Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

without a penny, just because she married the man she loved rather than the man they chose for her. They were all bastards then, and they’re bastards now. Never trust a Chojiro.”
    “You made a deal with them fast enough,” said Ruby. “You sold out every principle you ever had when you saved the aristos’ asses.” “It was necessary,” said Jack. “It took the Families and their private armies out of the war. With them out of the loop, millions lived who might otherwise have died. Not a bad bargain. What are a few principles compared to people’s lives?”
    “Even if it means most of the guilty go unpunished for generations of crimes against Humanity?”
    Jack turned and glared at her. “That’s pretty sophisticated talk from a killer for hire! When did you ever care about Humanity? When did you ever have any principles?”
    “Never,” said Ruby. “And I never pretended otherwise. But I might have felt differently in time. I believed in you, Jack. And then you turned out to be just like everyone else.”
    It was an old argument, with no end in sight. Hazel turned away and let them get on with it. She looked out across the Chamber, and the crowd seemed to part before her just in time for her to see Owen take Constance Wolfe into his arms and kiss her.
    Finlay Campbell, once again the height of fashion, moved smoothly through the packed crowd, like a shark floating on the currents, basking in a sea of prey. His crushed velvet cutaway frock coat was superbly tailored, snug as a second skin, an electric blue so bright it was almost painful on the eyes. He wore thigh-length bruised-leather boots over canary yellow leggings, and wore a rose red cravat at his throat, tied just untidily enough to show he’d done it himself. Such details were important. He wore a pair of pince-nez he didn’t need, and his long hair was tied back in a single complex plait. Once such mastery of fashion, the epitomie of the fop and dandy, would have won him admiring glances from one and all, and perhaps even a smattering of applause as he passed. But that was long ago, in another lifetime. Finlay had changed during his years as a rebel. His once youthful face was now thin and drawn, with heavy lines at the mouth and eyes. The color had faded from his hair, till it was almost white. He was only in his late twenties, but looked more than ten years older. Although he tried hard, he walked more like a soldier than a man of leisure, and his eyes were frighteningly cold. He looked what he was, hard-worn and dangerous, and all his pretty clothes looked only like a clown’s costume on a killer. People moved quickly to get out of his way, even when he indicated he might like to talk to them. Although he was no longer the Campbell, and leader of his Clan, in many ways he had become his late father, that feared and dangerous man—a thought that never failed to disturb Finlay. His failure to fit in worried him. He’d thought he could just adopt his old dandy persona again, and everyone would accept him as they always had. But he had changed too much, lost his youth and innocence on too many assassination runs for the underground, and he couldn’t go back. Besides, he found the persona so much of an effort these days; the petty politics of Parliament and its hangers-on were nothing compared to the life-and-death struggles of the rebellion. Then everything he did mattered, had made a difference. Now he was just another minor hero, home from the wars, no more important than a thousand others.
    Just another killer pensioned off too soon.
    In the past he’d always been able to slake his need for blood and excitement in the Arenas, as the undefeated champion, the Masked Gladiator. But he’d had to give up that persona when he’d been forced to flee Society and join his love, Evangeline, in the clone and esper underground. His mentor, the original Masked Gladiator, had taken up the role again in Finlay’s absence, so no one would make a connection between the missing Campbell and the missing Gladiator. But the original Masked Gladiator had died during the rebellion, his bloody end caught live by Flynn’s camera as the esper Julian Skye took a vicious revenge for his brother Auric’s death in the Arena. And so that role was lost to Finlay forever.
    Even worse. Auric Skye had actually died at Finlay’s hand, during his time under the Mask. He could never tell Julian that. It would have destroyed their friendship forever.
    And so the