The Imperial Guard, Chapter 10

The Imperial Guard, Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Either Victor was imagining things, or the attitude he received from Damian and the others as they left had been decidedly chilly.

No one, though, was chillier than Chris. As Victor handed the boy the location of the prospective allies he’d be meeting, Chris shot him a glare that could melt steel before gritting out, “Understood.” Chris wasn’t the only one. Even Damian, though he never voiced any accusation, had been looking at Victor suspiciously. No one knew where Catalin had disappeared to in such a hurry, but each of them was smart enough to figure out that Victor did.

The thought didn’t ease Victor’s anxiety much.

“Remember to be quick about it,” Victor reminded them, trying to sound firm. “There will be safer ways to get in touch with them, so all you need to do tonight is pass on the basic information. You shouldn’t arrive back here any later than 10:00, understand?”

They only muttered in response, turning and shuffling out the door. Talia was the last to exit, and before leaving, she gave Victor one last searching glance, as if attempting to see through him. Victor couldn’t help but shudder. Talia had been nine years old when she met him, and already shrewd for her age; with all the time they’d spent together since then, she understood him better than the other children. Being on the receiving end of that stare was something he’d hoped to avoid.

“So they figured it out?”

Victor almost jumped as he spun around to find his daughter standing behind him, arms crossed. “T… Try to make some noise when you approach people, Amara,” he breathed. Maybe raising his daughter among former Myrrh spies wasn’t the best idea.

“Dad…” Amara frowned. “Why did you make him go?”

That stopped him for a moment. “… I didn’t make him do anything,” he said. “I told him that he could wait for a night where someone else could come with him.”

“And how did you say that, Dad?” Amara sighed, running a hand through her short hair. “Like you’d rather have him do anything else? Like those stuck-up bastards were going to scold you if he said no?”

“That’s not it at all-”

“Or, I don’t know, maybe he took your offer to wait in a bad way? Thinking you were implying he couldn’t do it? I don’t know.” She shrugged. “The point is, you shouldn’t have even asked.”

“He’s an adult, Amara.” Victor paused to calm himself. “I trusted him to make that decision for himself.”

“Adult?” she repeated with a bark of a laugh. “He’s three years older than me! Though I shouldn’t be surprised. Damian was younger than that.”

He flinched. Damian was a subject neither of them enjoying bringing up. “He understands his position,” he said, his tone growing sharper despite himself.

“If that’s the case, I understand my position, too!” She jabbed a finger to her chest. “So why don’t I have a say in any of this? Didn’t I say last night that I’d give it a try?”

“And I told you to let me handle things for now.” Victor clenched and unclenched his fists. “I don’t want you to have to deal with those people.”

“What about them?” she challenged. “They can’t order me around.”

“And that’s why I don’t want you to have to deal with them,” he said. “If you make things hard for them-”

“I don’t care if I’m disliked.” Amara placed a hand on her hip.

“They wouldn’t stop at disliking you,” Victor warned, eyes narrowing. “They could have made Cat do something much worse. This is a comparatively easy job.”

“One that you didn’t even want him to do!”

“Which I told him.” Or had he? Victor could have sworn he’d told Catalin that, if it were up to him, he’d wait. But when he thought about it, he couldn’t remember saying the words. Shakily, he repeated, “It was his decision.”

Amara let out a snort of disgust as she turned back towards her room – apparently, his comeback was so weak that she wasn’t even gracing the argument with a last word. Victor leaned against the wall, biting his lip. Amara was overreacting. Of course he’d properly told Catalin to wait. There was no way he’d pressure Celeste’s baby cousin into something he didn’t want to do.

***

Chris wasn’t sure who to be more furious at: Victor, or Catalin himself.

Though his indecision didn’t last long. It wasn’t a sure thing, how much Victor knew about the situation. And it was Catalin – dear, stupid Cat – who had walked out with some poor lie about an errand.

Of course, Catalin had handled a job successfully on his own just the previous night. But that was completely different! Chris had been nearby then, able to get to him quickly in case anything wrong. He’d at least known where Catalin was at all!

He clenched his fist around his spear, teeth gritted. It was insulting. There he was, promising he’d look after Catalin, and the idiot aristocrat wasn’t even being honest with him. Of course, he hadn’t promised that out loud; Catalin was far too easily embarrassed. But what else was he supposed to do? Catalin was intelligent, but impossible to leave alone.

“Christopher!”

Chris jumped as Saphie called out to him from further down the road, where the other five had gotten ahead of him. Saphie waved, as if he couldn’t see her. “Come walk up here so we don’t lose you!”

Chris managed to stem most of the reactions that came to mind, but his eyes widened. First he was sprayed down with perfume, now he was invited to walk with the others? Maybe they were finally getting used to him.

The look he received from Damian dashed those hopes within seconds.

“Well, this is where I get off,” the leader announced as they reached a fork in the street, looking away from Chris and smiling at the others. “My designated spot is that way.”

“Mine is in that direction, as well,” Talia said, turning to the remaining three. “You’ll be all right from here?”

“Try not t’ scare anyone!” Kite guffawed, poking Talia in the shoulder. Saphie nodded and smiled to Talia’s question, and when he realized that the blonde was looking to him for an answer, Chris nodded as well.

When Damian and Talia were out of earshot, Saphie began walking again with a deep sigh. “Honestly, Leader can be such a child,” she lamented, shaking her head. “Isn’t that right, Christopher?”

“Huh?” Chris stared back at her, mystified.

“Treating you like that.” Saphie looked equally mystified that he wasn’t agreeing. “After the fine job you did last night. It’s quite immature of him.”

Chris colored, looking down sharply. “T-Thank you,” he stammered, “but I made plenty of mistakes, as well.”

“Hones’ly, Turner!” Kite clapped an arm hard around Chris’ shoulders. “That humility bullshit is gettin’ old.”

“Sorry,” Chris muttered to the ground, feeling himself turning even redder. As happy as he was to hear that, he realized, he wanted Catalin there. It was easier to address the others when Catalin was there.

As if reading his mind, Saphie’s smile thinned. “You’re still concerned?”

“About Cat?” Letting the arm drop to his side, Kite huffed. “If it wasn’t such a crime to damage a face like that, I’d punch him. Slipping out without a word when I went and said I’d protect him.”

Saphie raised an eyebrow. “You told him that?”

“Course not. What kind of sap do you think I am?” Kite said. “’Sides, he should understand that well enough, yeah? He’s no idiot.”

“Perhaps.” And just as Chris was about to feel mortified that he and Kite had something in common, he realized that Saphie felt the same. “But I suppose it’s understandable.”

“How’s that?” Kite asked, frowning.

“I was thinking about it little earlier.” Saphie faced Chris again. “For example… Christopher, what would you say your upbringing was like?”

“My upbringing?” Chris repeated, surprised. “… it was different, I guess.”

“Of course,” she laughed, “I figured that. But… you had some kind of proper family?”

Chris paused, shifting his weapon from hand to hand. He was about to describe that as ‘different,’ too: he hadn’t lived with his mother and brothers for years, and he rarely even saw them. His mother and father were both in the Imperial military during the coup, and his father had been killed by the Carmine soldiers that Alexander Tremont had led in. While his mother didn’t think Chris was a traitor, she had difficulty treating him normally.

But when he thought of how he’d lived with his uncle Amos, what he said was, “Yeah, I had a family.”

“I’m the same.” Saphie linked her hands behind her back. “When I was younger, I would have said I had a strange upbringing. I mean, how many children learn how to lead prayer services, practice medicine, and use lethal poisons?” She laughed. “But my father was always there. So I lived as normally as I could have lived. Damian’s the same, you know, even though he doesn’t live with his family! He’s always been with Victor and Amara.”

“… yeah,” Kite said at length, “I guess my parents were pretty normal, too. And Tal… well, her parents aren’t around, but Vic brought her to live with us. Mama and Pop’ve never treated her any different. Actually, they prob’ly like her better than me.”

“Exactly.” Saphie nodded. “Most of us have had something, at least. But Cat… he probably didn’t have anything, did he?”

Chris thought of the Carmine soldier he’d seen the previous, declaring that he’d take Catalin back, and shook his head hard. “No, he didn’t.”

“Right…” Saphie’s smile switched off. “So he probably doesn’t know what to make of people putting him first.”

“Idiot,” Kite growled, punching the palm of his hand. “If it’s such a hard concept, I’ll make him get it.”

For once, Chris agreed with Kite. But unlike Kite, Chris had no qualms with putting a dent in that face.

***

“What’s it to you?”

Catalin did his best to keep his expression mild: somewhat troubled, a tiny bit distraught, and very confused at such scrutiny. It was difficult to maintain when he kept fantasizing about slugging the man in the face. “I didn’t mean anything by it, sir,” he said humbly. “I just want to know where the military headquarters is.” He cursed himself repeatedly in his head. How did he forget the way to a place he’d been right next to last night, anyway?

“And I just want to know what you think you’ll be doing there at 8:00 at night.” The man who Catalin had foolishly asked directions from snorted. “Don’t think I like the sound of that, what with those Myrrh ghosts running around.”

“We’re officers,” said the man’s little hanger-on, looking anything but as he leered.

Catalin quelled a sigh as he pushed back the brim of his cap to show more of his face, before constructing a look of perfect, delicate despair. “I’m sorry…” He wrung his hands, venturing a shy glance at the men. “I’m such an idiot, aren’t I? Forgetting an important thing like this…”

To Catalin’s relief and horror, the soldier colored deeply. “It… it’s your business, of course,” the man said gruffly, shoving his hands in his pockets before giving Catalin a detailed set of directions.

Catalin managed to thank the soldiers before hurrying away, clenching his teeth. He hated to resort to the ‘delicate flower’ act – did it have to be so embarrassing? - but pragmatism had won out over pride again. Though he had to admit it was useful. And he never would have guessed it would work on people other than noblewomen and maids. Rakan had never mentioned that when teaching him all those charming maneuvers. Then again, Rakan was always charming people, even if he didn’t seem to notice it most of the time.

Rakan had it easier than most people. He had a great smile, one that could put just about anyone at ease, and he was always trying to coax one out of Catalin, too. “People will treat you better,” he’d say, “if you smile more often.”

A gust of cold wind blasted through the street, and Catalin drew his coat tighter around himself. Now that he was thinking about Rakan again, it was tough to stop. Not that he wanted to. He could tell that Chris was concerned about their meeting with Rakan the previous night, and he didn’t want to get into the habit of proving Chris right.

It doesn’t matter, he told himself, shaking his head hard. Rakan always put his country over everything else. I knew that the entire time.

He tried to focus on something else. He was passing through one of the night markets: strings of lights decorated the edges of the buildings, and the people working in the stalls were shouting out their 8:00 PM sale prices. Catalin heard that this particular market knocked down their prices as the night wore on.

It was really no wonder he’d completely forgotten a place he’d just been to the previous night. For all the times he’d walked through the capital so far, he couldn’t remember actually looking at his surroundings much.

For people like Victor and Reiselle, the city elicited feelings of reverence. Victor was always talking the way the capital was before the occupation. Reiselle had said once that she and Gwendolyn Doyle had grown up in the red light district, though she hadn’t offered any more information than that. Even the other Guardians saw nothing but possibilities in every building they looked at.

But though Catalin had decided against returning to Anwar, he wasn’t the least bit convinced he could overthrow Carmine, either.

He supposed he didn’t have much of a right to say that: he barely understood anything, as it was, and he was far from understanding his supposed teammates, too. Even Chris, someone he’d started to consider a friend, knew much more about Catalin than he knew about Chris. The same vague shame he’d felt upon being introduced to Saphie’s fiancé curled into his stomach.

What was it that Victor said about Her Highness? That she ‘hasn’t quite realized that people aren’t so uncomplicated?’ Catalin wondered if he’d missed Victor trying to tell him something, there. And he remembered well what he thought in response, too: Some people are simple enough.

… I’ll try to talk to them more, Catalin thought, crossing his arms. That much is fine, right?

He jammed his cap tighter on his head, obscuring his face, and turned into an alleyway, leaving the noise of the markets to fade behind him.

***

Getting into the Carmine military base of operations was easier than it would have been otherwise, with the guard schedule he’d been given, but that didn’t make it easy by any stretch. He’d had to claw his way up a drainpipe; when he hadn’t been able to find an unlocked window, he’d had to enter from the roof instead. He was spending a lot of time on rooftops later.

It worked for the best, as he discovered. According to the directory he found by the stairwell, the offices on the top floor all belonged to people Catalin recognized as high-ranking military officers. Including, he noted, Anwar’s own Imperial Guard. If Anwar was taking them seriously, one of these people would have received orders to look for them. That was only the worst case scenario.

Catalin tended to consider the worst case scenario first.

As he found the name and office of Derrick Baltus on the plaque, he frowned. Baltus had been the first to find them last night. Discounting a fact like that would have been wishful thinking. He committed the office room number to memory before making his way down the hallway. He’d make that his first stop.

Baltus’ office wasn’t far, but circumventing the guard patrolling the fifth floor took the better part of an hour. Catalin made sure to keep the measured, cautious footsteps as far away from him as possible; he found himself circling the same hallways, and had to wait inside the custodian’s closet a few times. He had to make sure the guard was on the other side of the floor before trying to break into Baltus’ office. It was quiet enough that any noise at all could be easily heard.

Don’t trip, he told himself firmly, his heart beating fast enough to make him nauseous.

He eased himself around the cleaning supplies and out of the closet, making his way to Baltus’ office as fast as he could without making any sound. As he pulled the little utility knife he’d been given out of his pocket, ready to pick the lock, he found it already open.

A little distrustful of this positive turn of events, but not enough to ignore it, Catalin slipped into the office and eased the door shut behind him.

The moonlight was bright enough to make Baltus’ office faintly visible: another fortunate turn, since someone would notice if he turned on the lights. The desk itself was pushed up against the window, so Catalin could see the papers spread out over the surface well enough. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for, laying on top of the mess.

He could have groaned out loud. It was one thing to think negatively, but quite another to be right.

The official-looking declaration on top of Baltus’ desk declared him the leader of a new team, created for the purpose of tracking the unknown individuals who broke into the capital building on the evening of September 10th. The one known perpetrator, suspected of desecrating the Carmine flag, was the runaway Imperial slave, Catalin Kasshen.

There was a list of names below, presumably the team that Baltus was leading. Snapping himself out of his paralysis, Catalin grabbed a blank sheaf of paper and a pen. It would be too conspicuous to take the paper itself.

The first name on the page was Rakan Farrell. Catalin inhaled sharply, but he shook his head hard, writing it down. The second was Simon Brunell – typical, since Simon trailed after Rakan often. Catalin scribbled the boy’s name down as well.

Cantata Anwar was the next name. Older sister of the Imperial Prince, Frey, and his future Guardian. Catalin had never met her personally, but he’d heard all the rumors. He added that as well, though he knew how the rest of the list would go by then. As he’d guessed, Jaden Cardei was the next one. Catalin didn’t know Jaden, either, but he knew Rakan got along well with him.

The next name did stop Catalin short: Tima Dorian. He didn’t even have to read the next line to see what it said. The final name was Fanel Cross.

Catalin was jerked by a sharp shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. He knew Fanel Cross very, very well.

He recovered a bit slower, shakily shoving the list into his coat pocket. As he’d guessed, the team in charge of finding them was comprised of Frey Anwar’s Guardians. Since each one of them had ample training but no real obligations to attend to just yet, they were ideal for the job. The thought made Catalin feel even sicker.

Okay, I got what I came for, he thought firmly, his fingernails digging into his palms. I can leave.

But he paused, looking closer at the stack of papers. The document sticking out from under Baltus’ orders to find him was clearly dated one year before the coup. And in the visible portion, he could see the name ‘Alexander Tremont’ stamped across the top. He pushed everything off of it and bent over the desk – he’d skim it quickly, and then he’d get the window open.

Before he could get through a single sentence, the door creaked open. And Catalin realized, a few seconds too late, why the door was unlocked.

Derrick Baltus stood in the doorway, his arms full of files and his surprised expression spotlighted by the moon. He looked much less composed than he had the previous evening, but he recovered quickly, dropping the files and grunting a “Who are you?”

Catalin dropped everything and turned to the window. The desk was pushed up against the bottom pane, but Catalin scrambled over the top of the desk, undoing the latch as fast as his fingers would work. As he tried to push it upwards, a large hand grabbed the back of his jacket, tossing him backwards.

As Catalin clambered to his feet, he started to run for the door, but stopped. Baltus had positioned himself so that Catalin was effectively cornered against the wall; whether he tried to run for the window or the door, Baltus was close enough to cut him off. His hand rested on the hilt of his weapon.

Though Catalin’s hands shook almost too hard to draw his own sword, he managed it, holding it high as he rushed towards the older man. He didn’t have to hit Baltus – all he had to do was get him to get out of the way, and run for the door.

The solider slammed him back into the wall with so much force that Catalin doubled over, arms folded over his stomach, coughing. His weapon hit the floor, he felt the wall against his back, and he tried to use it to push himself up. But he couldn’t make his arms uncurl from his stomach. Nor, he found, could he take a single step forward.

Baltus was holding his own weapon in his left hand now. Wasn’t it sheathed before?

Catalin suddenly realized that the sleeves of his jacket felt wet against his arms, and attempted to pull them away again – he couldn’t seem to remember getting his jacket wet at all. He was finally able to move again, but instead of stepping forward, like he wanted to, he slid forward onto his knees. The cap obscuring his face slipped off and onto the floor next to him, and his hair fell heavily across his shoulders.

He stared up at the soldier, uncomprehending, and he found Baltus looking back at him with an unfamiliar expression. He looked horrified.

Catalin had the strangest urge to ask Baltus what the hell he was gawking at. But his mouth didn’t seem to be listening to him, either.
Chapter Ten

Either Victor was imagining things, or the attitude he received from Damian and the others as they left had been decidedly chilly.

No one, though, was chillier than Chris. As Victor handed the boy the location of the prospective allies he’d be meeting, Chris shot him a glare that could melt steel before gritting out, “Understood.” Chris wasn’t the only one. Even Damian, though he never voiced any accusation, had been looking at Victor suspiciously. No one knew where Catalin had disappeared to in such a hurry, but each of them was smart enough to figure out that Victor did.

The thought didn’t ease Victor’s anxiety much.

“Remember to be quick about it,” Victor reminded them, trying to sound firm. “There will be safer ways to get in touch with them, so all you need to do tonight is pass on the basic information. You shouldn’t arrive back here any later than 10:00, understand?”

They only muttered in response, turning and shuffling out the door. Talia was the last to exit, and before leaving, she gave Victor one last searching glance, as if attempting to see through him. Victor couldn’t help but shudder. Talia had been nine years old when she met him, and already shrewd for her age; with all the time they’d spent together since then, she understood him better than the other children. Being on the receiving end of that stare was something he’d hoped to avoid.

“So they figured it out?”

Victor almost jumped as he spun around to find his daughter standing behind him, arms crossed. “T… Try to make some noise when you approach people, Amara,” he breathed. Maybe raising his daughter among former Myrrh spies wasn’t the best idea.

“Dad…” Amara frowned. “Why did you make him go?”

That stopped him for a moment. “… I didn’t make him do anything,” he said. “I told him that he could wait for a night where someone else could come with him.”

“And how did you say that, Dad?” Amara sighed, running a hand through her short hair. “Like you’d rather have him do anything else? Like those stuck-up bastards were going to scold you if he said no?”

“That’s not it at all-”

“Or, I don’t know, maybe he took your offer to wait in a bad way? Thinking you were implying he couldn’t do it? I don’t know.” She shrugged. “The point is, you shouldn’t have even asked.”

“He’s an adult, Amara.” Victor paused to calm himself. “I trusted him to make that decision for himself.”

“Adult?” she repeated with a bark of a laugh. “He’s three years older than me! Though I shouldn’t be surprised. Damian was younger than that.”

He flinched. Damian was a subject neither of them enjoying bringing up. “He understands his position,” he said, his tone growing sharper despite himself.

“If that’s the case, I understand my position, too!” She jabbed a finger to her chest. “So why don’t I have a say in any of this? Didn’t I say last night that I’d give it a try?”

“And I told you to let me handle things for now.” Victor clenched and unclenched his fists. “I don’t want you to have to deal with those people.”

“What about them?” she challenged. “They can’t order me around.”

“And that’s why I don’t want you to have to deal with them,” he said. “If you make things hard for them-”

“I don’t care if I’m disliked.” Amara placed a hand on her hip.

“They wouldn’t stop at disliking you,” Victor warned, eyes narrowing. “They could have made Cat do something much worse. This is a comparatively easy job.”

“One that you didn’t even want him to do!”

“Which I told him.” Or had he? Victor could have sworn he’d told Catalin that, if it were up to him, he’d wait. But when he thought about it, he couldn’t remember saying the words. Shakily, he repeated, “It was his decision.”

Amara let out a snort of disgust as she turned back towards her room – apparently, his comeback was so weak that she wasn’t even gracing the argument with a last word. Victor leaned against the wall, biting his lip. Amara was overreacting. Of course he’d properly told Catalin to wait. There was no way he’d pressure Celeste’s baby cousin into something he didn’t want to do.

***

Chris wasn’t sure who to be more furious at: Victor, or Catalin himself.

Though his indecision didn’t last long. It wasn’t a sure thing, how much Victor knew about the situation. And it was Catalin – dear, stupid Cat – who had walked out with some poor lie about an errand.

Of course, Catalin had handled a job successfully on his own just the previous night. But that was completely different! Chris had been nearby then, able to get to him quickly in case anything wrong. He’d at least known where Catalin was at all!

He clenched his fist around his spear, teeth gritted. It was insulting. There he was, promising he’d look after Catalin, and the idiot aristocrat wasn’t even being honest with him. Of course, he hadn’t promised that out loud; Catalin was far too easily embarrassed. But what else was he supposed to do? Catalin was intelligent, but impossible to leave alone.

“Christopher!”

Chris jumped as Saphie called out to him from further down the road, where the other five had gotten ahead of him. Saphie waved, as if he couldn’t see her. “Come walk up here so we don’t lose you!”

Chris managed to stem most of the reactions that came to mind, but his eyes widened. First he was sprayed down with perfume, now he was invited to walk with the others? Maybe they were finally getting used to him.

The look he received from Damian dashed those hopes within seconds.

“Well, this is where I get off,” the leader announced as they reached a fork in the street, looking away from Chris and smiling at the others. “My designated spot is that way.”

“Mine is in that direction, as well,” Talia said, turning to the remaining three. “You’ll be all right from here?”

“Try not t’ scare anyone!” Kite guffawed, poking Talia in the shoulder. Saphie nodded and smiled to Talia’s question, and when he realized that the blonde was looking to him for an answer, Chris nodded as well.

When Damian and Talia were out of earshot, Saphie began walking again with a deep sigh. “Honestly, Leader can be such a child,” she lamented, shaking her head. “Isn’t that right, Christopher?”

“Huh?” Chris stared back at her, mystified.

“Treating you like that.” Saphie looked equally mystified that he wasn’t agreeing. “After the fine job you did last night. It’s quite immature of him.”

Chris colored, looking down sharply. “T-Thank you,” he stammered, “but I made plenty of mistakes, as well.”

“Hones’ly, Turner!” Kite clapped an arm hard around Chris’ shoulders. “That humility bullshit is gettin’ old.”

“Sorry,” Chris muttered to the ground, feeling himself turning even redder. As happy as he was to hear that, he realized, he wanted Catalin there. It was easier to address the others when Catalin was there.

As if reading his mind, Saphie’s smile thinned. “You’re still concerned?”

“About Cat?” Letting the arm drop to his side, Kite huffed. “If it wasn’t such a crime to damage a face like that, I’d punch him. Slipping out without a word when I went and said I’d protect him.”

Saphie raised an eyebrow. “You told him that?”

“Course not. What kind of sap do you think I am?” Kite said. “’Sides, he should understand that well enough, yeah? He’s no idiot.”

“Perhaps.” And just as Chris was about to feel mortified that he and Kite had something in common, he realized that Saphie felt the same. “But I suppose it’s understandable.”

“How’s that?” Kite asked, frowning.

“I was thinking about it little earlier.” Saphie faced Chris again. “For example… Christopher, what would you say your upbringing was like?”

“My upbringing?” Chris repeated, surprised. “… it was different, I guess.”

“Of course,” she laughed, “I figured that. But… you had some kind of proper family?”

Chris paused, shifting his weapon from hand to hand. He was about to describe that as ‘different,’ too: he hadn’t lived with his mother and brothers for years, and he rarely even saw them. His mother and father were both in the Imperial military during the coup, and his father had been killed by the Carmine soldiers that Alexander Tremont had led in. While his mother didn’t think Chris was a traitor, she had difficulty treating him normally.

But when he thought of how he’d lived with his uncle Amos, what he said was, “Yeah, I had a family.”

“I’m the same.” Saphie linked her hands behind her back. “When I was younger, I would have said I had a strange upbringing. I mean, how many children learn how to lead prayer services, practice medicine, and use lethal poisons?” She laughed. “But my father was always there. So I lived as normally as I could have lived. Damian’s the same, you know, even though he doesn’t live with his family! He’s always been with Victor and Amara.”

“… yeah,” Kite said at length, “I guess my parents were pretty normal, too. And Tal… well, her parents aren’t around, but Vic brought her to live with us. Mama and Pop’ve never treated her any different. Actually, they prob’ly like her better than me.”

“Exactly.” Saphie nodded. “Most of us have had something, at least. But Cat… he probably didn’t have anything, did he?”

Chris thought of the Carmine soldier he’d seen the previous, declaring that he’d take Catalin back, and shook his head hard. “No, he didn’t.”

“Right…” Saphie’s smile switched off. “So he probably doesn’t know what to make of people putting him first.”

“Idiot,” Kite growled, punching the palm of his hand. “If it’s such a hard concept, I’ll make him get it.”

For once, Chris agreed with Kite. But unlike Kite, Chris had no qualms with putting a dent in that face.

***

“What’s it to you?”

Catalin did his best to keep his expression mild: somewhat troubled, a tiny bit distraught, and very confused at such scrutiny. It was difficult to maintain when he kept fantasizing about slugging the man in the face. “I didn’t mean anything by it, sir,” he said humbly. “I just want to know where the military headquarters is.” He cursed himself repeatedly in his head. How did he forget the way to a place he’d been right next to last night, anyway?

“And I just want to know what you think you’ll be doing there at 8:00 at night.” The man who Catalin had foolishly asked directions from snorted. “Don’t think I like the sound of that, what with those Myrrh ghosts running around.”

“We’re officers,” said the man’s little hanger-on, looking anything but as he leered.

Catalin quelled a sigh as he pushed back the brim of his cap to show more of his face, before constructing a look of perfect, delicate despair. “I’m sorry…” He wrung his hands, venturing a shy glance at the men. “I’m such an idiot, aren’t I? Forgetting an important thing like this…”

To Catalin’s relief and horror, the soldier colored deeply. “It… it’s your business, of course,” the man said gruffly, shoving his hands in his pockets before giving Catalin a detailed set of directions.

Catalin managed to thank the soldiers before hurrying away, clenching his teeth. He hated to resort to the ‘delicate flower’ act – did it have to be so embarrassing? - but pragmatism had won out over pride again. Though he had to admit it was useful. And he never would have guessed it would work on people other than noblewomen and maids. Rakan had never mentioned that when teaching him all those charming maneuvers. Then again, Rakan was always charming people, even if he didn’t seem to notice it most of the time.

Rakan had it easier than most people. He had a great smile, one that could put just about anyone at ease, and he was always trying to coax one out of Catalin, too. “People will treat you better,” he’d say, “if you smile more often.”

A gust of cold wind blasted through the street, and Catalin drew his coat tighter around himself. Now that he was thinking about Rakan again, it was tough to stop. Not that he wanted to. He could tell that Chris was concerned about their meeting with Rakan the previous night, and he didn’t want to get into the habit of proving Chris right.

It doesn’t matter, he told himself, shaking his head hard. Rakan always put his country over everything else. I knew that the entire time.

He tried to focus on something else. He was passing through one of the night markets: strings of lights decorated the edges of the buildings, and the people working in the stalls were shouting out their 8:00 PM sale prices. Catalin heard that this particular market knocked down their prices as the night wore on.

It was really no wonder he’d completely forgotten a place he’d just been to the previous night. For all the times he’d walked through the capital so far, he couldn’t remember actually looking at his surroundings much.

For people like Victor and Reiselle, the city elicited feelings of reverence. Victor was always talking the way the capital was before the occupation. Reiselle had said once that she and Gwendolyn Doyle had grown up in the red light district, though she hadn’t offered any more information than that. Even the other Guardians saw nothing but possibilities in every building they looked at.

But though Catalin had decided against returning to Anwar, he wasn’t the least bit convinced he could overthrow Carmine, either.

He supposed he didn’t have much of a right to say that: he barely understood anything, as it was, and he was far from understanding his supposed teammates, too. Even Chris, someone he’d started to consider a friend, knew much more about Catalin than he knew about Chris. The same vague shame he’d felt upon being introduced to Saphie’s fiancé curled into his stomach.

What was it that Victor said about Her Highness? That she ‘hasn’t quite realized that people aren’t so uncomplicated?’ Catalin wondered if he’d missed Victor trying to tell him something, there. And he remembered well what he thought in response, too: Some people are simple enough.

… I’ll try to talk to them more, Catalin thought, crossing his arms. That much is fine, right?

He jammed his cap tighter on his head, obscuring his face, and turned into an alleyway, leaving the noise of the markets to fade behind him.

***

Getting into the Carmine military base of operations was easier than it would have been otherwise, with the guard schedule he’d been given, but that didn’t make it easy by any stretch. He’d had to claw his way up a drainpipe; when he hadn’t been able to find an unlocked window, he’d had to enter from the roof instead. He was spending a lot of time on rooftops later.

It worked for the best, as he discovered. According to the directory he found by the stairwell, the offices on the top floor all belonged to people Catalin recognized as high-ranking military officers. Including, he noted, Anwar’s own Imperial Guard. If Anwar was taking them seriously, one of these people would have received orders to look for them. That was only the worst case scenario.

Catalin tended to consider the worst case scenario first.

As he found the name and office of Derrick Baltus on the plaque, he frowned. Baltus had been the first to find them last night. Discounting a fact like that would have been wishful thinking. He committed the office room number to memory before making his way down the hallway. He’d make that his first stop.

Baltus’ office wasn’t far, but circumventing the guard patrolling the fifth floor took the better part of an hour. Catalin made sure to keep the measured, cautious footsteps as far away from him as possible; he found himself circling the same hallways, and had to wait inside the custodian’s closet a few times. He had to make sure the guard was on the other side of the floor before trying to break into Baltus’ office. It was quiet enough that any noise at all could be easily heard.

Don’t trip, he told himself firmly, his heart beating fast enough to make him nauseous.

He eased himself around the cleaning supplies and out of the closet, making his way to Baltus’ office as fast as he could without making any sound. As he pulled the little utility knife he’d been given out of his pocket, ready to pick the lock, he found it already open.

A little distrustful of this positive turn of events, but not enough to ignore it, Catalin slipped into the office and eased the door shut behind him.

The moonlight was bright enough to make Baltus’ office faintly visible: another fortunate turn, since someone would notice if he turned on the lights. The desk itself was pushed up against the window, so Catalin could see the papers spread out over the surface well enough. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for, laying on top of the mess.

He could have groaned out loud. It was one thing to think negatively, but quite another to be right.

The official-looking declaration on top of Baltus’ desk declared him the leader of a new team, created for the purpose of tracking the unknown individuals who broke into the capital building on the evening of September 10th. The one known perpetrator, suspected of desecrating the Carmine flag, was the runaway Imperial slave, Catalin Kasshen.

There was a list of names below, presumably the team that Baltus was leading. Snapping himself out of his paralysis, Catalin grabbed a blank sheaf of paper and a pen. It would be too conspicuous to take the paper itself.

The first name on the page was Rakan Farrell. Catalin inhaled sharply, but he shook his head hard, writing it down. The second was Simon Brunell – typical, since Simon trailed after Rakan often. Catalin scribbled the boy’s name down as well.

Cantata Anwar was the next name. Older sister of the Imperial Prince, Frey, and his future Guardian. Catalin had never met her personally, but he’d heard all the rumors. He added that as well, though he knew how the rest of the list would go by then. As he’d guessed, Jaden Cardei was the next one. Catalin didn’t know Jaden, either, but he knew Rakan got along well with him.

The next name did stop Catalin short: Tima Dorian. He didn’t even have to read the next line to see what it said. The final name was Fanel Cross.

Catalin was jerked by a sharp shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. He knew Fanel Cross very, very well.

He recovered a bit slower, shakily shoving the list into his coat pocket. As he’d guessed, the team in charge of finding them was comprised of Frey Anwar’s Guardians. Since each one of them had ample training but no real obligations to attend to just yet, they were ideal for the job. The thought made Catalin feel even sicker.

Okay, I got what I came for, he thought firmly, his fingernails digging into his palms. I can leave.

But he paused, looking closer at the stack of papers. The document sticking out from under Baltus’ orders to find him was clearly dated one year before the coup. And in the visible portion, he could see the name ‘Alexander Tremont’ stamped across the top. He pushed everything off of it and bent over the desk – he’d skim it quickly, and then he’d get the window open.

Before he could get through a single sentence, the door creaked open. And Catalin realized, a few seconds too late, why the door was unlocked.

Derrick Baltus stood in the doorway, his arms full of files and his surprised expression spotlighted by the moon. He looked much less composed than he had the previous evening, but he recovered quickly, dropping the files and grunting a “Who are you?”

Catalin dropped everything and turned to the window. The desk was pushed up against the bottom pane, but Catalin scrambled over the top of the desk, undoing the latch as fast as his fingers would work. As he tried to push it upwards, a large hand grabbed the back of his jacket, tossing him backwards.

As Catalin clambered to his feet, he started to run for the door, but stopped. Baltus had positioned himself so that Catalin was effectively cornered against the wall; whether he tried to run for the window or the door, Baltus was close enough to cut him off. His hand rested on the hilt of his weapon.

Though Catalin’s hands shook almost too hard to draw his own sword, he managed it, holding it high as he rushed towards the older man. He didn’t have to hit Baltus – all he had to do was get him to get out of the way, and run for the door.

The solider slammed him back into the wall with so much force that Catalin doubled over, arms folded over his stomach, coughing. His weapon hit the floor, he felt the wall against his back, and he tried to use it to push himself up. But he couldn’t make his arms uncurl from his stomach. Nor, he found, could he take a single step forward.

Baltus was holding his own weapon in his left hand now. Wasn’t it sheathed before?

Catalin suddenly realized that the sleeves of his jacket felt wet against his arms, and attempted to pull them away again – he couldn’t seem to remember getting his jacket wet at all. He was finally able to move again, but instead of stepping forward, like he wanted to, he slid forward onto his knees. The cap obscuring his face slipped off and onto the floor next to him, and his hair fell heavily across his shoulders.

He stared up at the soldier, uncomprehending, and he found Baltus looking back at him with an unfamiliar expression. He looked horrified.

Catalin had the strangest urge to ask Baltus what the hell he was gawking at. But his mouth didn’t seem to be listening to him, either.