable skills of perception by giving him something pretty to look at next time?”

No. Start as you mean to go on, I always say. Besides, expecting me to be pretty was unrealistic.

Karish straightened in his chair. “Who is this?” he asked.

Thank you, Mother. Like he doesn't tease me enough. “Risa's brother.”

“Lee's new conquest,” my mother added with an impish smile.

More wine. Definitely needed more wine. “You can cease and desist with the wedding plans, Mother. I'm not interested.”

Mother looked stunned. “Why not?” she demanded, and to my ear it sounded like there was an edge of actual anger in her voice. “He's perfectly charming.”

“He's too good looking,” I announced, and immediately wished I hadn't. When did my tongue get so loose? It would have been fine had I said that when there wasn't an astonishingly good-looking man in the room. I could have explained why gorgeous men tended to be dangerous and unreliable and a little lacking in the personality department. Of course, Karish had personality, and he wasn't dangerous or unreliable as long as I didn't sleep with him, but how could I say all that in front of him without sounding like an idiot? “Besides, he's a solicitor.”

“What's wrong with him being a solicitor?” my mother asked, her voice rising very high in her exasperation.

I shrugged. “They're too slick. And too quick with their words. I'd never win an argument.”

“Zaire, girl, you're getting ridiculous.” Mother wrenched a slice of bread apart with unnecessary enthusiasm. “No doctors because they're all quacks. No moneylenders because their priorities are skewed. No sailors because they're at sea most of the time.”

Though, to think about it, that was probably an asset. Really. Keep the romance alive by not seeing each other too often.

“No one in the Triple S because that's
too
incestuous. No one involved in politics or city planning because they're too boring. And now no solicitors because they can outtalk you. Seriously, child, the way you're going, there aren't going to be any professions left.”

Karish was watching me. And hey, the return of the expressionless mask. I hadn't seen that for a while. Of course, he'd been away.

“What's next?” my mother asked. “The color of their eyes?”

I sighed, rested my chin in the palm of my hand, and watched my mother. Sometimes it was best just to let things slide.

“Well, Teshia,” Karish drawled, “While I agree Lee's list of restrictions wanders some into the ludicrous—” let it slide “—I can't be surprised that she's being so severe with herself. She has appalling taste in men.”

I didn't glare at him. Really, I didn't. I just looked at him kind of hard. “One word,” I said. “Amanda.”

He glared, though. “She was not—” He cut himself off.

What, one of his lovers? Perhaps not anymore, but she had been at one time. If my mother weren't there I would have had a field day with him. His sex life resembled a parade. Lots of material for snappy retorts. But not in front of my mother.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a familiar sly smile that was never good news for me. “Teshia,” he said, his voice low and silky. “Lee is always so reserved, so much in control. It's hard to imagine what she was like as a little girl.”

Oh bloody hell.

But my mother didn't light up with glee, as I would have expected. She did smile, but it was a sad expression. “Shield children aren't like other children, Taro,” she told him. “Lee was always a little . . . serious. Not so inclined to get into anything foolish. I wish I had some embarrassing stories to tell you, but those kinds of incidents are usually the result of impulse. As I understand it, Shields don't have much in the way of impulse. Besides, she was very young when we had to send her away. We didn't have a lot of time with her.”

The awkward moment didn't last long, because Karish reached across the table and tweaked my hair. “
I
can get her to embarrass herself,” he promised. “And then I'll tell you all about it.”

My mother's smile brightened. “Thank you, Taro. I would really appreciate it.”

Aye, thank you, Taro.

Once we had all eaten our fill, my mother covered a small fake yawn with a delicate hand. Subtle as a snowstorm. The only part of the act that wasn't blatantly obvious was the motive. “I should be getting back to the Lion.”

“I'll take care of the dishes, Mother. Thank you for the excellent meal.”

“Yes, thank you,” Karish added hastily. “It was wonderful.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it.” Mother leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Good night, love.”

“'Night, Mother.”

Mother looked at Karish, reaching out to push back a lock of black hair from his forehead. He didn't flinch back, as I probably would have. He was used to people touching him. “I like you,” my mother said. “I'm glad my daughter is working with a person like you.”

His eyes widened. I heard him swallow. “Thank you.” His voice had a bit of a rasp to it.

What was that about?

Mother left. Karish looked down at the table, tapping his plate with his finger.

I stacked the plates and carried them to the sink. Karish followed me. “Where's Ben?”

“He's been ill. We're not sure what it is. He claims old age.”

“Ah.” Then he shocked me by searching for the dish towel.

I raised an eyebrow. The idea of Lord Shintaro Karish, whether he actually had a title or not, doing domestic chores was just wrong.

My mother was brilliant. She had boiled water as she cooked and left it on the stove. It was still hot but not painfully so when I poured it into the sink. I never thought of doing that myself.

“Her Grace is coming to High Scape,” Karish said quietly.

I scraped some soap from the bar into the sink. “Who?”

“The Dowager Duchess of Westsea.”

I hesitated a moment. His mother. “Well, it's been a good while since you've seen her.” I handed him a soapy dish.

He snorted. “I've gone a good seventeen years without seeing her.”

What could I say to that? “Oh.”

“Apparently she had been on some kind of retreat in the country—”