The Imperial Guard, ch. 18

The Imperial Guard, ch. 18

Chapter Eighteen

“Milo… did I do this?”

“Idiot.” Milo yanked her ponytail affectionately, but his customary smile looked painful. “If I hear you talk like that again, I’m really going to get angry. You’re the best. I wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise. Understood?”

She flinched, but nodded. That agonizing smile widened. “There’s a good girl. Now listen to me, Talia… I’m going to tell you something important.”

***

To tell you the truth, I didn’t want to include any of this. It’s not my story to tell, for one, and I know a lot of people who would misunderstand - and have already misunderstood, for that matter. But Talia always thought it was important that people know why the occupation happened, so I’ll accede to her wishes this time.

I should mention, though, that I have the same request as Kite: don’t blame her for what happened. And while I’m not quite as imposing as Kite, I think I can somehow make do.

So all right. Let me tell you who Aria Anwar was:

Though she was only born five minutes after her older sister, Cantata, those five minutes made all the difference to the Carmine imperial family. Even for identical twins, the firstborn is still the firstborn. On top of that, the empress’ second pregnancy led to the birth of a son, Frey. So with an older sister in line for the throne and a younger brother capable of carrying the family name, Second Princess Aria held the dubious distinction of ‘the spare.’

Of course, I don’t mean to paint the picture of some fairy tale-esque child in rags, forced to wait on her more fortunate siblings. An unwanted imperial princess is still a hell of a lot more fortunate than the rest of us. Aria had more wealth and comfort than every branch of the Kasshen family combined, and since her father didn’t really care what she did, she had more freedom than Cantata or Frey. Eventually, she got pretty good at sneaking out of the palace and into the capital city.

That was how she ended up falling in love with music. Or, more specifically, she fell in love with the songs of her neighboring country, Myrrh. Not that she got to hear them often - Anwar didn’t even allow his children to meet any visitors in person. Most of the time, she had to settle for hearing snatches of the music from drunken Myrrh tourists in the city.

But like I said, Aria was pretty good at sneaking out.

***

As another sharp jerk threw her into the wall, Aria crawled back into a sitting position and wondered if things were any more comfortable up in the front carriage.

Her plan had been absolutely perfect. The Imperial Guard from Myrrh had two carriages: one for them, and one for their luggage. If she just stuck it out with the luggage for a few hours, no one would discover her until they crossed the border, at least. And she could deal with being bumped around in the meantime – unlike Cantata, she wasn’t delicate.

She shifted among the suitcases, wondering how long she could stay gone this time. If she was careful, a good long while. She had enough money with her to find an inn at the Myrrh capital, and hopefully enough to get started with her voice lessons right away. Anything else would have to wait until she found work somewhere. Smiling to herself, she wondered what kind of job she’d have in the city. Something menial at first, to be sure, but it wouldn’t be too long before she’d find a choir that would have her. One of her servant girls once told her that there were no less than one hundred professional choirs in the Myrrh capital alone. Aria felt giddy at the very thought.

Another sharp lurch had her rolling towards the back of the carriage, and with a shudder, it stopped.

Aria crossly picked herself up. She had to remind herself that she was to sit undiscovered for as long as she could. She would have given the carriage drivers a piece of her mind otherwise. A surreptitious peek out the carriage door showed that they had stopped outside a tavern along the roadside. The sign above the door was black and gold, and she hid an excited gasp behind her hand. They had already crossed the border into Myrrh.

Making up her mind, Aria opened the carriage door and hopped out. She would just pop in for a minute, just to see what it was like.

The inside of the tavern didn’t look much different from the ones in Carmine’s capital, but to Aria, the atmosphere was like nothing she’d ever seen before. Perhaps it was her imagination, but everyone here seemed more relaxed, more cheerful. Well, almost everyone.

“If I never have to exchange pleasantries with that ignominious prick again, it’ll be too soon.”

Aria looked around to see who had spoken, and realized with a jolt that the speaker wore a black uniform, and sat with two other black-clad soldiers. It’s those Imperial Guard soldiers I came with! she thought, inching closer to their table to hear the full conversation.

The speaker was handsome like no other man she’d seen before. He pushed messy, dark blonde hair out of green eyes as he swigged his ale, and banged the mug against the table to further express his irritation. He clutched the arm of the woman next to him. If possible, she was even better looking; Aria had never seen such dark hair before. She wondered with an envious stab if this woman was his girlfriend. On the other side of the speaker sat a man who was nearly too bulky for his chair, and he regarded his companion with calm exasperation.

“Milo,” the woman sighed, “I think we’ve had this conversation before. You know, the one about not calling His Imperial Highness Anwar an ‘ignominious prick’ in a public place. Let’s at least keep up the appearance of diplomacy, shall we?”

“I haven’t been blessed with your patience,” Milo groaned as he finished off his ale. “How on earth are you so civil with him, Cel?”

The woman –‘Cel,’ apparently – answered with a mild shrug. “I babysit my cousins quite a bit these days. I’ve had some practice with being patient.”

“Oh, that’s awful.” Milo let loose a rakish grin. “That’s just an insult to Ellie and little Cat, there.”

Cel’s face darkened instantly. “Would you stop calling him that? It’s spreading like the plague. The entire court’s going to be calling him ‘Cat’ before he’s learned to read, Gwennie’s made sure of that.”

“Why is that a bad thing? He’s extremely kitten-like, you know.” Milo nudged the ribs of the giant. “Right, Errol?”

“… yes,” Errol answered at length, with a grim decisiveness. “He is.” His companion beamed and snaked his free arm around his. It seemed Milo was that affectionate with everyone.

Cel hung her head and muttered a mutinous “Airheaded fop” to her lap, but it was a clear surrender to Milo, who bumped his shoulder against hers affectionately.

“The feeling is mutual, I assure you.” He pecked her on the cheek. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on Aria’s part, but there didn’t seem to be a hint of romance in it. “But thank you for being the cooler head today, as always.”

She looked up with a tired smile. “I suppose you think you’ll charm forgiveness out of me.”

“Don’t I always? But enough of that…” Milo pulled something off his lap and sat on the table. With a jolt, Aria realized that he was holding a lyre. “Does anyone in this fine establishment have any requests?” he called out to the tavern, to a thunderous roar of cheers.

Cel and Errol leaned around him to exchange a look, and clinked their glasses together in a long-suffering toast. The tavern’s patrons immediately started yelling out song titles, and Aria, forgetting herself, yelled along with them. “The Wind from the Ocean! The Wind from the Ocean, please!”

At her yell, Milo’s smile dimmed into a puzzled frown, and he turned in her direction. She took a step back, surprised, and he tilted his head to one side questioningly. “You don’t look like you’re old enough to drink, little lady.”

The table next to Milo’s sniggered, and Aria flushed a deep purple. “I’m ten,” she retorted haughtily. “What of it?”

“Ah, no offense, no offense meant at all!” he laughed, and beckoned her over. “I was just wondering if eighteen-year-olds were getting shorter.” Aria hesitated, and then stepped closer to their table, and he grinned and bowed deeply. “I apologize for any insult, milady. Milo Hadley, at your humble service. This is Errol Gavin here,” he touched Errol’s arm, “and this here is the ever-lovely Celeste Kasshen.”

With the briefest of reproachful looks at Milo, Celeste turned to Aria and smiled warmly. Against her will, Aria liked her. “It’s a little late to be stopping into a place like this, hon. Are you alone?”

Aria had almost forgotten that with her long hair, she would be recognized as nobility instantly. Milo and the others hadn’t realized her identity, though; perhaps it was a good thing that her father never let her or Cantata meet them. “I’m Talia Hentoff,” she said with a curtsy. It was one of the many fake names she’d come up with for herself, but since the Hentoffs were minor provincial lords, it was the most convincing. “I was on my way to the Myrrh capital, but my carriage’s wheel broke, so I’m walking.” Maybe she could even convince them to give her a ride.

“Walking, she says.” Milo whistled. “You’re gonna be walking until morning if you intend to go to the capital, milady.”

“I don’t mind,” she huffed. “I’m going to join a choir.”

“Ohh! Now that, I can relate to.” He strummed a chord on his lyre. “If I recall correctly, you had a request. ‘The Wind from the Ocean,’ was it? You like that song?” She nodded, and he added, “Even though it’s so old?”

“So what if it’s old? I still like it.”

Milo beamed. “I feel the same way. I’d be happy to play it for you, on one condition…” Another strum. “You’ll have to sing it for me.”

“… w-what?” Aria gaped. “Sing? By myself? I-I don’t think-”

“You’ll be expected to sing in front of much bigger crowds than this when you join a choir, Talia.” Another chord: the opening chord of the song. “How about it? Practice makes perfect, right?”

“… right.” Aria grinned up at him, though she felt her hands shaking. “I’ll do it.”

“Good girl!” And Milo launched into the rest of the song.

Aria nearly missed her cue at first, and when she jumped in, she sang too quietly for anyone but Milo, Errol, and Celeste to hear her. The bar’s patrons, sensing her nervousness, began to clap in time with Milo’s accompaniment, and it emboldened Aria enough to put some power into the melody. By the time the second verse began, she was singing just as she did when she practiced by herself - and maybe it was because of Milo’s playing, but she felt it was even better.

She hit the final low note, and the room burst into raucous applause and wolf-whistles, and Milo turned to her, his smile looking even more ebullient. “You have a beautiful voice, Talia.”

Aria blushed, and started to thank him, but before she could open her mouth, Milo reached into his shirt, pulled a battered-looking gold pendant over his head, and placed it around Aria’s. The room fell silent immediately.

Aria lifted it gingerly to get a better look, and felt her jaw drop as she looked at the golden lyre etched into the pendant’s face. “This is…”

The applause returned even louder, and Milo nodded. “Would you do me the honor of being my successor?”

“B-But,” Aria stammered, “you’ve only just met me…”

“Maybe so,” Milo said, “but I’m not inclined to let a girl from Carmine who can sing ‘The Wind from the Ocean’ that well slip away.”

“Milo,” Celeste interrupted, her brow wrinkled, “her family might have a problem with this.”

From the looks of it, Milo hadn’t thought of that. “You’re not the heir to the family, are you?”

“Oh… no, no I’m not,” Aria said, still stunned. “I have an older sister and a younger brother.”

“Then what can they do?” Milo said with a shrug. “There’s no law against a Guardian originally being from a different country. It’s been done before. And she wanted to come to Myrrh anyway, right?” He turned back to Aria. “That is, of course, assuming you want the job?”

“I want it!” Aria exclaimed, clutching the pendant tightly between both her hands. “I do!” She could hardly believe it. She wouldn’t have to work at a menial job to pay her rent, or search for weeks for a choir that would take her: she would live in the Myrrh palace, any troupe would trip over themselves to work with an Imperial Guardian successor, and she would be able to live in Myrrh for the rest of her life. Words couldn’t describe how perfect it was.

“Good girl,” Milo laughed, with a playful tug on her ponytail. “Now, why don’t you head home and start packing? Unfortunately, we have to get back to the capital as soon as possible, but we have an extra carriage for our luggage… the driver would be happy to take you back. And we’ll send another driver to the Carmine capital’s gates for you in a week!” He winked. “This time, be sure to properly say goodbye to your parents.”

Except she wasn’t Talia Hentoff, the minor noble whose family’s disapproval would be nothing against Ancient Law.

“Could I just come with you now?” she blurted out.

“Sorry, Talia. Out of the question.” Milo shook his head. “Your family is going to worry if you just take off and never come back.”

“No, they won’t,” she said, feeling herself shrink. “Father and Mother don’t care what I do, as long as I don’t embarrass them. And my sister…” Her fists curled as she thought of Cantata. “She just turns everything into a competition.”

“Listen… I understand, but it doesn’t work that way,” he sighed. “First of all, if you don’t tell them where you’re going, they’re going to think that we kidnapped you, and that’s not going to go well for any of us. But more important…” he continued, and rubbed his temples. “I may not have much experience with family, either, but I am the oldest of the Guardians, so I think I know how it feels to be a big brother.” Behind him, Celeste raised a dubious eyebrow. “And while they don’t particularly like it when I involve myself in their business, I like to at least know the important things, so I can have their back.” He glanced back at Celeste and Errol. “And I do worry when they take those steps without saying anything.”

“… I guess…” Aria fidgeted. “A week is okay.”

Milo patted her head. “There’s a good girl.”

“Wow, Mi…” Celeste’s eyes widened. “You almost sounded mature for a minute there.”

“Naturally,” he said smugly. “I do know best.”

***

The week passed without Aria saying a word to her family.

She had expected as much. She had gone back to Carmine because she didn’t want Milo to be concerned, and because when she thought about it, it was better to go back and pack now that she knew she’d have a place to live. But Milo, despite all his good intentions, didn’t understand what would happen if she told Father.

It would be bad enough if he knew that she was planning to serve another country, but that country was Myrrh. Father was especially scary where Myrrh was concerned. Aria realized she’d been clenching her fists around the sleeves of the dress she was packing, and she frowned, uncurled her fingers, and laid it in the suitcase. With a nervous glance around, she pushed the suitcase back under the bed. Milo said the carriage would be at the capital gates at noon, and it was almost quarter past eleven. She would have to leave soon.

“Aria?”

Aria’s head shot up, and she tried unsuccessfully not to jump. She could see the faint outline of her sister in the dim light beyond the doorway; the angle of the corridor to her room blocked the sun for most of the day. Cantata was smiling serenely as she stepped in, an expression Aria had tried to duplicate on her own face to little success.

Then again, she and Cantata were among the only people who realized that they weren’t identical. Cantata’s hair was just a little blonder, a little sleeker, and she could wear it down without looking young and unkempt. Her gray eyes didn’t look quite so big on her face, and red suited her in a way that Aria had never been able to pull off. When she talked, she sounded more sophisticated than even their mother. Aria had never coveted her sister’s role. There was no one alive who was Carmine more than Cantata was.

She tilted her head to one side. “What are you doing on the floor?”

Aria scrambled out of the kneeling position and sat down on her bed, instead, hoping that she drew Cantata’s eyes away from the suitcase in time. “I thought I saw a spider,” she lied. “I was going to release it outside.”

“Don’t touch things like that, Aria.” She laughed softly, and sat next to Aria on the bed. “Call a servant next time.”

“Right…” Aria swung her legs back and forth and attempted a laugh as well. “Yeah.”

Cantata watched her without a sound for a beat, then asked, “What have you been doing in here all week?”

“H-Huh?” Aria stammered, then cursed herself inwardly. Cantata was going to know that something was up. “Just playing. That’s all.”

“But you don’t like playing inside.” Cantata’s smile faded. “I’m your sister. You can tell me.”

“It’s really nothing,” Aria said, with another forced laugh.

“Nothing…” Cantata murmured. “Was it nothing when you left with the Myrrh Imperial Guard last week, too?” When Aria started to babble an incoherent denial, Cantata held up a hand. “It’s all right. I saw you, but I don’t think anyone else did.”

“D… Did you…” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Tell Father?”

“I haven’t,” Cantata said. “I wanted to hear the truth from you first.” She reached over and brushed an errant strand of hair from Aria’s shoulder, her thin fingers tickling her bare arm. “I know we never get to talk anymore, and that’s probably my fault. But if I can’t be a good big sister to you or Frey, then I won’t be a very good ruler to this country.” The smile returned. “If you’re worried about something, I’d like to help.”

Aria’s eyes widened as she listened to her sister’s words. Cantata had never said anything like that to her before. From the time they started talking, all Cantata had ever shown an interest in was besting her; they could never even play together without her turning the game into a competition.

But she recalled what Milo had said to her. If she disappeared without a word, would Cantata worry about her?

“… Canti,” Aria said, her voice even lower. “If I tell you, will you promise never to tell anyone? Ever?”

Cantata drew an X across her chest with her finger. “Cross my heart.”

Fingers trembling, Aria withdrew the pendant from her dress.

“… oh…” Cantata stood and backed away, her face twisted into shock. Aria had never seen her look anything but calm and controlled. “Aria… you didn’t…”

“Canti?” Aria frowned; she hadn’t been expecting a reaction quite like this.

Regaining her composure, Cantata opened her mouth to respond, but a deep voice at the doorway beat her to it. “Is this true, Aria?”

Aria whipped around to face the door just in time for her father to step out of the dark hallway, his eyes fixed on her pendant. Next to him stood Randall Westen, the Second Division Commandant of the Imperial Guard, in full uniform and carrying his weapon.

She wanted to apologize, or explain it to him somehow, but she suddenly found that her mouth was stuck shut.

Anwar shook his head. “Good work, Cantata.”

Cantata, for once, glanced away from his praise. “You did tell him,” Aria croaked.

“What was I supposed to do?” Cantata snapped. “I didn’t know you’d gone and done something like this!”

“Did they force you into this, Aria?” Anwar asked, still deadly calm. “Did they promise you something if you were to go along with them?”

“N-No, it was nothing like that!” Aria protested. “They don’t even know who I am, and I was never gonna tell them! Cantata and Frey are here, so it’s fine if I leave, right?” She flinched at her own words, but desperation urged her on. “I’ll never say anything, so please-”

“And what if they do find out? Do you even realize how that will reflect on me?” Anwar’s voice, little by little, began to crescendo. “For me to let my own child serve Myrrh… they’ll think me ineffectual. Weak. Carmine will be ridiculed, Aria - Myrrh has been looking for an opportunity to undermine us for ten years!” Aria quailed, but Anwar persisted. “Would you like them to invade us, Aria? Is that what you want?”

“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “I won’t tell them anything, I swear!”

“… I accept your apology.” He was quiet again, but the air still rang with his outburst. “You were tricked. Had I known you were so discontent, I would have rectified it sooner.” And with that, he turned to Westen and sighed, “Go on. Take her downstairs.”

“Your Highness…” Westen’s eyes widened. “You’re really going to arrest her?”

“I don’t see any alternative, Randall,” Anwar said evenly. “Do you?”

“On…” Westen swallowed. “On what charge?”

“… an attempt to endanger the emperor of Carmine.” Anwar took a step back. “It’s true enough.”

“Wait…” Aria looked around the room disbelievingly. “I didn’t… I wouldn’t do that! Father!”

“Father,” Cantata said hoarsely, “there has to be something else…”

“A ceremony of succession is a binding contract, Cantata.” He laid a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. The sympathy in his voice sounded disconcertingly genuine. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

Aria slid off the bed and onto the floor as Westen approached her, weapon in hand. Her shaking legs wouldn’t support her weight, and they collapsed the moment her feet touched the marble. Over Westen’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the clock. 11:30. She had planned to leave five minutes ago. Her body shuddered with every heartbeat, and tears rolled down her cheeks. I’m not going to get to leave.

But when Westen reached her, he turned, pointed his sword at Anwar and Cantata, and commanded, “Go!”

She could only stare blankly up at him, and she dimly heard her father ask what in the hell he thought he was doing. When she didn’t move, Westen spared her a quick glance over his shoulder and barked, “Are you deaf? Get out of here!”

Aria scrambled to her feet, threw open the window, and jumped out among her family’s shouts for the guards.

***

The carriage driver was either the most unflappable man Aria had ever met, or the most professional. When the empty-handed, barefoot girl threw herself into the carriage and sobbed at him to drive, he left the capital without so much as a glance back at her.

The ride from Carmine’s capital to Myrrh’s wasn’t a long one; it was still light out, if just barely, when they crossed the border. But Aria huddled in her seat, feeling too sick to crawl over and look out the window. She had little doubt that they were being followed. The driver hadn’t said a word to her, but he hadn’t slowed down once, either.

Finally, after a long climb uphill, they came to a halt, and the driver jumped off his seat and walked around to the back of the carriage. “You there!” he called to someone, and Aria could hear the sound of horses coming up the hill behind them. “You’ll need Her Highness’ permission to enter palace grounds!”

With a surge of panic, Aria uncurled herself and leapt out, blindly breaking into a frantic run. But she crashed headlong into something quite large and solid, and she bounced back, hitting the gravel hard.

“Goodness…” Two large hands took her by the shoulders and placed her on her feet. “Are you all right?”

Blinking back a rush of dizziness, Aria looked up, and her eyes met a tall, dark-skinned man. He wore silk clothing in the Myrrh colors, black and gold, and was staring back at her in concern. His eyes took in her pendant, and he murmured, “Ah, you’re Milo’s-”

“Stop right there!” Someone from behind the carriage shouted, and Aria darted behind the tall man. He knew Milo. That was something.

Two blonde men in Carmine uniforms were quickly approaching, and the carriage driver followed closely, still telling them to stop. Aria’s protector drew himself just a little taller and asked, “Who are you?”

“Who wants to know?” one of the soldiers said snidely.

“Watch your tongue,” the driver said, the chilliness in his voice palpable. “You’re in the presence of His Highness Victor Sessman Doyle.”

“The emperor, huh?” the other solider snickered. “Where’s your lady? I hear she’s the one who runs the show around here.”

“Victor?”

Behind her, Aria heard the sound of high heels descending a staircase, and then a woman in a blue dress stepped in front of them, brandishing a sword. With her dark hair in a bun and heavy makeup on her face, Aria took a moment to recognize Celeste.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Celeste demanded, a hard edge in her voice that hadn’t been there in the bar as she squared herself in front of Victor. “Who gave you permission to enter? I hope you realize what sort of trouble you’re inviting, threatening the Emperor of Myrrh.”

The taller soldier’s face twisted into a sneer. “And I hope you realize what sort of trouble you’re inviting, missy, kidnapping the Second Princess of Carmine.”

“… what?” Celeste turned to Victor, and noticed Aria hiding behind his legs. “Talia?”

And suddenly, there was a flurry of footsteps down the stairs, and about half a dozen others crowded around them, clamoring to know what was going on. Most of them either didn’t notice or didn’t acknowledge her, but she could hear Milo’s voice above the rest. “Talia? Talia! What on earth-”

“Everyone, shut up for a second!” Celeste gestured angrily at the growing crowd, and the courtyard went silent. She turned back to the men in uniform. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” The soldier puffed his chest out. “I’ve come to return the Second Princess Aria Anwar to her family.”

“T… That’s ridiculous,” Milo laughed. “This is Talia Hentoff, my successor. You have the wrong girl.”

“We have orders,” said the bearded soldier, enunciating each word as if all present were slow. “From His Imperial Highness Anwar himself. Says you all tricked his daughter.”

“You two are First Division,” Celeste said, gesturing to their uniforms. “Where’s your commander?” When the soldiers only leered, Celeste took a step forward, weapon in hand. “Don’t play cute with me! Does Derrick Baltus know you’re here?”

“H-Hey,” one of the soldiers stammered, “we didn’t come here to fight you. We just came to take her back peacefully, right?”

Aria, clinging to Victor’s pant leg, finally managed to tear her eyes away from the argument and look at the Myrrh palace for the first time. It wasn’t much: she had run all the way to the front steps, and a tall balcony above their heads obscured her view of the rest of the palace. But all around her there were tall, golden columns, twisting up all the way to that balcony. There were grooves in the columns deep enough to get a grip, or a foothold. She imagined that if she were skilled enough, she would be able to climb all the way up to that balcony.

“They didn’t know anything about it,” Aria mumbled, letting go of Victor. “Leave them alone.”

The soldiers regained their bravado immediately. “So you admit it!”

Milo was staring down at her, stunned. “Talia?”

“Oh, God. This is bad.” A man with long, dark hair rubbed his forehead. “Listen, this is just a big misunderstanding. If we let you take her back, will Carmine agree to forget this whole thing?”

“Alex!” Celeste snapped.

“This isn’t worth picking a fight with Carmine over,” Alex said reasonably. “Sorry, Milo, but you can find another successor, can’t you?”

Milo lunged at him, his handsome face twisted into a snarl, and Errol easily grabbed him into a full-body hold. “Don’t,” he said. “This isn’t the time.”

“Well?” a solider asked. “Are you giving her to us or not?”

“It’ll be okay,” Victor murmured to her, reaching down to take her hand.

“Well, are you?” he asked again, taking a step towards Victor.

“Stop where you are.”

Aria turned to watch the newcomer descend the stairs. Without the dress and the adornments, she wouldn’t have looked the least bit regal: her black hair wasn’t wavy and thick like Celeste’s. It was tight, wavy curls that fell to her shoulders, framing a round face. Her skin was freckled and tanned, and the fabric of her dress stretched noticeably around her stomach and hips. But she held herself with a certain brash boldness that Aria had never seen before.

“Gwen,” Alex said, “go back inside.”

“The hell I will.” Gwendolyn Doyle stopped next to Victor. “What do you think you’re doing, threatening my Guard and my husband?”

“This girl-”

“Yes, I was listening,” Gwen said. “And if you were listening, you’d know that Commandant Hadley never thought he was talking to a Princess of Carmine. Right, Milo?”

“… yes.” Milo sagged, and Errol gripped his shoulder. “I didn’t know.”

“All right,” the taller soldier said, “so we’ll agree to let it go. So will you let us take her back?”

Gwen crossed her arms. “What is His Highness planning to do with her?”

“We can’t say.”

“I see,” Gwen said. “Then I invoke the eleventh clause of Ancient Law and extend protection to the future servant of this country, and if you lay one finger on her, I will take it as an act of war from Carmine.”

“But Gwen-” Alex began.

“Not now, Alex,” she said, without so much as looking at him. “Now, I’m going to have to ask you to get out. I didn’t give you permission to be here.”

“… His Highness isn’t going to be pleased,” the bearded one said darkly, but with a glance at each other, they retreated.

As they left, the dread that had gripped Aria for a week vanished, but it didn’t leave relief in its place. She could sense the emotions she should have been feeling, but they seemed distant, like a vague empathy for a character in a book.

Celeste stood watching the soldiers go, her entire body taut, and Aria followed her stare down the hill and out into the city she had so vividly pictured while listening to its songs. The view on top of the hill stretched far beyond the capital’s borders, all the way to the road that wound through the trees to Carmine.

Gwen stepped next to the noblewoman and took her by the shoulders. “Don’t make a face like that, honey. You’re going to make me nervous, too.”

“… something’s wrong with this, Gwen,” Celeste said, just loud enough for Aria to hear. “Any way I look at it, Anwar would have sent Derrick…”

Aria felt a hand on her own shoulder, and she looked up to meet Milo’s eyes. She hadn’t believed him when he said he was the oldest of the Guardians, but he certainly looked it now. “Ta… Aria. I’m sorry. If I had…” He swallowed. “I’m so sorry.”

Talia Hentoff shook her head. “Don’t apologize.”

***

“… that was three months,” Talia concluded, “before the coup.”

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the tick of the heater turning on. Then Amara spoke. “So Anwar never came to get you again?”

Victor cleared his throat and took over. “He never even acknowledged that his daughter was gone. He never brought it up in any of our negotiations, and a few days after Talia came to us, Derrick Baltus showed up to ask about two of his men who rode to Myrrh and never reported back. Since then, we tried to prepare for a declaration of war from Carmine, but…” He leaned against the wall. “We didn’t anticipate Alex doing what he did.”

“So he just acted like his daughter never existed?” Amara pressed. “Why?”

“Because of what he said to me,” Talia said, “about how he would be viewed as weak for allowing me to go to Myrrh. He thought that if anyone found out he would be finished, but he must have known that if he tried to lie about what happened to me, the truth would have come out somehow. It was easier, then, to pretend I was never there.” She pursed her lips. “That’s probably why Cantata isn’t his heir anymore. Putting my twin in the public eye was too risky.”

“Who’s to say Anwar didn’t send you himself, to keep an eye on us?” Hearing such a blatant accusation coming from Damian, of all people, shocked Catalin out of his thoughts.

Kite opened his mouth to protest, but surprisingly, Saphie got there first. “What are you saying? We know Talia! She would never do that!”

“Know Talia Hentoff? Sure. But I can’t say I’ve been acquainted with Aria Anwar.” Damian stood, brushed past Talia and Kite, and left the room.

“Damian!” Amara called after him, standing as well. “Dammit… sorry, I’ll go talk to him.” She glanced apologetically around the room, and then followed.

Kite shook his head, grumbling, “That little…”

“He’ll come around, Tal,” Saphie offered without much conviction. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“Really, it’s fine.” Talia attempted a smile. “I’m sorry… thank you for hearing me out, but… would you all mind if I had a word alone with Cat?”

“With me?” Catalin asked, but the rest of the room murmured in assent and began to file out.

Reiselle left first, and Victor, with an encouraging smile towards Talia, did as well. Saphie gave Talia a fierce hug and murmured something in her ear, to which Talia said, “It’s really all right,” and patted her back. Catalin looked over at Chris in confusion, but Chris only nodded at him before leaving himself.

When Kite didn’t move, Talia’s smile became genuine. “You too, Kite.”

“Yeah… well… you two better not elope while I’m gone, is all I’m sayin’.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she squeezed it. “Uh… thanks, Cat,” he mumbled to his feet, before making a quick exit.

“You, um… wanted to talk to me about something?” Catalin shifted his weight awkwardly.

“Ah…” Talia looked equally awkward. “I owe you an apology. My father as I knew him was… coldly practical, yes, and paranoid. But never vindictive.” She gave him a long, searching look. “Not until I left.”

“And you think that’s all your fault?” Catalin snorted, though he found himself relieved to be back into familiar territory. “Listen. I can’t believe I’m actually saying this again, to someone else, but you’re not responsible for his actions.”

Talia tilted her head. “But-”

“If you want to split hairs, then yes, it was a mistake not to tell Mr. Hadley who you were,” Catalin continued. “But if we’re meant to keep apologizing for mistakes for the rest of our lives, then we’re both screwed, so let’s not dwell, shall we?” He almost mentioned stones and glass houses again, but he’d used it twice that night already - he needed a new hypocrisy metaphor.

“… well.” Talia laughed weakly. “It would seem that you’re smarter than you look.”

“And how exactly do I look?” When Talia just continued to laugh, Catalin sighed and let it go. “I was wondering… the man who saved you. Mr. Westen. If he was the Second Division Commandant, that would make him Fanel Cross’ father, right?”

“I would suppose so, yes.”

“Hm.” He frowned. “He was supposed to have died in the coup…”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t really know anything about that.”

“… right, of course. Forget I mentioned it.” He shrugged, letting it go. “Should we go, then? Kite might wonder what we’re doing in here.”

“Let’s.” As they walked to the door, Talia bit her lip thoughtfully. “I wish someone would have told Milo what you just said, too. I don’t think he ever stopped blaming himself for what happened.”

“Oh, I was wondering. What was that important thing that Mr. Hadley told you?” Catalin asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind telling me.”

“Ahhh.” Talia closed her eyes. “That?”

***

“Kite, we’re leaving now. Victor says we can’t stay in one place for too long.”

Kite rubbed his eyes, refusing to look up at her. “I don’t wanna hide anymore. I wanna go home…”

“Come on, stop crying…” Talia held out her hand. “We’ll get home. But we have to keep going for now.”

“… hmph.” Kite’s bottom lip eclipsed his upper, but he took Talia’s hand tightly in his. “You don’t know everythin’, y’know.”

“Of course I do,” she said, pulling him along. “I’m the oldest.”