The Imperial Guard, ch. 15

The Imperial Guard, ch. 15

Chapter Fifteen

Amara was suddenly and uncomfortably aware that Damian had been pulling her around by the hand for the last five minutes. She resisted the initial urge to jerk it away, instead withdrawing it carefully so that Saphie wouldn’t notice. She did anyway.

But she didn’t acknowledge it. She only repeated, “You understand, right, Your Highness? You don’t have to say anything. Just let me talk, okay?”

Amara noticed that she didn’t say ‘Damian and me.’ Though that was more than understandable. “I won’t say anything.”

“If you don’t want to do it, we can go around them,” Saphie continued. She looked entirely too calm - it was starting to irritate Amara.

Of course she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to deal with Carmine, period. But she muttered, “This is the quickest route, right? If you guys think that it’s the best thing to do, then I’ll go along with it.”

Saphie nodded, with a hint of sympathy, before turning back to the road in front of her. Fixing a radiant smile on her face, she energetically waved and called out, “Mr. Farrell!”

Amara flinched at the shrill, girlish giggle that accompanied the yell. They know what they’re doing, she reminded herself, even though she believed nothing of the kind. But the only ones that this Rakan Farrell character would recognize were Catalin and Chris; Saphie was still trusted by Carmine. She only hoped that Damian was capable of keeping quiet. Though he’d been wearing a mask when he went to pick up Catalin, and she’d been told that it was too dark to see clearly on the night of the flag burning, Damian was a horrible liar.

Rakan glanced sharply in their direction, and some of the tension left him as he caught sight of Saphie. He had long since split with his team, and the only other one with him was a tiny, dark-haired boy who was yanking at a loose thread on his uniform. Judging by Catalin’s descriptions of the people looking for them, this was Simon.

“Miss Cutler,” Rakan said, with a halfhearted smile as he came to take her hand. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hasn’t it, though?” Saphie’s sigh brimmed with tragedy. Amara tried not to stare too openly, but Saphie was a better liar than she would have expected. “I just got back this evening.”

“That’s right… your father did mention that you were doing missionary work in Valeria,” Rakan said. “Oh, you remember Simon, right?”

Simon looked up from fiddling with his sleeve. “O-Oh… yes,” he stammered. “Good evening.”

Amara eyed Simon, eyebrows raised. That kid was supposed to be the medic? She wouldn’t have trusted him with anything that required a steady hand.

She forgot Simon entirely when she realized that Rakan was looking around Saphie, right at her and Damian.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your names.” The contrite words didn’t quite match his tone.

“Ah, yes… where are my manners tonight?” Saphie laughed, gesturing to them. “These are the servants that accompanied me to Valeria. Damian, Amara, greet Mr. Farrell properly.”

Damian bowed, mumbling a greeting to his feet, and Amara did the same, hoping it would end at that. But Rakan’s stare remained on her, and his polite smile never dropped. “If you don’t mind me saying, Miss Amara, you don’t look like you’re from around here.”

She tried not to look too guilty; that had been her cover story in the first place. “Yes sir,” she said, unsure of whether it was more suspicious to look at him or to look away. “I came from Merin a year ago. Lady Cutler has been taking care of me.”

Amara held her breath, waiting to see how this bit of improvisation would go over, but Rakan only nodded. “And you’re enjoying New Carmine so far?”

“Y-Yes sir,” she muttered, unsure of what else to say.

“But you haven’t told us what you’re doing out here, Mr. Farrell,” Saphie interrupted, in a pouty tone that would have irked Amara, but she was eternally grateful for now. “Are you two boys working?”

“Ah… in a manner of speaking, yes,” he said, the smile vanishing. “Miss Cutler, you remember Catalin Kasshen, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” She laid a hand over her chest. “Poor thing. He still hasn’t been found?”

“No. No, not yet.” He swallowed. “Listen, I don’t want to impose on you when you’ve just gotten back, but can you do something for me?”

“Of course!” she said, clasping one of his hands in both of hers. “What did you have in mind? Did you want me to pray for him?”

“Ah… well… if you like? I mean… I know that a lot of people come to you. For advice. So if you don’t mind… you know…” He laughed self-consciously. “If you hear anything at all, could you bring it straight to me?”

“Straight to you,” Saphie repeated, nodding earnestly and releasing his hand. “I’ll remember that.”

“Thank you.” He nodded, his smile resurfacing for a moment, before he stepped back. “I’m sorry to run off, but I am working…”

“Oh! Yes! I’ve been so bad, bothering you like this.” Another giggle. “Good luck to both of you, all right? I’ll sure we’ll see each other soon, Mr. Farrell.”

“Thank you so much,” he said again, inclining his head first to her, and then to Damian and Amara, before striding past them and down the road. Simon made a small, dismayed sound when he realized that Rakan was no longer in front of him, and he scampered off after his teammate.

Amara watched them go, striving to keep her expression neutral, and then turned back to Damian and Saphie. “What the hell was that?”

“Yeah, Saph,” Damian said, wriggling his nose, “you were kind of coming onto him.”

“I’m serious!” she hissed, with a halfhearted swipe at the boy. “He knows exactly where we’re hiding, right? So what’s he doing looking for Cat here?”

“That’s true,” Saphie murmured, the vapid squeal thankfully gone. “Maybe Mr. Baltus wasn’t lying when he said he’d forget about the base…”

“If only so he can catch all of us at the same time, carrying out some nefarious act of terrorism. Much easier to get a swift conviction.” Damian waved an impatient hand at both of them, though he sounded as cheerful as ever. “I’m having trouble deciding which of them is more sanctimonious, Baltus or Farrell.”

“… I don’t know about that.” Saphie glanced over her shoulder. “I think Rakan Farrell is a decent person.”

“Well… that’s a good thing, right?” Amara ventured. “That he’s decent, I mean.”

Saphie smiled at her before turning back to face the road. “No, probably not.”

Just for a second, Amara felt the urge to grab Damian by the hand again, until he turned to her and grinned. “Scared yet?”

She stuffed her hands in her pockets instead. “Not at all.”

***

“Tal, I think we should go over the plan.”

“Plan?” Talia didn’t even turn around. “I wasn’t aware that we had one.”

“You know,” Kite said, jabbing a finger at her. “That if we ever saw her, I should run away.”

“Oh.” She pursed her lips. “I said that, didn’t I.”

“You say it all the time.” He frowned down at her. “Or used to, anyway.”

“Used to,” she said, stepping around a sewer grate. “When we were children. You’re an adult. You can do whatever you like, obviously.”

“Yeah, you say that, but you still want me to, right?”

“Listen,” Talia murmured, finally turning around, “unless you’re trying to be caught, keep your voice down.”

“You’re bein’ paranoid,” Kite said. “They don’t even know what we look like. If any of those Carmine bastards spotted us, we could say we were havin’ a little rendezvous, yeah?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Kite,” she said, “they don’t know what you look like. But they would be able to recognize me.”

“… oh.” Kite swallowed. “Right.”

“I might be even more dangerous to be seen with than Cat.” She shook her head. “If Damian had tried to group me with Her Highness, I would have had to say something.”

“You’re not still on about that, are you?” He scowled. “Vic said you don’t have to say anythin’, and you don’t. I’m not gonna listen to a bunch of uppity bluebloods tryin’ to pin everythin’ on you. If you don’t wanna be get Her Highness in trouble, just make sure Damian doesn’t think you’re important enough to stay by her all the time, yeah?”

Talia stopped in the middle of the road, waiting for Kite’s logic to catch up with him. After an impressively short beat, Kite spluttered, “What’s he tryin’ to imply? That Saphie’s better than me?”

That earned a smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. Saphie’s always been more useful than you.”

“Hmph,” he snorted, though he grinned as well, “try sayin’ that to me when we’re not-”

Kite heard the faint thud behind him, but didn’t even have a chance to react before Talia moved in front of him and pushed him further behind her in one fluid motion. He nearly stumbled, his balance thrown, but he recovered and made a move to step in front of Talia again.

He stopped halfway when he met the eyes of a raccoon, which turned its languid stare back to the trash can it had knocked over.

Talia laid her palm over her eyes with a hollow laugh, sighing, “I’ve been around you too long. I’m turning into an idiot.”

She crossed him and continued down the road, while Kite followed, finding he didn’t have the energy to laugh, too. “Tal?”

Talia didn’t answer him. But he thought he heard her mutter, “It really would be better to run.”

***

Catalin had been careful to keep quiet about Fanel Cross around the others.

If he wanted to avoid being painted as the martyr or the damaged child, Fanel was the last thing they needed to know about. And besides, they would overreact. They were prone to overreaction, Chris more than anyone. After all, Chris was the one who’d declared that he’d “literally kill” Fanel, and he didn’t know anything about their history.

Though by the look on Chris’ face, Catalin wondered if he had guessed anyway.

“Fanel Cross?” Chris asked with an eerie calm as he gripped his weapon. “Good timing. I’ve wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

“My…” It would be easier, Catalin thought, if Fanel could sound genuinely malicious for once. The mild tone only made it worse. “Has Catalin here been talking about me? Though I’m afraid that I’m not certain of your name, Mister…?” When Chris didn’t answer, Fanel shrugged. “Well, that’s all right, too. We can talk later.”

“You’re going to arrest me, then?” Chris said, jerking his head towards Catalin. “It doesn’t look like you have any free hands left.”

“Speaking of hands, my arm is getting a bit tired,” Fanel mused, and he leaned closer into Catalin’s ear. “Catalin, I’m afraid it’s hard to keep this up when you’re so much taller than me,” he said, dripping contrition as he worked Celeste’s sword from Catalin’s belt and tossed it aside. “Would you do me a huge favor and kneel down?”

Catalin’s legs obeyed without waiting for his brain to catch up. One knee painfully rested against a cold sewer grate, but he was beyond complaining at that point. Chris, however, wasn’t.

“Stop that.” The earlier composure had dissipated. “If you want to arrest me, come over here and do it.”

“In other words… ‘leave him alone?’” Fanel asked with a smile. “It’s so nice to see people who care about Catalin so much. He has such a hard time opening up to people, you know?”

“How long are you going to keep playing around?” Chris twisted the spear around his palms. “There are more of us in the area, you know. Keep stalling and they’ll find us.”

Fanel didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, he shifted the knife against Catalin’s throat in order to check his watch, humming pensively. “It is getting late, isn’t it… they’re certainly taking their time,” he mumbled to himself. He perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, and said, “Ah, there we go!”

Catalin felt himself jerked forward as one of the footsteps came to a halt next to Fanel. He looked up to find Tima Dorian, one arm thrown around Fanel’s neck and the other dragging her hammer behind her. “You’re horrible, running ahead like that! I thought I’d never catch up!”

“Yeah, might want to think about cutting that out,” added a dry voice that it took Catalin a second to recognize. “Unless you want to get bitched out by Rakan again, anyway.”

Fanel paused, and his smile stretched just a little too wide. “Jaden,” he said, the mild tone interrupted, “where’s Lady Cantata?”

“Canti took off somewhere… got distracted or something,” Jaden Cardei said with a shrug, stepping to the other side of Fanel. “Rakan asked me to tag along with you two instead.”

“As you can see, we’re perfectly all right here,” said Fanel. “Leader probably needs your help more than we do.”

“Yeah right,” Jaden scoffed, moving around him to get a better look at the situation. “You’re still in the doghouse, Cross. And now I have to the one to babysit…” His eyes had come to rest on Catalin now, and he trailed off, dropping his bored affect as he leaned closer. “… Catalin?”

Catalin hesitated to meet Jaden’s eyes, but made himself look up, anyway. It wasn’t as if he knew Jaden well: he was Rakan’s friend and teammate, and that was about as far as his knowledge went. But he had long guessed Rakan and Catalin’s relationship, and hadn’t yet said a word to anyone.

As if that helps now, Catalin thought, trying to look tough and defiant. He was fairly sure that he looked sick instead.

“… almost didn’t recognize you,” Jaden muttered, with an awkward grin. “With that haircut and all.” Straightening, he addressed Fanel, “Go easy. We’re not supposed to hurt him.”

“Do you see me hurting him, Jaden?” Fanel asked. “Anyway, that’s one of his friends right there. Go arrest him.”

Catalin looked back over at Chris; during Fanel’s conversation with Jaden, Tima had moved squarely in front of Chris, and she bounced her weapon between clasped hands as she considered him. Chris appeared to have held completely still the entire time, his eyes darting between the three Carmine soldiers.

“Why? Looks like Tima’s got it under control,” Jaden said. Without giving Chris a second look, he balanced his spear against the alley wall, pulling an elastic off of his wrist and using it to tie his orange hair back into a ponytail.

“You’d make her fight all alone?” Fanel reproached. “He looks dangerous, you know. She could get hurt.”

“Jaden,” Tima whined, never looking away from Chris, “he’s scary.”

“All right, all right,” said Jaden with a shake his head. But he picked up his weapon and moved to stand next to Tima. “Just don’t see why, when we could just wait for Rakan to show up.”

“… wait,” Catalin said, suddenly finding his voice again, “two against one is unfair!”

Fanel glanced down at him in placid puzzlement. “Hmm? Did you say something, Catalin?”

Catalin opened his mouth to repeat it, but stopped; the childish words wouldn’t help. Bravado never helped - that, he was sure of. As he knelt there, mouth hanging stupidly half-open, the knife’s pressure against his throat increased just a little.

“It’s okay, Cat,” Chris said, in that damn ‘everything’s just fine’ tone that only drove him closer to panic. “Just stay calm, all right?”

“… right then,” Jaden drawled as he squared off, “you’re under arrest for conspiring to commit treason against the Carmine Empire. Sure you don’t wanna make this easier on all of us and not resist?” When Chris didn’t say a word, Jaden sighed. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

And almost too rapidly for Catalin to see, the three converged.

Catalin had seen Chris fight two-on-one before. Whenever he practiced working with Kite, Chris would be their opponent. Chris’ technique was exactly the same here: he held his weapon in the middle so he could use both ends, fending off Tima and Jaden at the same time. Catalin had never seen Jaden fight before. Though he still looked dubious, he was competent, but not as skilled as Chris. Tima was as brutal as she’d always been, and the constant clang of her weapon against Chris’ only made Catalin’s nerves worse.

The practice spars had never lasted more than five or ten minutes. Catalin didn’t know how long it would take Chris to tire out.

He was vaguely conscious of something hard and cold pressed between the sewer grate and his thigh, but at first didn’t pay attention to it for fear of taking his eyes off the escalating conflict. He didn’t even realize what it was until he shifted his leg and a sharp point pressed into his flesh. It was one of the hidden knives he’d put on before leaving the brothel. Fanel hadn’t yet realized they were there.

Trying not to let the surprise show in his expression, Catalin took stock of how many he had: one on each leg, one on each upper arm, and one on each side of his torso. The easiest to reach would be the one on his right leg. The stitching on his right trouser pocket was torn, so he would be able to take it out without any fumbling.

“Catalin,” Fanel suddenly said, leaning down a little, “is something wrong? You look a little upset.”

Catalin immediately tensed again as Fanel breathed against his neck. I can’t get to it, he thought. He’ll notice me reaching for it.

Another loud clang, followed by the scrape of metal against metal - Chris’ blocks had gotten more sloppy.

“Goodness,” Fanel remarked, “they are getting rather into it, aren’t they?”

Catalin shut his eyes, trying to close out all the distractions to think. He had to have been taught something that would help. He remembered that they had gone over what to do when grabbed from behind, but what had they talked about?

“So as you can see,” he could hear Chris saying, “Kite has you in a complete hold.”

Catalin had glanced up at Kite’s grin and muttered, “Don’t look so excited about that.”

“So,” Chris said, leaning against the wall, “what are you going to do about this? He’s not just going to let you go.”

“What can I do about it?” Catalin huffed, squirming in Kite’s grip. “He’s stronger than me. I can’t break his grip.”

“No one said anything about breaking his grip,” Chris said with a laugh. “Not by yanking at his arms like you are, anyway. Start by trying to relax, and stop trying to pull away from him.”

“What?” But it seemed Chris was serious. Catalin complied.

“Like that,” Chris affirmed, nodding. “Can you feel it now?”

“… feel…what, exactly?”

“In ballroom dancing,” Reiselle, who had been watching from the doorway, interjected, “the closer together partners are, the easier it is for the woman to read the man’s next move, and follow him. It’s the same principle here. When you’re in that kind of hold, you can read where your opponent is going to go next.”

“… y-yeah, exactly,” Chris said, grinning nervously at Reiselle. “So if you stop squirming and focus your attention on Kite, you can figure out where he’s going move and plan accordingly. Just because he’s stronger than you doesn’t make you weak.” When Catalin didn’t respond, Chris repeated, “Cat? You know you’re not weak.”

“Mm? Oh. Yeah. Probably not,” Catalin mused.

“… probably not.” Chris grinned. “Well, hopefully we can get you more confident than that.”

Carefully, hoping that Fanel wouldn’t notice, Catalin pushed himself closer to the Carmine soldier by a fraction and tried to lessen the tension in his shoulders. The arm holding the knife to Catalin’s throat seemed almost relaxed now; Fanel was paying more attention to the fight in front of them.

Catalin slid his hand across the ground so that it rested next to his pocket. You’re not scared of him, he repeated to himself, straining to keep his hand steady. You’re not weak. He had somehow managed to tell off Derrick Baltus just a week ago. Compared to that, Fanel was nothing at all. I’m not scared of him.

“Looks like we’re coming up on the end soon,” Fanel was saying, as a poorly deflected blow brushed up against Chris’ arm. “It’s going to be so nice to have you home again! But you know, I’ve been spending all my free time these past two months looking for you.” Chris managed to push Tima off of him, but the girl only bounced back, swinging harder, with Jaden closing in behind her. “The least you can do is…” he smiled, “apologize.”

“All right.” Catalin sat up straighter and turned to face Fanel. “I humbly apologize.”

Fanel’s arm went completely slack.

Catalin reached up and grabbed Fanel’s wrist with one hand, and drove his other elbow deep into Fanel’s stomach. As Fanel curved in on himself, Catalin jumped to his feet and wrenched the knife out of its binding, yanking Fanel closer and resting the blade against his throat. “Stop!” he barked at Tima and Jaden, yanking Fanel’s sword out of his belt and throwing it aside.

The trio turned around and stared at him in various degrees of shock. Chris was no exception. When Catalin added, “Put your weapons down,” Chris’ hands visibly loosened on his spear, until he seemed to remember that he wasn’t the one being addressed.

Scowling, Tima dropped hers. “Put it down, Jaden,” she said, her voice oddly tight.

Jaden only stared at Catalin for a moment. “Come on, Catalin,” he said, trying to grin, “you wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m not bluffing,” Catalin retorted, a tremor running through his voice. He pressed the blade a little deeper, and Fanel made a small choking sound. “So please put it down.”

“Jaden, put it down!” Tima shrieked, her eyes on Fanel.

“Okay, okay…” Jaden dropped his spear. “It’s down.”

“Good… all right…” Catalin bit his lip. “Both of you, get on your knees. Chris, could you get their weapons?” Still looking shocked, Chris nodded, collecting all three. “Okay… open that sewer grate and throw them down there.”

Chris finally grinned. “Yes sir,” he said, throwing them down and replacing the grate with relish. He picked up Celeste’s still-sheathed sword from the ground and, as he moved away from Tima and Jaden and behind Catalin, re-attached it to Catalin’s belt.

“I suppose you’re very pleased with yourself.” Catalin almost didn’t recognize the malicious whisper as Fanel. “You inbred son of a whore.”

“Cat,” Chris growled somewhere behind him, “let me hit him, just once.”

The idea was tempting, but Catalin couldn’t even think about it at the moment. He shook his head. “Get ready, Chris.”

Chris made a small sound of protest, but complied. Catalin quickly pulled the knife away, shoved Fanel into Tima and Jaden as hard as he could, and ran.

Catalin was tall enough to see the Tremont family crest over the cottages, and he took off at full speed towards it, with Chris close behind him. At the speed they were going, it wasn’t long before they emerged from the servants’ lodgings, and they sprinted across the road and towards the front gate.

As they drew closer, Amara and Kite’s groups emerged from behind a large statue of Anwar, where they had apparently been waiting. To their credit, they didn’t ask any questions before following Catalin and Chris at full speed into the Tremont compound.

The path to the main house took them behind a large garden and out of view of the road, but they didn’t slow down until reaching the front door. Amara reached the door first, and forgetting diplomacy all together, began banging on the door. “Please let us in!”

Catalin bent over, wheezing and gasping for breath. The pain in his side had returned with a vicious edge, and he wrapped both arms around himself and attempted to stay upright.

“You all right?” he heard Chris ask next to him, sounding almost as breathless.

Catalin straightened somewhat at that, and had he had enough air in his lungs, he would have reminded Chris which one of them had just been in a fight, here. He attempted to convey that by pointing at Chris.

Chris got it anyway. “Yeah.” He managed a grin. “You’re kind of insane, you know that?” Catalin attempted a smile back, but before he could quite get there, the door opened.

“Yes, yes, there’s no need to shout at me,” an elderly woman in a servant’s uniform grumbled as she pushed the door open. “How may I help…” As she caught a glance of her visitors, she stopped, taking a long look at each of them as her mouth thinned.

“… ah, yes,” Amara said, trying to regain some composure, “I’m sorry to call on you so late, but I was hoping I could speak to the lady of the house? Could you please tell her that A-”

“Yes, Miss Doyle, I know exactly who you are,” the servant said, suddenly very cold, “and I thank you for coming all this way, but please go home. Lady Kathleen isn’t interested.”

Amara blinked, not expecting that, but pressed on. “If you know who I am, you must know my father, right? He’s the one who asked me to come here tonight. If you could just tell your lady that-”

“My lady, miss, has been catering to your father these last fifteen years,” the servant sniffed. “She extends her condolences, but I’m afraid it’s become too dangerous to continue such behavior. I wish you all the luck, of course.”

“Is that your lady’s opinion,” Damian piped up, “or yours?”

“… I have served the Tremont House all my life, young man,” the servant said as she focused her glare in on Damian. “I will not see any trouble come to it. I suggest you children take the same attitude, by the way. The next time one of you gets caught, you won’t live long enough to ask for our charity.”

Catalin was too busy trying to steady his breathing to notice it for a moment, but when he looked up again, the servant’s stare was on him. It wasn’t simply a reproachful one, though. She looked nervous - and she was looking very closely at the way he was clutching his side.

Word had obviously gotten around about his injuries. And if he looked as ragged as he felt, he could understand why she was looking at him as if he might collapse and die on her front walkway at any moment. She didn’t exactly look like the sympathetic type. But, he figured, it was worth a try.

“… please,” he whispered, with a perfectly acted façade of misery, “could you let us in for just a moment? I need to sit down.”

All present whipped around to look at him, eyes wide; unsurprisingly, Chris got it first. “Cat, what’s wrong?” he asked, with slightly exaggerated concern. “Does it still hurt?”

“It’s fine,” Catalin said, though he bent over further and breathed harder. He was suddenly aware of Kite hovering behind him. “Just a little… dizzy.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t have come tonight!” Saphie cried, wringing her hands together. “Madam, please, just let us in for a moment. He’s still in very bad shape.”

The servant’s resolve had wavered somewhat, but she said, “I’m sorry, I just can’t… I’m very sorry…”

So this much won’t work, huh. Catalin glanced behind him to check that Kite really was there, and sure enough, he was met with those concerned puppy-eyes. You better be as much of a gentleman as you say.

With a groan, he let his knees buckle.

For one very nerve-wracking second, he hurtled towards the ground, but a pair of huge, clumsy hands caught him first. Catalin quelled a sigh of relief, playing dead weight the best he could as everyone erupted into an uproar above him. He couldn’t make out which voices were which, but someone who sounded like Damian was going to give them away with his ‘Please wake up’ scenery-chewing. Kite, on the other hand, was providing surprisingly convincing hysterics.

“All right!” the servant finally cried, sounding as panicked as anyone else, “you can come in for ten minutes, but you can’t-”

“What’s going on out here, Farine?”

A deep, older woman’s voice from inside the house silenced everyone. Catalin didn’t risk opening his eyes, but he heard someone step outside. A beat of silence, then, “Well, go on and bring him in, then.”

“Ah… yes.” Amara’s voice, with a rare timidity. “Thank you very much, Lady Tremont.”

“Hmph.” Catalin could hear the wry smile in Kathleen Tremont’s voice. “I hope you have good news, Your Highness. I haven’t heard much of it lately.”