That was a motive I could appreciate.

  I drank my wine. I looked at the stars, wondering which one we’d all come from. It was very odd to think that out there, there were other people, living whatever strange lives they lived, with no idea that we existed.

  “I like you, Shintaro Karish,” I admitted. I prided myself on being honest. Sometimes that meant saying what was pleasant, too.

  “Of course you do,” he answered. “How could you not?”

  I smiled.

  Karish was the Source that I had.

  It was a good thing.

  Continue reading for a special preview of

  Moira J. Moore’s next novel

  The Hero Strikes Back

  Available September 2006 from Ace Books

  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 doorframe, 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 LaMonte 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 reveling 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.

  “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.

 

 

  Moira J. Moore, Resenting the Hero

 

 

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