Plus, I was just too short to among the best. Damn it.

     But at least I could join the odd competition, just for the fun of it, without worrying that someone might try stoning me. Just for the fun of it.

     It had taken a while, but I was once more welcome at the bench dancing competitions. I could add my name to the list without half the competitors withdrawing. I could dance, leaping from bench to bench and over the moving bars, without worrying about the stalkers - the four people moving the bars - deliberately crushing my ankles. I could win a round without being booed.

     The residents of High Scape had taken a long time to forgive the Pairs for our failure in regulating the weather that had virtually destroyed everyone’s livelihoods over the past summer. And from some of the comments I heard, some of them still thought we could have done something, but hadn’t. Which didn’t make sense. If we’d been able to control the blizzards in summer, the drastic changes from torrential rain to torturous droughts, why wouldn’t we? What would we have gained from our refusal?

     Sources and Shields could calm the earthquakes, the tornadoes, the volcanoes, all of the other natural disasters that frequently threatened our cities. Sources channeled the forces that created these events, Shields made sure those forces didn’t curl back and destroy the Sources as they worked. We couldn’t do anything about the weather, like rain or snow. Well, nothing reliable. We’d suffered from the same food shortages, the same uncomfortable temperatures, the same danger of getting lost in sudden blizzards. If we could have fixed it all, we would have.

     Whether the regulars, those who were not Sources and Shields, believed us or not, they seemed to have forgiven us. We no longer had to worry about being assaulted in the streets, or given clothing deliberately designed to be ill-fitting. I still didn’t want to eat in taverns, unsure of what unregulated ingredients might have been added to the meal, but I’d finally felt brave enough to join the dancing lists. I’d missed dancing.

     Bench dancing wasn’t actually dancing, and at times I wondered how it had come to be so named. It was a feat of athletics, two people facing each other on either end of two long wooden benches, laid in sand side by side, each bench about a foot high and a hand-span wide. Two people knelt at each end and handled four bars, slightly longer than the benches, rasing them and clashing them together in time to the drums. The dancers were to leap over the bars as they moved without ever standing on both benches at the same time and without falling to the sand.

     Shields learned how to dance the benches in childhood. It was an excellent way to force us to pay attention to our immediate environment, something our nature caused us to neglect. And I’d fallen in love with it upon first introduction. It was such a glorious exercise of every muscle and sense. I just wished I were better at it.

     That day, I made it to the quarter finals before being beaten, and I felt nice and loose and sweaty. I happily shook hands with my beaming opponent and sat down on one of the dressing benches to catch my breath.

     "Much as I esteem you," a pleasant baritone spoke into my ear, "I am happy enough I didn’t wager on you this day. I don’t have the coins to spare."

     I looked up at the young man with the charming smile and an unintimidatingly pleasing countenance. A land poor, coin poor younger son of a less than wealthy lord, Doran Laidley was, dare I say it, my suitor, and I couldn’t be more pleased with him. He made me laugh, he had no dark corners, and he had so far demonstrated no controlling nor obsessive behaviours.

"Off the bench, lordling," I told Doran. "It’s only for contestants."

     "Then why are you sitting on it? You’ve lost."

     I stuck my tongue out at him and stood up, bending over at the waist to stretch out my legs. "I thought you weren’t going to be here today." I’d been counting on it. There was no way to look good while you were bench dancing. The sport required loose-fitting clothing. My hair bounced out of its ties and grew to resemble a bird’s nest, never a good look on a redhead. I got all sweaty. I didn’t shine, I didn’t glow, I sweated. I looked a proper treat, I did.

     Not that I ever looked particularly good or sharp without hours of planning and execution. Still, there were certain depths to which I could sink for which I would prefer there were no witnesses.

     "Sweet Ride came through for me on the second. I decided to count my blessings – and my coins – and move on before I lost my luck."

     With my heel digging into the ground, I pressed the ball of my foot against the leg of the bench and stretched my calf. "From what I understand, it’s unusual for a gambler to know when to quit."

"What can I say? I am unique among men."

     "Uh huh." I smiled. Sometimes Doran demonstrated these trumped up flashes of arrogance that I found just too cute. There were a lot of things about him that were just too cute. "What is that?" I gestured at a piece of jewellery he was wearing on the left side of his chest. Doran wasn’t the type to wear jewellery - he didn’t even wear rings - and this was an unusual piece. A sort of broach, I supposed, made of gold, with the body of it suspended from the pin by a short slender chain.

     "It’s a harmony bob," he said. "For luck."

     I stared at him, shocked. "For luck? What do you mean?"

     "The act of wearing it is supposed to bring me luck," he said slowly.

     I’d known what he meant. That hadn’t been my point. "You don’t actually believe in luck, do you?" How horribly disappointing.

     "No," he said, then he added, "not really. But I like the idea of them, and the look of them."

     "And what do you wish luck for?"

     "Oh," he smiled. "Just life in general."

     Some would say he’d already been granted luck in life in general. "I must head home and clean up."

     "Before you rush off, I want to ask you something."

     Uh oh. Build up to a question was never a good sign.

     Doran opened his purse and pulled out a small cream-colored envelope. "My mother is holding a dinner party next week." He held out the envelope. "I know it’s very short notice, but she would like you to attend. So would I."

     If I were as good a Shield as I liked to think I was, I wouldn’t have said "Your mother?" with quite that tone.

     "I think it’s time you met her, don’t you?"

     Time? Why? "I’m not good with mothers."

     His eyebrows flew up at that. "You don’t kill them, do you?"

     "Not yet." Though Karish’s mother had brought me pretty close. So, at times, had mine.

     "Mine’s a decent sort, or I wouldn’t inflict her on you. And I’ve talked about you so much that she’s ordered me to bring you in the flesh, so she might meet the paragon."

     Paragon? "What in Zaire’s name did you tell her?"

     "That you were beautiful beyond compare, with an intelligence to rival the Empress, and divine humor to keep you from being annoying."

     I stared at him. "So no pressure, then."

     He laughed, and I was pleased that I could make him laugh. "Don’t worry, I let her know you were human. She likes human people."

     What was that supposed to mean? "Was it your intention to screw me into a panic?"

     "That’s something I’d like to see," he said. "You in a panic. May I walk you home?"

     "No you may not," I told him tartly. "And shame on you. Of course I don’t feel comfortable being in your company when I’m this much of a mess."

     He rolled his eyes. "I’ve grown up with sisters, you know. I grew up with Lydia. I happen to know women are actual people who get dirty sometimes."

     "And with all that female influence one would think you’ve learned we don’t like to be seen when we’re dirty." Of course, I’d been seen by everyone at the match, and I would be seen by everyone I passed on the street as I walked home, but this was different. I flicked a hand at Doran. "Be a good lad and run away."

     He bowed with sardonic humor. "As my lady wishes."

     "Oh, shut up."

     "Do let me know when you consider yourself presentable."

     "You’ll be the first."

     Most unique of all, he liked Karish, my Source. And Karish seemed to have no real objection to him. Or so I assumed. Karish called Doran by his personal name and pronounced it properly, which was always a good sign. He never said anything snide about him, and hadn’t yet asked if ‘this one’ was showing any homicidal tendencies. There was a certain reserve in his manner when he spoke of Doran, and a kind of blankness would come over his face, which was not his wont with people he admired, but there were no signs of hostility. So I supposed that meant Karish approved of him, even if he didn’t actually like him.

     There should have been no problem.

     But there was something missing. I didn’t know what. I just knew that when I thought of possibly remaining with him for the rest of my life, there was something in me that cringed away from the idea. I wasn’t sure why. Not that we had to spend the rest of our lives together. Neither of us had ever said anything to imply that was the plan.

     Except now Doran was expecting me to meet his mother. That meant something, didn’t it?

     I raised the envelope to my nose. It smelled nice. Of quality paper, the perfume of the writer, and subtle scents of a home.

     I lived in the Upper Eastern quadrant, where the mid level merchants and minor politicians lived. It was nice enough to have cobblestone streets that ran relatively straight, but not nice enough to avoid hideous skinny buildings that were up to ten stories high. Carriages rattled about, carrying those with business in other quadrants. I walked everywhere, as I rarely left the Upper Eastern quadrant except to go to the observation post, located just outside the city limits, where a Pair, comprised of a bonded Source and Shield, stood watch against destructive events.

     I reached the Triple S boarding house. The only person there was Ben Veritas, the middle aged regular paid by the Triple S to keep our residence in order and cook and clean for us. He took one look at me, clucked in disapproval, and sent me upstairs to get out of my clothes while he drew a bath for me in the antechamber of my suite. I felt pampered beyond measure when I entered my private bathing room and found the iron tub filled with steaming oiled water, fluffy towels warming by the fire, a jug of white wine on a table within easy reach. "Ah, Ben, you spoil me."

     "It is only what is due to someone as fortunate as you. You should appreciate it."

     It was, I thought, an odd thing to say, especially as I had already expressed my appreciation. Or do I’d thought. Perhaps I hadn’t been clear. "Thank you for all of your effort."

     "My pleasure, Shield Mallorough," he said, bobbing his head before backing out of the room.

     What an odd little man.

     I sank into the tub with a sigh of delight. Simple pleasures really were the best. What could be better after a match well danced than soaking into a large tub of warm scented water, feeling dirt scrubbed away and muscles easing while sipping sweep white wine?

     The last couple of months had been wonderful. While the sharp decline in natural disasters had made watches at the Observation Post, more casually called the paranoia stall, a little less interesting, it also made me feel things were finally back to normal. No madmen using their Source abilities to try to shake High Scape to the ground. No Reanists sacrificing aristocrats and infecting the general population with their craziness. Just routine. Go to the Stall and sit seven hours either channeling events or beating Karish at cards. Sometimes both. Then, going out with friends, usually just for drinks, but that was fun enough. Bench dancing, when I could.

     There were art galleries I wanted to take a look at. And maybe I’d learn to paint. That seemed like an activity with a lot of potential rewards.

     After the water and the wine had both gone tepid, I stepped out of the tub and dried off with the warm towels. I brushed out my hair and put on one of my favorite dresses, old and shapeless from frequent washing, soft against my skin and so loose it left my limbs completely unrestrained. I curled up on my settee and immersed myself in the new history text one of my favorite professors at the Shield Academy had given me, sipping at my wine when I turned a page.

     I had lit two candles to combat the thickening darkness and sunk back into the text when a light knock broke into my comfortable little world. "Come in," I called, closing the book over my finger.

     Source Shintaro Karish opened the door and stepped into the room, looking uncharacteristically grim and ... guilty? He was, as usual, beautifully dressed, solid colors and simple lines showing off his slim form. An emerald stud in one ear was hidden by the black hair he’d left untied, which meant he’d been running his hands through it.

     Karish was too good looking. Perfect for a character in a play, simply ridiculous in real life. The slanted black eyes, the slightly curling black hair, the perfect cheekbones and jaw. His skin was slightly golden, his teeth were straight and white. He was slim with slender hands and beautifully held shoulders. When he smiled, the unfortunate recipient lost all ability for independent thought. It was just too stupid.

     He didn’t kiss my cheek in greeting as he usually did. He wouldn’t even look at me, and he was rubbing his hands together in an annoying fidgety manner. "I have some bad news," he announced.

     "How bad?" I asked. He didn’t answer me immediately. I slipped my finger out of my book and set it aside. "Have a seat."

     He didn’t sit. A chill tapped across the back of my shoulders. "I’m really sorry, Lee," he said.

     Just making me feel worse, here. "Don’t try to soften the blow, Taro."

     He chose to take me at my word. "We have to go back to Erstwhile. The Empress is summoning us back."

     "Summoning us?"

     Karish pulled a piece of paper from beneath his belt and held it out to me. After I took it from him he started pacing.

     I unfolded the letter with reluctance.

     It was addressed to Taro and was filled with warm greetings and enthusiastic declarations of missing him. He really had made a favorable impression on the Empress.

     It was a sizeable letter. The relevant paragraph at the end was this:

     There were those who dreamed of travel. I wasn’t one of them. Weeks of riding and saddle sores and bad food. Making do with rinsing the face and hands instead of bathing. No roof, no floor, no bed. Not comfortable at all. "Why does she want me there? And why did she put it like that? So that you might be made more comfortable."

     He grabbed my glass of wine and finished it, wincing at the taste. "This is why I’m saying sorry."

     I waited.

     "Back when I was visiting with the Empress, she didn’t want me to leave."

     "That’s hardly surprising."

     He shot me a look of impatience. All right, no humor allowed.

     "Whatever you might believe, I didn’t want to be there. Court life is boring. All the stupid politics and the back-stabbing and the games. There was nothing for me to do there. I didn’t know anything about law or politics or social policy. I didn’t care who was sleeping with who and what the implications of that would be for the building of the Stanwick drains or the passing of the paper coin bill. It was all just - " He threw up his hands as though finding words to describe it all simply wasn’t worth the effort. "And I couldn’t go anywhere alone. No matter where I went, there was some court dweller tagging along behind me. And if I so much as hinted that their company wasn’t welcome, all of a sudden I was some arrogant parasitic cicisbeo who needed to be sliced down a peg. It was not a good time. So after a while, when it looked like the Empress wasn’t going to dismiss me any time soon, I asked Her Majesty if I could go home. She was ..." he hesitated briefly, "displeased."

     So was I. Why wouldn’t he want to go home? Had she planned on keeping him there forever?

     "She wanted to know why I wanted to leave. I told her I had a duty to perform. She told me no duty could be higher than one’s duty to the Empress."

     Selfish wench. Duty to do what? Provide decoration? She was really willing to take a badly needed Source out of service so she could have something pretty to look at? Why didn’t she just have a portrait done of him and hang it in her bedroom?

     "I told her I missed my home. She told me a mere few months spent in a city couldn’t make it one’s home."

     I had to agree with her there.

     "I told her I was missing my friends and my life. She said that was impossible, that Erstwhile was filled with cultural resources and entertainments and the most fascinating people. There was nothing to miss." He started swearing then. "I hate talking to royalty. You have to choose your words so carefully. They are never wrong and they are ridiculously easy to offend. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it."

     I could sympathize with that. I hated dealing with them, too. It was like they thought they weren’t just people like the rest of us, and that they could bend reality into whatever shape they liked. Of course, royalty weren’t the only ones guilty of that little delusion.

     "I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think of what to say. And I was afraid to ask anyone else for advice, in case it got back to the Empress. So eventually I came up with an idea that was, well, pretty stupid." And he looked at me almost fearfully.

     I felt my eyes narrow. "What did you say to her, Karish?"

     "Well, I didn’t say this at first," he told me quickly. "It was only after weeks of trying to hint about being dismissed, and making all those excuses, that I decided to bend the truth a little."

     "Bend which truth how?"

     "Well, you know that there are those rumors about Sources and Shields and Pairs."

     "Yes-s-s-s-s." All sorts of rumors. Regulars seemed to find the very notion of Sources and Shields and bonding exotic and romantic, and believed all sorts of bizarre things about us. So he needed to narrow it down a little.

     "Well, someone asked me a question that I thought might be useful."

     "Stop saying well, Karish."

     "Stop calling me Karish, Lee," he snapped back. Then he pulled in a deep breath. "I was asked if, once bonded, I experienced any difficulty being separated from my Shield for any length of time."

     My eyebrows shot up in surprise. I hadn’t heard that one before.

     "I, being an honest lad, was about to tell him the truth, when an evil impulse, no doubt acquired from you, overtook me."

     A horrible thought came to me. "Please tell me you didn’t."

     "I confided to him with great trepidation that yes, for certain Pairs it was very difficult to be separated once bonded, and you and I just happened to be one such Pair."

     "All those misconceptions about Pairs out there, and you decided you had to add one more?"

     "What would you have done to get away?" he challenged me.

     I had no idea. Such a thing would never happen to me. I wasn’t Shintaro Karish, ex-lord and the Stallion of the Triple S.

     "And of course, the secret I had divulged in confidence was spread throughout the entire court in about two days. Many of them found it quite romantic."

     "Romantic?" I echoed weakly.

     "Romantic," he confirmed. He was no longer apologetic. Rather accusatory, actually. "How could it be anything else? The dashing Shintaro Karish, surrounded by some of the most powerful and beautiful members of society, pining for his Shield back in High Scape. One clever fellow even composed a ballad about it."

     I poured another glass of wine and took a large swallow, hoping it would stop the sinking sensation in my stomach. I wanted to curl up in a hole somewhere. Everyone in Erstwhile thought I was in love with Karish. It was so humiliating.

     More drastic than telling the whole city he was in love with me? What was more drastic than that?

     "So I stopped eating," he said. "Some greens to make sure I didn’t keel over, but that was it. And I slept as little as possible. Drank a lot of coffee." He grimaced with disgust. He didn’t like coffee. "I went to every party I was invited to, went on every outing I could think of, to make sure I didn’t get much sleep. I looked a wreck in about two weeks."

     "Good lord, Taro." He starved himself? What was the matter with him? There had to have been a better option. "You can’t do things the easy way, can you?"

     "I didn’t know what else to do, Lee. Tell me what I should have done."

     I didn’t know. Karish really couldn’t afford to displease the Empress. She also knew something strange had gone on in Middle Reach. And wasn’t she a mean-spirited bitch, to hold it over him like that? But to abuse himself in that way.... "That’s why you looked so terrible when you came back."

     He smiled bitterly. "You accused me of going to too many parties," he reminded me. "You were right, of course."

     Thank you, Karish. Make me feel like a worm. I really needed that.

     "Eventually, the Empress believed that I was in some amount of danger and she dismissed me. But she’s firmly convinced that we have some deep, mystical love and we can’t bear to be separated. So this time she wants you to come with me."

     "I’m sorry, Lee," he snapped. He wasn’t sorry. Not anymore. And why should he apologize, really? He hadn’t planned any of it. It was the Empress’ fault.

     How could she do that? Just snap her fingers and rearrange our lives? We had jobs to do, damn it. "So we’re going to Erstwhile."

     "I’m sorry," Karish said, and this time he seemed to mean it. "I know you were really enjoying things being calm."

     Yes, I was. I should have known better than to think it would last. I’d obviously jinxed it.