Chapter Nine

He was sublimely warm. Warm in a way that wasn’t too stifled, with a comfortable coolness sliding up the bare hand that lay over the covers. The chill that pervaded the air just made the warmth even more delicious, and with it came a vague, half-asleep knowledge that he didn’t need to leave his mattress until he felt like it.

Back at the palace, he would have been shaken awake hours ago for the morning chores. He had always tried to take advantage of the fact that Rakan felt guilty for waking him up so early – he’d bury himself under the blankets while Rakan shook him, sometimes amused, sometimes exasperated. “Ca-ta-lin,” he would enunciate, with a loud sigh. “You have to get up now, okay?”

There was a different pair of hands shaking him now. Smaller, but much more forceful. “Cat, wake up.”

Catalin didn’t open his eyes, curling up tighter. Chris had been a perfectly quiet roommate during training, why did he have to stop that now? “It’s early, Chris,” he mumbled hoarsely. “Go back to sleep.”

“Cat, there’s somebody knocking at the door.” Chris shook harder.

“So go get it,” Catalin yawned, opening one eye halfway, and quickly closing it again. The sunlight streaming in from the little window sent a pang through his temple. “’s probably just Rei or someone.”

“Rei doesn’t use the back entrance,” Chris protested, “and no one else left all night… c’mon, I don’t wanna go alone…”

“Then ignore it…” Catalin settled in again. The headache seemed to be moving down to his stomach. “They’ll go away.”

He turned over, yanking the blankets over his head and trying to settle back into his earlier comfort. But what little movement he’d allowed himself had already done its damage; the hangover was starting to make him dizzy, even with his eyes closed. It almost felt like the floor was tilting. Actually, it was tilting quite a lot now—

And then he was rolling downwards, landing on the floor in a tangle of blankets.

A bit more alert, he struggled to sit up, blearily opening his eyes. Chris was standing, holding one side of Catalin’s mattress up in the air and glaring down at him. “W-What the hell was that for?” Catalin managed, wincing.

“Someone could have followed us back here last night,” Chris hissed, pointing towards the door.

“… if that were the case, would they knock?” Catalin pointed out.

“… f-for all you know, maybe they would!” Chris grabbed his weapon where it lay against the wall, waiting for the younger boy to do the same. Catalin clambered unsteadily to his feet, grabbed his own sword, and pulled one of his blankets around his shoulders. It really was cold.

I guess it doesn’t hurt to be paranoid, being an insurgent, he thought groggily, massaging his temples, but… they just wouldn’t knock to arrest us for treason, would they…

If he thought that was the case, he would have gone to wake Victor or Reiselle up, at least. But false senses of security weren’t really Anwar’s style. He’d let whoever it was in, and go right back to sleep.

Stepping up to the door with Chris in tow, he raised his voice as much as he could without exacerbating his headache. “Entrance is around the front.”

“I’m here for Madam Reiselle’s VIP special.”

Definitely Victor’s voice. Catalin managed not to throw Chris an ‘I told you so’ glare as he opened the door. “Welcome b…”

The person standing behind the door was definitely Victor. But the twenty-five or so people standing behind him were complete strangers.

There was a pause, in which Catalin was suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that he was disheveled, armed, and using a blanket as a cape. Finally, one of the strangers spoke up. “… Catalin Kasshen?” he questioned, an eyebrow raised.

“… uhh.” Catalin crossed his arms tightly as he returned their stare. “… have we met?”

***

“Is everyone here?” Victor did a quick headcount – unnecessary, with only six of them – as they approached the closed door to the living room. A peal of laughter could be heard from behind the door, which only seemed to make Victor more uneasy.

“Everyone,” Damian assured him. “Don’t worry, Victor!”

“I’m not…” Victor began, before pausing. “… Saphie, you put on too much perfume.”

“Oh, that’s not just Saphie!” Damian crowed, obviously pleased. “I put some on everyone!” When all present turned to glare at him, he shrugged. “Unless you wanted to smell like day-old alcohol in front of our guests.”

“That brand is expensive, you know,” Saphie sighed, forlorn.

Noticing Chris’ grin, Catalin elbowed him. “What are you so happy about?” he muttered.

“Come on,” Chris whispered back, and bounced once onto the balls of his feet. “I’m finally getting the same treatment as everyone else!”

“Getting hosed down with Freesia Fantasy isn’t anything to celebrate over,” Catalin sighed under his breath.

“Speaking of which,” Talia spoke up. “Who are our guests, Victor?”

Victor took a long moment to clear his throat, glancing around the hallway. “These are some of the most important people from Gwen’s reign. Retainers, noblemen, diplomats, clergymen… they’ve all stayed loyal to Myrrh, and they’ve promised to help us. But they wanted to meet you all first.”

“But didn’t…” Catalin began the question, feeling strangely self-conscious halfway through. “Didn’t those people get sent into slavery, like Miss Reiselle and the rest?”

“Many did, yes.” Victor nodded. “Some of the people here pretended to take supporting positions in the Carmine government, and others went into hiding. A few of the people here escaped from the palace that morning.”

Catalin shrunk back a bit, regretting the question. Victor had never spoken of the morning of the coup before, and it wasn’t something Catalin wanted brought up, either.

“That aside,” Victor continued, a bit more cheerfully, “is there anything you need? Rei made some coffee.”

“She already gave us some,” Kite said petulantly. “But those guys in there are usin’ all the cups… we had to use the shotglasses n’ measurin’ cups-”

“Well, if you were able to get some, there’s no problem,” Victor said, seemingly unaware that he’d interrupted. He turned back to the door, opened it, and stepped inside.

There was a small uproar at their entrance, and the group of people Catalin had seen at the door were all staring at them, smiling. Catalin instinctively took a step back from the crowd. Nngh. Those suits are in awful taste, he thought. And those grins… what do you call that… oily, right?

All the others, save Chris, moved around him and into the cluster of people. When Catalin caught a few people waving at him, he turned to Chris, mumbling, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Talk to them, obviously,” Chris said. “They might be able to help.”

“That’s true, but…” Catalin shifted, frowning. “Don’t you get a weird sort of feeling from them? Can I really just walk up and-”

Sighing, Chris moved behind him, and gave him a forceful shove. As Catalin stumbled forward, the crowd seemed to converge around him, leaving him no escape route. Each man and woman grabbed his hand in turn, pumping it up and down and giving names that Catalin forgot mere seconds later.

“It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Catalin,” a bearded man rumbled, taking his sweet time letting go of Catalin’s hand. “I held your cousin in the highest regard.”

“The highest regard,” echoed another agreeably, with a contemplative hum. “She was truly a… remarkable woman.”

“Incomparable,” said another, smiling wistfully. “A true asset to this country. Not a day goes by, son…”

As the man continued to wax poetic about Celeste’s achievements as a Guardian, Catalin struggled to keep the smile on his face, all the while trying not to retch. You all just wanted to sleep with her, didn’t you. And judging by those wistful expressions, none of them had. But he merely nodded, making general noises of agreement and trying not to climb over them and escape.

“You seem to have some free time, boy.”

As he heard the cold voice coming from the direction Chris was standing, Catalin turned around to look. A tall middle-aged woman stood before his friend, holding an empty mug in front of her. “Care to refresh my drink?”

“… r-right away, ma’am,” Chris stammered, reaching for the mug.

Oh, for the love of… Catalin thought, forcing a small smile onto his face and muttering an “excuse me” as he sidled around the crowd and strode towards Chris. But before he reached his friend, a stern-looking, well-dressed man stepped between them, pushing the woman’s mug back towards her with two fingers.

“If I heard Vic correctly earlier, the kitchen is right across the hallway, my dear.” The newcomer smiled beatifically. “I think you should be able to manage. Unless your legs have atrophied from fifteen years of resting on your laurels.”

She glared back at him, opening and closing her mouth several times. Finally, devoid of any retort, she stalked off out of the room.

The well-dressed man watched her go, before turning to Chris. “Forgive the interruption, son, but you seemed about to comply with her request.”

Looking awestruck, Chris only managed a small, “Yes sir.”

“You’re Christopher Turner, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir,” Chris said again.

“Vic told me how impressed he was with the job you did last night.” The man’s stern face pulled itself into a smile that disappeared mere seconds later. “You’ve no reason to be anyone’s busboy.”

As Chris stared up at him, clearly at a loss for words, the man said, without turning around, “Did I steal your thunder, Catalin Kasshen?”

Unable to think of anything else to do, Catalin shuffled alongside Chris, bowing his head a little - more out of intimidation than anything. “T-Thank you for intervening, sir,” he stammered, feeling himself sinking back into his slave mindset at an alarming rate.

The well-dressed man considered the two of them for a moment, finally smirking. “Rather unlikely alliance,” he observed, to no one in particular. “Well, Mr. Kasshen, I believe a congratulations is in order for you, as well.”

“Congratulations?” Catalin repeated, blinking. “For what?”

“… I admit to being skeptical at first.” He shrugged. “Of a Guardian without any training, that is. But that was quite the impressive thing you did last night. I apologize for my misgivings.”

Catalin fervently wished there was some way to force the sudden rush of blood to his head back down. What are you getting so flustered for, idiot? “N-Not at all,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “Y-You’re well within your rights to-”

“No need to be humble, son.” The man turned to someone behind him. “Edmund, come here a moment.”

“Yes sir!” a deep voice replied, and in the next moment, an almost impossibly handsome man stepped before them, dressed in an outfit that looked like something an Imperial Prince might wear. “Who might these gentlemen be, Father?”

“Don’t call me ‘Father,’” the well-dressed man sighed.

“Oh! I apologize.” Edmund smiled a bit sheepishly. “High Priest Cutler.”

“Cutler?” Catalin repeated, jaw dropping as he exchanged glances with Chris. “Which would mean…”

“There you are!” Saphie fastened herself around Cutler’s arm, beaming. “I didn’t see you anywhere, Daddy! Oh, you met with Cat and Christopher already?”

“… w-we talked a little,” Chris managed, after ascertaining that his companion was stunned into silence.

“Well then! Let me introduce you properly. My father, High Priest Brennan Cutler, and…” She leaned over to touch Edmund’s shoulder as well. “My fiancée, Edmund Winter.”

It was Chris’ turn to gawk. “Fiancée?”

Catalin stared at them dumbly. Well, it was easy to believe - they did look attractive together. Actually, shouldn’t there be some sort of limit to how attractive two people can look together? But after spending a month with Saphie, how could she have not mentioned a fiancée?

Though it wasn’t as though I asked, he noted to himself, feeling a small squirm of guilt. He knew Saphie was a high-ranking clergyman’s daughter beforehand, but that was about all he knew about her. And he didn’t know a thing about Damian, Talia, or Kite’s families - he found himself glancing at the people they were speaking to, wondering if someone had come to see them, as well.

“Will Her Highness be making an appearance?” Cutler asked dryly. “This is her little welcoming party, after all.”

“Well…” Saphie laughed nervously. “Perhaps some other ti-”

As if answering the question for her, the entire room seemed to simultaneously drop to one knee. Edmund and Cutler quickly followed suit, and Saphie and Chris each grabbed one of Catalin’s arms, pulling him down with them.

Amara stood in the doorway, looking supremely uncomfortable at the welcome. Catalin had to give her credit: she wasn’t running for her life, and she obviously wanted to. “That’s not necessary,” she said.

As the crowd converged on Amara, Catalin and the others rose to their feet, exchanging looks. Chris was the first to put it into words: “That’s unexpected.”

“And yet…” Catalin took in Victor’s tight expression. “Victor doesn’t look too happy about it.”

“I can’t blame him.” Catalin and Chris both turned to Saphie as she spoke, looking at the crowd around Amara. “Her Highness isn’t the type to be influenced, but…”

“… influenced?” Catalin said. “What do you mean?”

“Oh… yes.” She smiled apologetically. “I keep forgetting, you don’t know.”

Don’t worry. Everyone does, Catalin thought, rolling his eyes.

“Empress Gwendolyn… her reign was… I guess you’d say, it was very tense,” Saphie explained. “Because most of the people here hated her.”

“Hated her?” Catalin asked. “Because she grew up as a commoner?”

“That’s part of it.” She frowned, searching for a way to explain it. “It’s mostly the mindset that she brought to it, as someone who wasn’t a member of the aristocracy. You see… well, I’m sure you’ve noticed during your time in the palace, how Anwar rules.”

Catalin bit his lip. “Well… he makes a lot of grand speeches, but… when it comes to governing, he usually delegates to his retainers, or the local aristocracy…”

“That’s exactly it,” Chris interjected, nodding. “And the elite class usually depends on that.”

“But Empress Gwendolyn… I’m told that once she finally got serious about her position, she started wanting to make some serious changes, to the Imperial Guard system among other things. You can imagine how that went over.” She sighed. “They had all kinds of snide criticism behind closed doors. That was the sort of thing Victor had to deal with on a daily basis. I’m sure he doesn’t want Her Highness exposed to that… at least, not so soon.”

“But… if they have that kind of attitude,” Catalin asked, “then why are we asking for their help?”

He didn’t think it was a stupid question. But Saphie’s strained smile told him it was. “Because, unfortunately, we don’t get to pick teams. Victor told me once that, if it meant driving Carmine out, he’d rely on anyone.” She paused, seeming to straighten herself up, but her next words were quieter. “So that’s what we have to do, too.”

***

When their guests left, early in the afternoon, the brothel descended into an awkward silence once again. Catalin’s subordinates, for their part, remained upstairs, and everyone else spun into their respective corners. Finally, feeling strangely exhausted, Catalin trudged back to his mattress to go back to sleep. Never mind that it was 4:00 in the afternoon.

After an hour of lying in an uneasy, half-asleep daze, he heard a knock at the door.

Giving up on sleep, Catalin sat up, attempting to look awake. “Come in.”

But instead of Chris, like he’d expected, Amara opened the door, glancing down at him as if she’d interrupted something. As she frowned deeply, she almost looked as if she was about to apologize for waking him up, but she broke eye contact, and the impulse left her completely. “My dad wants to see you.” She hesitated before adding, “but said not to bother if you were too tired.”

What am I, a child? Catalin huffed. And for that matter, you people didn’t seem to have a problem shoving me out of bed at 4:00 in the damn morning for the past month.

Out loud, he muttered, “Well, I’m awake now,” before standing, straightening himself halfheartedly, and starting down the hall.

“You shouldn’t go.”

Catalin turned back to face his charge, frowning. “Didn’t you just tell me to go?” he sighed, before adding a hasty, “Your Highness.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Amara crossed her arms tightly. “Dad… he’s only asking you because those people told him to. He doesn’t want you to do it, either.”

What the hell is she talking about? “What… might this be pertaining to, Your Highness?” he asked, as neutrally as possible.

She shook her head hard, pushing past him and towards her own room. “Just go talk to him about it,” she commanded, closing her door behind her.

Catalin wasted no time in striding to Victor’s door, trying not to look accusing as he rapped his knuckles against the wood. The door opened far too fast for Victor to pretend he was doing anything but waiting behind in; he smiled down at Catalin, but he looked even more anxious than he had earlier, if anything.

“I’m sorry, did I disturb you?” Victor scratched the back of his head.

“Not particularly.” Even after a month, Catalin couldn’t talk to Victor one on one without staring at the floor. It wasn’t as though he could help it - he could count the friendly conversations he’d had with adults on one hand. “You wanted to speak to me about something, sir?”

“Come in, sit down.” Victor ushered him towards a chair, the smile looking a bit more genuine. “And please, don’t be so formal. Am I that scary?”

“N-No, I’m the one who should…” Catalin stopped, correcting himself with a simpler “I’m sorry,” before sitting in the chair.

He hadn’t been inside of Victor’s room before, but it was doubtlessly the nicest room in the basement - the cleanest, at the very least. The walls were lined with portraits and a few photographs, and as he stared at them, Catalin realized with a jolt that they’d probably been smuggled from the palace before Anwar could burn them.

The biggest, most recent-looking painting depicted a beautifully dressed woman with long, dark curly hair, a freckled nose, and a wry grin, surrounded by six uniformed Imperial Guardians. Catalin’s eyes went straight to the only other woman in the portrait; she was tall, shapely, and beamed down at him. It was unmistakably Celeste.

Which meant, he realized, that the freckled woman was Victor’s wife, Gwendolyn.

“You like that?” Victor asked, following Catalin’s eyes to the painting.

Catalin jumped a little, feeling suddenly as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Yes…”

“Quentin commissioned it for Gwen’s birthday… oh, that’s Quentin there.” Victor pointed out the large but timid-looking man on Gwendolyn’s left. “He’s Damian’s predecessor.” Catalin only nodded in response. Victor continued, “It wasn’t like Gwen to sit still for so long. She found it endlessly funny, though, that Celeste could smile for hours on end.”

“Did they get along?” Catalin asked the question before he could stop himself.

“Oh, frighteningly well.  Right from the start.” Victor laughed a little under his breath. “Though I suppose its better that two people like them get along than fight. I might not have lived this long had they hated each other.”

Catalin managed a smile, but it faded as the next question rose to his throat. “What…” He swallowed hard, mentally denying that he’d wanted to ask this for weeks. “What kind of person was Celeste?”

Victor, though, looked as though he’d been expecting it. “You don’t remember anything about her?”

“… not really.” Catalin shrugged. “I was young, so.”

“Well… I’ve never met anyone so arrogant.” He laughed, more energetically this time. “And she had a right to be. No one ever thought of her as anything less than superhuman.”

“But she was always very composed, and she always looked after everyone… me included,” he said, the laughter disappearing. “That morning… barely any of us would have gotten away from the Carmine troops without her physically dragging us.” As he paused, Catalin studied Victor’s expression, shrinking a little; with every word, Victor was slowly growing angry.

“And yet, those people who showed up today? They’ll give Celeste some half-assed praise, but God forbid they acknowledge what would have happened to them without her. That would mean giving Gwen some credit.”

He balled up a fist. “Whatever else you could say about her, she was a smart person. Smarter than any of them. She went into the job with a primary school education, and she studied law on her own for years to make it work… she had so many ideas for things she wanted to try. And she wanted to reform the Imperial Guardian system more than anything else… and those people still imply that it’s her fault, what Alex did.”

Catalin was beginning to understand why Saphie called Gwendolyn ‘hated’ among her retainers and advisers. For politicians needing a figurehead, Gwendolyn was probably the worst kind of person to get stuck with. “She sounds like an… impressive person,” he offered meekly.

Victor seemed to remember Catalin’s presence at that moment, because he caught himself, the anger dissipating. Finally, the smile returned. “You’re the one who’s impressive.”

“Me?” Catalin blinked. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Well, you’ve lived this long,” Victor said. “Not many people would have been able to adapt to what you’ve had to deal with.”

“… it… really wasn’t as bad as you think,” Catalin said. “You’ve all probably had to deal with more than I have.”

“Still.” Victor shrugged a little. “It’s like a friend of mine said: nothing’s harder than keeping up with time. I know I’m not very good at it…”

As Victor turned to pick up something from the small end table, the atmosphere seemed to change perceptibly. “Our guests this morning didn’t come just to say hello. They were dropping these off.” He held up a sizable stack of papers.

“… what are those?”

“Addresses. For the others,” Victor explained. “We’ve been lucky to have Celeste’s soldiers here, but the other surviving soldiers are rather scattered. But many of them are enslaved right here in the capital… Damian and the rest will be meeting up with the members of their division later tonight.”

“Oh…” Catalin nodded slowly. “Well… that’s good. That we’ll have more people, I mean.”

“Oh, it’s good, it’s just…” Victor handed Catalin a piece of paper. “This is for you.”

“Hm?” Catalin took it and quickly glanced at it: it was a timetable of names and vague locations: ‘North Wing,’ ‘South Wing,’ ‘Lobby,’ ‘Records,’ and others along those lines. “What’s this?”

“This is a guard schedule… for Carmine’s military headquarters. You should have seen it last night, by the capitol building?”

“I did,” Catalin confirmed, eyebrows raised. “But-”

“As of this morning, Anwar should have issued one of his higher-ranking officials orders to track us. There should be a hard copy of those orders somewhere.” Victor looked away. “Our guests strongly suggested that you should retrieve that for us tonight. And because Rei and the others have to log their comings and goings, you’d have to go by yourself.”

Before Catalin could even react, Victor added, “You’re under no obligation to do this, understand? I don’t mean to pressure you. I just… wanted to let you know that it was an option, either way. And with the schedule, you should be able to avoid any scuffles… but I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to do it so soon. It can wait until the others can come with you, you know?”

So this had been what Amara had mentioned. But while Victor did look hesitant to send Catalin into anything, Catalin could tell from his halfhearted protests that Victor wanted those orders. But going right back to the place he’d almost been caught, and alone, at that…

“Well, the sun hasn’t even set yet.” Victor patted Catalin’s shoulder. “Why don’t you have some dinner while you think about it? Rei’s cooking tonight, so it shouldn’t be burnt.”

“… sure,” Catalin replied absently, standing up and pushing the schedule into his pocket. “I’ll do that.”

“Good man.” Victor gave him a little push towards the door. “Tell them I’ll be out soon, okay?”

“I’ll do that,” Catalin repeated, closing Victor’s door behind him.

Making sure the hallway was completely empty, he slumped against the wall with a heavy sigh.

I said I’d do this, but… what am I doing, exactly? he thought, brushing his hair out of his face. Everyone else will be working tonight, but I can say no, if I want to? There’s probably something helpful in those orders, but I can just wait for someone else to handle it? He crossed his arms across his chest, tucking his hands under his elbows. If it was Chris doing as little as I’m doing, people would say he wasn’t pulling his weight, and that it’s so typical of a traitor. But somehow, for me, it’s acceptable?

Even so. His fingernails dug into his palms. I don’t want to go to someplace like that alone.

Someone was whistling in the living room. It pulled Catalin from his thoughts, and he snuck a glance around the corner. Talia? It was hard to believe he wasn’t hallucinating, but the stoic woman really was there, whistling a slow, calm tune as she inspected her bow.

Catalin retreated back, eyebrows raised. The sight of Talia whistling aside, he knew the song vaguely; he seemed to remember someone singing it often, back when he lived with his family.

You don’t remember anything about her?

And the thought came as naturally as if it had been there the entire time: She really liked to sing.

“Cat!”

Catalin jumped a little at the direct address, but recovered quickly enough to nod to Chris. “I heard about that job tonight,” he said. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah, well…” Chris grinned sheepishly. “I just hope that they…” He trailed off. “… something wrong?”

“Oh, don’t try to turn it on me.” He tried to smirk. “We can talk about you once in a while, right?”

“Well, excuse me,” Chris huffed. “You seemed worried or something.”

“Not at all. Just… would you mind telling Victor something?” Catalin pushed himself off from the wall. “Tell him I decided to run that errand after all.”

“Errand?” Chris tilted his head. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing special. Victor just wanted me to pick up a few things.” Catalin started to walk towards their room; if he was going into that part of town again, he thought, he’d have to dress inconspicuously. “I’ll be back long before you are, so… good luck and all that, okay?”

“… yeah.” Chris watched him go, biting his bottom lip. “You too.”