Of course, for all Catalin knew, he acted that way towards all the Guardians. But then again, he’d also said, ‘you, of all people,’ as if something about Catalin was different. Maybe some sort of animosity between Celeste and Alexander Tremont? But he should realize that’s bullshit, right?
“Well, well... I must admit, I never expected to see you here, my Lord.”
Whatever calmness Catalin had managed to gather dissipated within seconds, and he whirled around, stumbling backwards so quickly that he nearly tripped. He was just opening his mouth to call for help inside, but the newcomer interjected, “It’s okay, kid, I’m not gonna hurt you or anything.”
Catalin stared suspiciously at the large, bearded man, who waved back at him with a meaty arm. “Sorry to sneak up on you, Lord Kasshen. But there wasn’t any better way to approach you, was there? I’m Amos Turner. Chris’ uncle.”
There wasn’t much of a family resemblance, really, but at least it didn’t seem to be some sort of Carmine bounty hunter. “I’m not a Lord or anything,” was what he finally said.
“Glad you feel that way.” Amos Turner grinned. “With the way things’ve been going, there’s no need to put on airs, right? Seems a bit arrogant to me.”
Catalin agreed with the sentiment, but didn’t voice it. “We’re going to the capital... apparently,” he said, unable to think of anything intelligent to say.
“So I heard...” Amos sighed. “Listen... Catalin, right? You seem like a good kid.” He said that, though he seemed doubtful. “You don’t believe everything you hear, right?”
Is everyone assuming I’m an idiot because I’m a slave or something? He managed not to pose the question out loud. Still, Amos sounded sincere, and was looking at Catalin so hopefully that he couldn’t help but squirm.
So he answered, “Of course not.”
“Good.” Amos smiled awkwardly. “That’s good.”
“Uncle Amos!” Chris reappeared, weighted down by two heavy-looking bags. His tone had changed completely now that his uncle was present: it was more relaxed, almost cheerful. But his stance was still defensive, still aware of Catalin’s presence. “We’re leaving for the capital, now!”
“I’m glad for you, Chris.” Amos stretched out an arm for a hug, and Chris dropped his bags and rushed into it. “But be careful. And send word right away if you need me to come out there.”
“I’ll come visit when I get a chance,” Chris replied. Catalin didn’t miss the implication that even if there were any problems, Chris wouldn’t ask him to come.
“Good boy.” Amos ruffled his hair and let go. “Now, I’ve got a couple orders to finish by this afternoon... you know how picky the Aaronsons get about their veal... so forgive me if I don’t see you off.”
“No, it’s no problem!” Chris said emphatically. Both seemed like they wanted to get the goodbyes over with quickly, before either said what was really on their mind.
“Then I’ll leave my nephew to you.” That one was directed at Catalin as Amos smiled, nodded, and returned to the shed at the back of the yard.
Catalin watched Amos go, swearing he could feel the weight of the man’s statement crash on top of his head and drive him into the dirt. He could feel Chris’ eyes on him, trying to size up his reaction. That’s kind of a tall order, old man, he thought wanly.
With a heavy sigh, he turned back to the house, bending down to pick up one of the bags. Before he even touched it, Chris snatched it up, throwing it over his shoulder. “I can carry it,” Chris said nonchalantly, picking up the other and walking into the house.
... exactly what has been left to me, now?
From inside the house, he heard Kite’s triumphant yell. “Yeahhh! We’re goin’ to the capital!”
***
If they ever got there.
Catalin had underestimated how long and exhausting the trek from Little Valeria to Myrrh’s old capital would be. Excluding the various stops they’d made, it only took about a day to travel to the northern village; the palace was on the edge of the capital, so the distance was about even both ways.
And while the traveling time was about as long as he thought it would be, he forgot to include various factors. Kite’s never-ending advances, for one. Damian and Saphie’s tendency to break out into raucous song on long train rides. And his ever-failing attempts to extend a hand to Chris were quickly turning into the most uncomfortable and awkward experiences he’d had since Lady Georgianna of Westmoor decided that he should marry one of her dolls. His shotgun wedding to Princess Raven Sapphire aside, every word he said to Chris only seemed to make the boy more suspicious.
