The Imperial Guard, ch. 16

The Imperial Guard, ch. 16

Chapter Sixteen

Catalin did his best dead weight impression as Kite carried him into the Tremont House, but it was surprisingly hard to hold still. He’d just held Fanel Cross at knifepoint and lived. The adrenaline alone was enough to make him want to go back and try it again.

But even though Kathleen Tremont had sounded slightly more enthusiastic about their arrival than the maid, he’d heard a hint of sarcasm in her welcome. He ignored the adrenaline rush.

Finally, he was set down on an almost unbelievably soft couch, and he heard Kathleen Tremont speak up again. “Farine, get the young master Kasshen some water, please.” Young master? Now he knew she was being sarcastic. “I’m going to inform my daughter-in-law of your arrival. Wait here, please.”

He heard the door close, but waited until he heard Chris mutter “They’re gone” before sitting up and rolling his shoulders with a crack.

“You all owe me,” Catalin primly informed the group.

“I would say you owe me,” Saphie said as she withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “It’s not easy for me to cry on command, you know.”

“You were surprisingly convincing, actually,” Amara said to Catalin. Glancing over her shoulder, she added to Damian, “You weren’t.”

“I’ve had some practice,” Catalin said. And poor Rakan fell for it every time. Looking around at the group, he finally caught Kite’s scowl, and nodded to him. “You weren’t bad, yourself.”

“Because you scared the shit out of me,” Kite sulked, scowl deepening. “Give a guy some warning next time, yeah? You coulda cracked your head open like that.”

“Oh, yes.” Catalin attempted a smile, awkward as it was. Kite had probably earned it this time around. “Nice catch.”

Predictably, the sour mood vanished. “Yeah, well…” Kite shifted his weight. “You’re welcome and all that.”

“That’s all well and good,” Damian said, “but why were you running before?”

“Seriously!” Amara chimed in. “I thought you two were being chased by the entire Carmine army.”

“Well, not the entire Carmine army,” Catalin said. He was surprised at how nonchalant his own voice was. “Just Fanel Cross.”

As the atmosphere palpably tensed, Chris spoke up. “He didn’t follow us here, though.” He was looking at Catalin with something close to pride, which made him squirm. “Cat took care of it.”

“… no kidding.” Amara whistled. “Cat did?”

“Course he did!” Kite looked even more fiercely proud than Chris did. “Wouldn’t have doubted it for a second.”

“Perfect!” It was as close to a genuine smile as he’d ever seen Damian make. “You killed him, then?”

Catalin froze. The question should have been expected; it was what ‘took care of’ would imply. But at the time, he didn’t think of it. “I, uh,” he stammered, “didn’t really-”

“We didn’t have time for that.” Chris was somewhere halfway between defensive and encouraging. He’d thought about ‘taking care of’ Fanel Cross. Extensively.

Catalin settled back onto the couch as the giddiness of the adrenaline rush tapered off. He knew, obviously, what his job title implied - he wasn’t that naïve. But he had Fanel Cross unarmed and at knifepoint, and hadn’t done anything. That probably wasn’t that smart.

Before anyone else could speak up, Damian said, “It’s not important, anyway.” To his credit, that almost sounded sincere. “They’re probably going to be back any minute now. Cat, I can trust you to look deathly ill, right?”

“Right,” Catalin said, pushing Fanel Cross aside for now. He let himself sink further into the couch, and he tried to make himself look as weak and pitiable as possible. Kathleen didn’t seem as easy to fool as Rakan.

They had just enough time to settle into a subdued atmosphere when Kathleen and Farine the maid reentered. The latter handed Catalin a glass of water, and bowed her head, probably to hide a disgruntled glare. Kathleen remained in the corner, and Catalin was able to look at her for the first time: though the woman looked well into her sixties, there was a strong, vigorous air about her. Behind her stood a tiny, birdlike woman, who seemed afraid to step out of Kathleen’s shadow. This was probably Helena Tremont, Alexander’s wife.

“Well, then,” Kathleen said, her gaze falling on Catalin. “It seems you’re not dying after all, young master Kasshen.”

No, he hadn’t been imagining it before - the ‘young master Kasshen’ got more acerbic every time she said it. The urge to sass her right back was overpowering, but remembering he was supposed to be an invalid, he bowed his head. “I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused, Lady Tremont. I’m fine now.”

“Hmph.” Kathleen offered a wry smile. “A Kasshen with an ounce of humility. That’s a new one.”

Of course, Catalin realized. Kathleen and Helena Tremont were probably the only two people in Myrrh who had a reason to hate Celeste. Though killing Alexander was the one action of hers that Catalin understood completely.

“Mother! That’s rude!” protested Helena Tremont, and she stepped around her mother-in-law and into the sitting room. Catalin could see now that she held a teacup and a small platter in her hands, and she crossed the room and offered it to him. “Please have some of this, Lord Kasshen. It should help.”

Catalin almost recoiled from the cup from surprise at first. This was the wife of the greatest traitor in Myrrh history? She had made tea for the relative of her husband’s murderer. Obviously, Helena and Alex didn’t have much common ground.

… unless she decided to poison the tea, the more paranoid part of Catalin’s mind added. But he shrugged it off. If he had to hold back all his retorts to Kathleen’s jabs, he would kill her with politeness instead. He took the cup in his hands, murmured a ‘Thank you,’ and took a sip.

Helena nodded and began to turn away, but her eyes lingered momentarily on Chris, who was sitting next to Catalin’s feet. Catalin saw Chris acknowledge her stare, but he didn’t return it himself.

“In any case, let’s not waste our time, here.” Kathleen turned to Amara, who had quietly watched the whole exchange. “Tell me your spiel.”

Amara sat up straighter, taken aback. “My… ‘spiel,’ Lady?”

“Just because I allowed you in doesn’t mean I don’t feel the same as Farine, there,” Kathleen said, gesturing to her maid. “Does your father expect me to leap to assist you because of some misplaced guilt on my part?”

Damian opened his mouth to reply, but Amara got there first. “That’s not true at all.” Amara shook her head. “My father thinks very highly of both of you. He sent me here because he wants your help.”

“I was under the impression that this was your little show, Your Highness,” Kathleen said coolly. “Not your father’s. For that matter, when last I heard, you had no interest whatsoever in ruling this country.”

Amara’s posture deflated, and she shifted in the armchair. “… what you heard was correct,” she admitted without looking up.

“Then why the sudden change of heart?” Kathleen crossed her arms.

“Mother, really,” Helena chided, with an apologetic look around the room.

“I’m anxious to hear this, Helena,” she said, dismissing her daughter-in-law with a wave of her hand. “You mean to say, Your Highness, that you’ve come to think that we can win this war?”

Amara didn’t answer for a beat. But as Kathleen began to smirk, Amara straightened up again, holding her head up to face the room. “No, I don’t think we’ll win.”

“… um, Your Highness,” Damian laughed nervously, elbowing her. “What?”

“Not like this, anyway,” Amara continued. “Not just because of my inexperience, and the inexperience of my Guardians. Or the fact that most of our numbers are still under Anwar’s heel. I think we don’t have a chance as we are because each of us is doing something that we’re… expected to do.”

Kathleen raised her thin eyebrows. “Go on.”

“As Gwendolyn Doyle’s daughter, this is what I’m supposed to do,” Amara explained, with complete confidence. “And the same is true for everyone here. That’s what things like Ancient Law encourage, right? So by that logic, as the two people closest to Alexander Tremont, you would be expected to side with Carmine.”

“… so you’re saying that we would be of service because no one would expect us to?” Kathleen asked. “Sounds like overly simple logic.”

“I’m not debating that,” Amara said. “This country is run on overly simple logic.”

To Catalin’s surprise, Kathleen actually laughed, then turned to Chris. “Christopher Turner, right? What’s your opinion on the matter?”

“I…” Chris sat up a little straighter, startled. “You’re asking me?”

“That would be why I directed the question at you, yes,” she said.

“Well, I…” Chris glanced to Catalin, who managed to convey What are you looking at me for? with a single glare back. He turned back to Kathleen and said, “I agree with Her Highness, milady. We don’t have anyone in your position in our numbers, and I think that’s to our disadvantage.”

“Hmm.” She then turned to Damian. “You, boy. Quentin Meyer’s nephew, if I’m not mistaken?”

Catalin’s eyes widened. Damian’s related to the former First Division Commandant? No one had so much as mentioned it during the two months that Catalin had been with him. Of course, just because they were related didn’t mean Damian was chosen through the Next-of-Kin Law - Catalin hadn’t been, after all.

But Damian looked up at her, suddenly cool. “And what of it, milady?”

Catalin swallowed. Definitely chosen through the Next-of-Kin Law, then. So Quentin Meyers, that huge, nervous-looking man in Victor’s painting, had died without designating a successor. Just like Fanel’s father, he thought.

“You’ve been glaring at me this whole time,” Kathleen said. “What do you think, then?”

Damian’s expression settled into something more neutral, and he said, “If I’m going to be truthful, milady, I’m not sure if I agree with Her Highness, and I’m not sure I trust you, either.” Amara turned to look at him, ready to snap, but he added, “However, I’m willing to test her theory. Just to see.”

“… then I do believe we’re on the same page, Mr. Meyers.” With the same humorless smile, Kathleen turned. “Helena, have you thrown out the spare Citadel Ball invitations yet?”

“Ah…” Helena started, then shook her head. “Not yet, Mother.”

“Good.” She turned to address Amara again. “You’re aware of the Citadel Ball, aren’t you, Your Highness?”

Amara nodded, her lips pursed in confusion. “I’m aware of it. Anwar throws a party in the old Myrrh Citadel, right?”

“Something like that.” Kathleen nodded. “And you’re aware that each invitee receives a blank invitation for a guest, correct?”

Amara blinked and shook her head. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I’ve got a little present for you then, Your Highness.” That mirthless smile finally showed a glimmer of teeth. “Helena and I have blank invitations that we don’t know what to do with. We’ll give those invitations to you. Do with them what you will, but whatever it is, it’s going to have to impress me. Because depending on what you do, I’m going to decide whether I’m willing to help or not.”

“So you’re auditioning us,” Damian said.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” she said. “I’m giving you access to one of the highest profile nights of the year. Play your cards right, and you just might win over a few more people who… how did you put it, Your Highness… wouldn’t be expected to side with you. And you’ll just have to win us over with the rest of them. Do you think that’s fair, Helena?”

“Well…” Helena looked dubious, but she nodded. “I suppose.”

“And you, Your Highness?”

Amara, too, nodded. “Yes, milady.”

“Then I suppose it’s settled,” Kathleen said, turning to leave. “Helena, go find those invitations – we’ll fill them out in the morning. Farine, show them to the guest rooms, if you please. After you do that, find someone to run a message over to Reiselle Bartlet, and tell her that I’ll be holding onto her children for the night. I’ll be turning in, now.”

She held up a hand to stop any protests. “I’m sure you’re all eager to work out the details, but it’s nearly midnight. It can wait.” With an almost imperceptible nod towards Chris, she said, “I hope you’ll find my home comfortable,” and exited.

***

Catalin had started the climb up the spiral staircase on his own power. By the time they reached the top, he was supported heavily by Chris on one side, and Kite on the other. A good burst of energy always ended with a crash. It really wasn’t fair.

As he met Chris’ eye, Catalin mumbled, “I think she spiked my tea with something.”

“Of course she did,” Chris sighed, hauling his friend up the final step.

“These are the guest rooms here,” Farine explained, gesturing down what looked like a fairly lengthy hallway. “You can choose whichever you like - it doesn’t particularly matter to me. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Doyle, I have to send that message to your father…” Darting around the group, she disappeared down the stairwell.

Once he was sure the maid was out of hearing, Damian said, “I think we should all share a room. They’re big enough, and if we really can’t trust them, we should stick together.”

“Oh please,” Amara scoffed. “Are you still on about that? You’re being way too paranoid. Big or not, there are still seven of us.”

“Forgive the interruption, Your Highness,” Talia said, speaking up for the first time, “but I agree. It’s much better to play it safe.”

“… well,” Amara sighed, entering the nearest room. It was painted in a soft, light blue. “There’re two beds, a couch, and a chair. And I don’t think anyone can sleep on the latter.”

“We’ll have someone keeping watch at all times,” Saphie said, dragging the chair to the front of the room. “And they can use it. Otherwise, there’s plenty of room on the floor. We’ll just have to work out who sleeps where.”

The last thing Catalin clearly remembered was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, thinking that this process was going to take far longer than it should. Then he was lying down, his face pressed into something soft, and someone was trying to pull it away from him. He groaned and wrapped his arms tighter around it.

“C’mon, Cat,” someone protested over his head, “you don’t need both of them.”

Rakan, his brain supplied hazily. Coming to wake me up. Without moving, he mumbled, “I’ll polish later. Five more minutes.”

A pause, a snicker, and a deeper voice said, “Uh, Kitty Cat, what-”

“Right, right. Five more minutes.” Something heavy fell over Catalin’s shoulders. “Go back to sleep.”

***

The next time Catalin woke up, someone was humming.

He lay there listening to the tune for a few minutes, but his eyes remained closed, too tired to respond to it. But even as he tried to sink back into sleep, he felt more and more awake. And he was beginning to wonder what that weight across his feet was.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and pushed himself up on his elbows.

Chris was curled up tightly across the bottom sliver of the bed, clutching a pillow and looking utterly dead to the world. As he looked around, he saw that the others had fallen into equally haphazard sleeping arrangements: Saphie was on the divan, and Kite was spread-eagled across the floor, mouth completely open. Amara had a bed to herself, and Damian slept propped up against it, one of his short swords resting in his lap.

In the chair by the door sat Talia, still humming. Catalin vaguely recognized the tune - or, at least, he had heard her singing it before. As he quietly listened for a moment, she noticed him out of the corner of her eye and turned to face him, the singing stopping immediately.

He sighed. Well, I’m awake now. He eased himself out of bed, nudging Chris with his foot.

His friend uncurled himself, looking up blearily. “Somethin’ wrong?” he asked thickly.

“I’m getting up,” he whispered back, sliding to the floor. “You can take the rest of the bed if you want.”

Chris blinked. “You sure?” When Catalin nodded, Chris crawled into the space he left, pulled the blankets over his head, and seemed to be asleep within seconds.

Catalin turned back to Talia to find her still looking at him, vaguely smiling. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Catalin nodded as he stepped over Kite, and after some trepidation, took a seat on the floor next to her. “What time is it?”

Talia checked her watch. “Almost 5:30. Did I wake you?”

Catalin shook his head, but when her eyebrows narrowed, he shrugged. “Kind of. It’s fine. I took the bed without asking, so it’s fair.”

“Not at all,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “We’ve been making some unreasonable demands of you lately.”

He raised an eyebrow right back. It was the first time she’d ever really engaged him in conversation, but he decided to go with it. “Asking me to pull my weight is unreasonable?”

“You’ve been at this for two months. I’ve been practicing for more than fifteen years.” She leaned back in the chair. “It’s unreasonable to put such time constraints on you, but-”

“But there’s no helping it,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “It’s fine. I’ll find a way to keep up. At least I don’t have to use one of those.” He gestured to the bow leaning against the wall next to her.

“Then there wouldn’t be much difference in skill,” she murmured, eyes flickering towards it.

A deeper roll of the eyes. “You don’t have to act modest for me.”

“It’s not modesty,” she said. “I’ve only recently gotten a chance to train with an archery master. Until then, it was just trial by error.”

“… seriously?” he said, tilting his head to one side. “I… um, never got that impression.”

“I’m accurate enough in target practice, I suppose,” she said. “But I’m much more comfortable with these.” She brushed her uniform jacket aside so that Catalin could see two daggers attached to her belt. “I was taught how to use them to skin animals, but they’re much easier to handle.”

“I… nn…” He looked up at her. “Why are you telling me this?” It wasn’t as though he minded, but having his usually taciturn teammate outline her shortcomings to him out of the blue was somewhat new.

Talia looked confused by his attitude. “You were talking about being a burden. So I reciprocated. That is how it works?”

Catalin stared. “Was that a question?”

She closed her mouth, adjusted her ponytail, and sighed. “I meant to say that in a way that was less…”

“Robotic?” he supplied.

“Yes, that’s the word.”

He took a moment to absorb this. On one hand, Talia intimidated him quite a bit, but on the other, it was a little comforting to know that there was someone more awkward than he was.

“I don’t think it’s an issue if you can’t use the bow as well. You can still hold yourself in a fight, right? As far as I’m concerned, you’re functional. That already puts you leagues above most of us. There’s me, of course.” He began ticking them off on his fingers. “Our leader, the sociopath. Our medic, the homicidal priestess. Her Highness, who apparently thinks we’re all screwed. Kite, who is… well, yes. I think Chris is the most functional of all of us, so they call him a traitor just to bring him down to our-”

He stopped as he noticed her jaw slowly sinking, and looked away quickly. Never mind. I’m still more awkward.

But Talia covered her mouth with her hand and snickered. Just for a moment, but still more than Catalin had ever heard her laugh. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, shaking her head, “but you really are Kite’s type.”

Catalin huffed, leaning against the wall. “And you would know that how?”

“He’s my brother,” she said with a shrug. “He only tells me about it at every free moment-”

“Wait,” he interrupted, raising a hand. “You and Kite are related?” He could be oblivious, for sure, but surely he wouldn’t have missed something like that.

“Ah, sorry. No, not by blood.” She shook her head. “But his parents raised me since I was eleven, so he’s as good as. I haven’t seen my biological family in a long time.”

“Oh…” he said, nodding slowly. “Well, ah… I haven’t either, if it makes you feel better. My sister does visit when she can, though.”

“That’s good,” she said, folding her hands across her knee. “My sister and I weren’t close.”

“Oh,” Catalin said again. He might have said ‘I’m sorry’ or something equally useless, but she didn’t sound too sorry about that fact at all.

So he changed the subject instead. “What was that song you were humming before?”

“You don’t know?” she asked. “Ah… of course. I forgot that you wouldn’t have had any way of hearing it. That was the song we were telling you about earlier. ‘The Wind from the Ocean.’”

He nodded - he’d had the feeling. “You like it?” She looked questioningly at him, and his self-consciousness surged again. “Well, I mean… I’ve heard you hum it before. And you knew all about the legend and all that.”

“… yes, I like it,” she said. “I like all of Myrrh’s old songs, actually.”

“The Melody of the Dead, too?”

Her eyebrows rose even higher. “You sound skeptical.”

“Well, I only heard it once, and that was a while ago, but…” Catalin drew his knees to his chest. “Don’t you think it’s creepy?”

“I’m guessing you heard it that morning, then,” she said. “It doesn’t really sound like that when you do it right.”

“Then what does it ‘really sound like?’”

Talia closed her eyes. “With any luck, you won’t have to know.”

***

“You’re freaking me out. You know that, right?”

Catalin glanced over at Chris. “Freaking you out how? I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re acting all…” The older boy made a vague gesture. “Peppy. Stop it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Catalin said, lengthening his stride just a little bit more as they made their way through the red light district. They had made their way home from the Tremont House with no problem, with their invitations safely in tow. But before then, Catalin had gotten to take full advantage of being a guest in a noblewoman’s household. There were a few things he missed about the palace sometimes. Even if it was mostly the lack of sulfuric water.

Amara led them back through the alleyway and knocked on the basement door. The answering voice came entirely too quickly: “Entrance is around front.”

“Yeah, uh…” Even with Amara’s complexion, her blush was visible. “I’m here for Madam Reiselle’s VIP special.”

The door swung open, and Amara was dragged inside. The others darted in after her with some alarm, but stopped when they found their charge in the unrelenting grip of her father.

Amara was less than touched. “Dad,” she gasped, pounding at his arms, “Air. Need air.”

“Oh. Oh, yes, sorry,” Victor mumbled, releasing her. He stood silently for a moment, dithering on what to say, and settled on a, “Welcome home.”

“Good to see you looking so healthy.”

Catalin jumped at the voice in his ear, and whipped around to find Reiselle standing behind him with a smug grin. “Excuse me?”

“We received word from Kathleen Tremont last night,” she said. “I can’t help but notice that you look very energetic for a gravely injured man.”

“Oh. Well. Right.” He cleared his throat solemnly. “I think I’ll survive somehow.”

“Hey Reiselle!” Damian interrupted, linking his arm with Catalin’s. “Mind if I borrow Cat here for a minute?”

“Oh please, keep him,” she murmured, stepping around the pair to talk to Amara.

Damian dragged Catalin into the sitting room and shut the door behind them, and Catalin’s earlier lightheartedness vanished. This doesn’t bode well. “Is there a problem, Da- uh, Leader?”

“Nothing at all! I just wanted to discuss this whole Citadel Ball business with you for a moment.” Damian pulled the blank invitations from his pocket. “You’re aware that only nobles can attend, right? So Saphie’s the obvious choice for at least one of these. But we also want Saphie to hold onto Anwar’s goodwill for a while, so we need someone else who can be more freely… disruptive, let’s say.” With a flourish, he handed one of the invitations to Catalin.

“… except,” Catalin began, taking the invitation and holding it up, “I would be recognized immediately. That wouldn’t be any help.”

“Oh, I only said you were going to be attending as a noble. Not as Catalin Kasshen.” Damian’s smile was as innocent as ever. “I looked into the Kasshen House a little bit, a while back. You have a cousin Colette, right?”

“… yes…” he said, frowning. “She’s a year younger than me. I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard a little about her from my sister… something about how her parents can’t find anyone to marry her because she’s so…” He froze as it dawned on him. “Tall. Damian, no.”

Damian giggled. “How do you feel about going blonde?”