Through Fire (Darkship Book 4) (39 page)

Misfit

“We shall have a state funeral, of course,” Simon said. He was directing the cleanup of his palace, which was indeed charred and half-destroyed between Rose Parr’s depredations and the bombardment.

Mephistopheles, Simon’s big black tomcat, wound around his legs, behaving as though he’d never disappeared and there had been no upheaval at all around here. Where he’d been during the fighting no one knew, but he showed up slick and well-fed, and acting as though the fuss Simon made over his reappearance were an overreaction.

We had, against all hope, against all reason, won. Not that it was a permanent victory or a cost-free one. Too many people had died in the fight the night before. And the seacity was a mess. Simon’s loyal troops were going street by street and house by house, partly to catch any invaders and partly to catch revolutionaries, but mostly to offer help.

And Simon was in the most intact room in his house: the ballroom. He wore an impeccable, and gaudy, silk outfit and he looked strangely happy. Next to him were Royce and Martha Remy and Lucius Keeva.

They’d had a long discussion with Simon on the problems of the situation. Martha and Lucius were, after all, experts in psychological warfare, and they had talked him into not acting the fool for a change.

But he was strangely animated, and said, “But I am allowed one last piece of display, right? Having died a hero, one deserves a great funeral, right? There will be a corpse on display, at least if a corpse can be procured, and we will have corteges and…It’s a pity they no longer have a tradition of having games in honor of the dead man, isn’t it? I’d like a hecatomb, too, something showy, though I suppose sacrificing a hundred flyers wouldn’t be as much display as sacrificing horses, and I like horses. I don’t want them killed.”

“Simon,” I said impatiently.

And Martha, who was more patient than I, said, “You destroyed more than a hundred last week. Have that for a hecatomb.”

Simon pursed his lips. “I suppose,” he said. Then he turned to me, and suddenly the world spun on its tail. I was in the ballroom, now devoid of couples and dancing and music, and Simon St. Cyr, ruler of a vast domain, was about to propose.

If spaceship mechanics had no place in a fairy tale, how much less fighting women with various wounds hastily patched up and barely healed. Unlike others, I’d not rated regen, but I had bled.

I’d bought my citizenship in this world. I’d paid for it in blood. I’d paid for it in tears, in horror and in heartbreak. I’d paid for it in the dark of night, when I’d screamed myself hoarse into a ring that might be giving my position away to the enemy.

I was not going to pay for bed and board, or repay Simon’s admittedly great kindness, with my body nor my life. I’d promised Alexis I’d look after Simon, but I’d also told him I would not marry Simon.

“No,” I said. “Before you ask, the answer is no.”

“But,” Simon opened his hands. “
Enfin
, Zen, you are cruel. Here I am making a great sacrifice, for the good of Liberte seacity, for the good of the world, and you won’t even give me a little palliative to sweeten it up.” His eyes shone with mischief that gave the lie to his plaintive words. I realized with a shock that he was teasing me. No one had ever teased me. Not like that. It felt unexpectedly good. It felt like belonging and having friends.

Most of my life, I hadn’t known who I was. Or rather, I was who my parents told me I was, because I was faster, smarter, stronger and that alone defined me. Even knowing Kit and Athena had given me no one like myself to compare myself to, because Kit was younger than I and Athena was a stranger in our world. But now I’d met many who were as fast, as smart, as strong as myself.

And in finding people like me, I’d found where I was different, where I was myself. I was Zen Sienna and I didn’t have to look outward to define myself. I could be at ease and have friends.

I smiled at Simon, then leaned down and brushed his cheek with my lips. “I appreciate your sacrifice,” I said. “I do. And I shall be a sister to you.”

His eyebrow rose. “A sister?”

“I think Alexis was always your big brother, in a way.”

“Ah. Alexis. Yes. He—”

“Sir.” This was Royce, sounding put out. “Truly we can’t delay. If we’re going to do this properly, I need time. And this is not a job I think we can rush.”

“Ah, no,” Simon said. His eyes glinted with pure enjoyment. “I have to have a quite different face in order to be the war hero to preside over my own funeral.”

Lucius said, “Sorry. I know you wanted to ah…pan for gold, but this truly is the only solution.”

Over the last few hours they’d hammered it together. Simon could not rule as Simon. People knew he was, after all, a Mule. And in a seacity whose culture wanted everyone to be equal and not just equal before the law, there weren’t enough secret Usaians to allow him to continue ruling. But there also weren’t enough Usaians to govern themselves. The scarred, broken, scared city needed a savior.

It is the sad habit of humans in time of extreme stress to look for the mythical man on a white horse, and if we didn’t provide Liberte with one, one would arise.

But Olympus wanted its alliance, and the person who rose must be someone who hadn’t rebelled against Simon, or at least wasn’t known to have done so.

The Good Men would punish that. But if it was someone who had been loyal to Simon there would be no affront to the Good Men, and Liberte, having proven a tough nut to crack, would be allowed to go on, like Olympus was allowed to go on.

And so it had been agreed that like the Mules of old, Simon would take the place of himself and pretend to be a normal, unenhanced human. His features would be altered by Alard. If any of Simon’s alternate bodies remained, a viewing would be contrived, and certainly a grand funeral for the dead Simon St. Cyr.

Simon kissed my hand, turned around and left with Royce Alard and Lucius Keeva, saying, “I still haven’t decided what to call myself. Do you think Joseph Martin is too big a giveaway?”

Martha met my gaze.

“Do you think he’ll ever stop playing the fool?” I asked.

She gave me a wan smile. “He must. I’d feel better though if I knew—If I knew—”

“That he wasn’t one?” I asked.

She smiled again. “More that, that power won’t do to him what it did to his…father. That he won’t grow to like it so much that he will do anything to keep it.”

I did my best to smile back. “He won’t. He is a romantic, you see. He really only is doing this for his people. He wants to go trek the territories and map them anew. He wants to climb tall mountains. He wants to pan for gold.”

“Pan for gold!” she said. And then, “I’m surprised you didn’t accept him.”

“What, and play Josephine to his Napoleon, until we can arrange his exit in a way Liberte will self-govern? Not for me. And besides, I don’t love him. And I’m not free.”

“Brisbois?”

“Last night, a small Usaian ceremony,” I said. “He’s returned to the fold.”

She nodded again. “And you’re going to go right away from it all?”

“To the territories,” I said. “This world has a bewildering space and variety, and I intend to see a lot of it.”

Martha managed a smile. “And Mailys? I understand she’s found out who she truly is and was shocked?”

“She’ll be living with the Duforts. She’s too young for all this. Was always too young to work with Alexis, but Alexis wanted her under his eye, in case her mother tried to convince her or kidnap her. But now she can go live with the Duforts while Corin is in medical training, and learn what it is to be young and looked after.”

“Well, I wish you luck and happiness.”

“Oh, she’ll be happy,” Alexis said from the door. “I’ll make sure of it. I intend this marriage to work.”

He stood in the doorway of the ballroom, looking perfectly incongruous in broomer attire, wearing his backpack and holding mine. I put mine on.

“I hope we’ll see each other again,” Martha said, shaking our hands.

“We will,” Brisbois said. “I promised Simon I’d come back and knock some sense into him if he was overcome by power lust. While I don’t think that’s likely, I don’t trust him not to play the fool and try to have some grand adventure. So I’ll be back. But for now, we’re going to enjoy our freedom for a while.” He turned to me. “Are you ready,
ma petite
?”

I nodded and gave him my hand, and we walked out, across the lawns that were being repaired, past the myriad workmen restoring the palace to a version of paradise.

Our brooms were waiting and the Earth was ours.