And Catalin couldn’t understand why it was so important to him, either. Chris’ situation was unfair, obviously, and undeserved - few people deserved something like that pinned to them. But Catalin couldn’t remember the last time he’d fixed something for himself, let alone for another person.
I became a masochist somewhere along the line without realizing it, he thought glumly. Maybe Rakan would know what to do about that.
Another thing he’d underestimated: how much he missed having someone to talk to.
And finally, after what seemed like days, the countryside field trip from hell ended at high, vermillion city gates, that seemed even redder in the brilliant morning light. There, they ran into a different obstacle all together.
“No papers, no entry,” the short middle-aged woman in the overly cutesy uniform snapped.
“... you’ll have to excuse me,” Victor said politely, “but aren’t papers only required for travel between countries?”
“New law,” the woman explained curtly. “Due to the attack on His Imperial Highness, transit papers are required for entry and exit through the gates.”
“But we were away from the city at the time of the attack...” Victor scratched the back of his head. “Come on, ma’am, I live here in the capital. I can show you my identification.”
“No papers, no entry,” the sentry repeated.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” Saphie shuffled to Victor’s side, clutching her hands at her chest and looking down at the woman. “I’m Saphira Cutler, High Priestess Cutler’s daughter. I’ve been away from the capital on missionary business, with some disciples.” She gestured to the others. “I’ve performed rituals for His Imperial Highness several times, he knows me well.”
The sentry’s expression changed, but didn’t fully relax. She clearly didn’t want to go against the rules, but turning down a High Priest’s daughter and acquaintance of Anwar wasn’t high on her list of things to do, either. “Identification, please.”
Saphie pulled the card out of her beaded purse with a smile. “Thank you so much!”
The sentry offered Saphie the smallest of smiles, then addressed the others. “The rest of you lot can go, too... provided you have identification.”
Only then did Catalin remember: he didn’t have any identification.
As the others realized this one by one, each turning around to look nervously at Catalin as they handed the sentry their own ID cards, several voices in Catalin’s head screamed at him at once, demanding that run, hide, and tell the entire situation to the sentry, in no particular order. But as the woman reached him, hand outstretched, before anyone could make an excuse for him, he found himself already talking.
“I can’t believe this... I’m so sorry...” Unconsciously, his voice took on the quivery, pitiful tone that accompanied most of his fake contrition. “I was in such a hurry this morning, I must’ve... must’ve left it on the counter or something...” He fixed his stare on the ground, and took a heaving breath. “I’ve never traveled, so... I didn’t think I’d need it. I’m so useless, I’m sorry... you can let everyone else go... I’ll accept the punishment...”
Catalin was vaguely aware that the others were staring at him with varying degrees of shock, and that Victor looked a little horrified. But the sentry withdrew her hand, sympathy flooding her face.
“Come, now, collect yourself, boy... you’re not the only one who’s made a mistake,” she simpered. “I’ll take Miss Cutler’s word that you’re accompanying her... but you’d do well to be better prepared next time. All right?”
“... y-yes!” Catalin nodded as Victor grabbed him by the crook of the arm and dragged him towards the gate. “Yes! I will! Ah, thank you!”
As the seven of them moved through the heavy foot traffic, pushing their way through the river of people exiting the city, Catalin could feel everyone’s eyes on him, and could feel Kite shaking next to him as he tried not to laugh. The moment they were out of earshot, Kite let the burst of laughter escape his lungs, clapping Catalin so roughly on the shoulder that it unbalanced him. “What the hell was that?” he snickered.
“You’re a surprisingly good liar!” Damian chimed in, grabbing Catalin’s arm and swinging it back and forth.
“Nice team effort!” Saphie sang, not so subtly reminding everyone of her own involvement.
“Well, it worked out,” Victor said, sounding a bit concerned. “But shamelessly playing on your looks like that... you really are Celeste’s cousin, I guess.”
Well, it wasn’t exactly an inherited trait. It was something he’d heard, that Celeste’s signature move was the “I’m a delicate flower” routine. It had always worked well for him whenever he incurred the wrath of one of the visiting noblewomen.
“What’s a’matter, Tal?” Kite slung an arm around Talia’s shoulders, grinning. “It’s been a long time since we were in the capital, eh? Relax a li’l.”
“Perhaps it’s fine for you to relax,” Talia said quietly, “but we’re within reach of Carmine’s strongest forces now. We need to be vigilant.”
“Feh,” Kite snorted. “Whatever you say, old lady.”
“Talia does have a point,” Victor said, breaking up the argument before it started. “But we should try to enjoy this too. The city’s nice, isn’t it?”
At that point, Catalin couldn’t tell what he thought of the capital. There were too many colors, sights, and people for him to take in; it almost made him dizzy to look. The summer festivals he’d heard Rakan talk about seemed to be in full swing: scarlet and cream banners and ribbons were splashed across every building, and tables and carts lined the sidewalks, trying to be louder than their neighbors as they called to the pedestrians.
He tried to keep his eyes on where he was going, concentrating all his energy on not crashing into the person in front of him, which was a surprisingly hard task. Why hadn’t anyone ever told him that the outside world had an inordinate amount of things to trip over?
One voice struggled to make itself heard over the others: “His Imperial Highness is offering a generous reward for the safe return of his servant, Catalin Kasshen!”
“Wha-?” Catalin instinctively turned around at the sound of his name, and his concentration broke as he crashed into someone in front of him.
“Whoa, careful...” Victor sort of steered him around his victim, who was picking up some dropped papers from the ground and glaring. “The capital’s a little hectic, isn’t it? Don’t worry. It’s always crowded around the gates and the marketplace... where we’re going is a little less crowded this time of day.”
