Sincerity, he reminded himself firmly. Sincerity.
He bowed his head, and said quietly, “For my countrymen and my family, I humbly apologize.”
There was no reaction, no indication that the Emperor had even heard him. He cleared his throat, and repeated more loudly, “I humbly apologize.”
Still, no response. Catalin gritted his teeth, ignored his own mental protests, and slid down to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor. “I humbly apologize… I humbly apologize… I humbly apologize… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” The more times he repeated it, it sounded more desperate, more unreal coming off his tongue. Come on, come on! I’m being plenty sincere! Just accept it!
“… it is truly unfortunate.”
The words snipped the tension out of every muscle in his body. Slowly, he began to rise from the floor, though his stare remained at the tile he’d been kneeling on. He wasn’t angry yet. That would come later.
“I still don’t believe you fully understand what it is you are apologizing for.” Anwar made the words sound remorseful, but unfortunately, Catalin had known the Emperor long enough to detect the hint of glee. “And until you can grasp that, I cannot forgive you. You are dismissed.”
Catalin couldn’t have left the hall fast enough. This time, he made sure not to look at anyone – not his family, not Rakan, not anyone. As he pushed the curtain aside, he sank against the wall next to it, concentrating on keeping his breathing slow and even and reminding himself that he knew this would happen.
He wasn’t so naïve as to believe that this yearly ritual of Anwar’s would ever lead to a pardon. He knew how well it worked as a way to keep the Myrrh citizens in line. Anwar didn’t even have to go overboard making an example out of Catalin; it was enough for everyone to see he would heel whenever the Emperor snapped his fingers.
At least, he didn’t think he was naïve enough. Even he couldn’t explain why, starting tonight, he’d get in front of a mirror and practice his apologies yet again.
He supposed he needed some way of dealing with it. He’d clung to Rakan and cried until he was eight, and he continued to let his friend console him until he was fourteen. Practicing, and pretending that it would help: that felt much more proactive.
He stood up straight, trying to shake off the disappointment. Better get to work on that sincerity thing.
“You look pretty upset, sir. Want to talk about it?”
Catalin snapped to attention, looking around warily. But the high, chipper voice didn’t seem to have a body to go with it. “… who’s there?”
Suddenly, someone grabbed the back of his collar, jerking him backwards and wrapping a restrictive arm around him. He felt a sharp point lightly touch his neck, jutting into his skin every time he exhaled. “Now, let’s not do anything stupid,” the voice continued cheerfully. “Just be good and do everything I say. Okay, Cat?”
Cat? Nicknames aside, this stranger was definitely smaller than him; Catalin could feel the attacker’s breath a little below his shoulder, so he was shorter by quite a bit. But the arm around him was tight and unyielding, and the knife spoke for itself. He complied, holding very still.
“Walk forward,” the attacker chirped. Catalin stared straight ahead. Forward was through the curtain, back into the hall.
“In there?” Catalin asked incredulously. It was up to this lunatic if he wanted to waltz into a room with all of Anwar’s guards, of course.
“You heard me! Walk!” the attacker sang, pushing Catalin through the curtain. “Excuse me, everyone! May I have your attention, please?”
The reaction was almost instantaneous. Every noble seated at a table stood up, everyone holding a weapon unsheathed it as they stepped forward, and Anwar scrambled away from his throne, stepping behind his guards. As the guards advanced, the attacker laughed. “Nuh-uh-uh! Any closer, and I’ll cut his throat… your master wouldn’t be too happy about that, would he?”
“Don’t get any closer to him,” Anwar commanded.
“Oh, come on!” Catalin exploded.
The attacker laughed harder as he pulled Catalin further back. From the breeze at his neck, he could tell they were standing in front of the open window. Catalin looked at the line of armed guards expectantly – surely one of them had a plan of attack?
“Let him go,” Rakan finally growled, brandishing his broadsword, “and I just might let you live.”
“Mmm, how about this?” the attacker responded. “You stay right there, and I won’t slit his throat! I like that a lot better, don’t you?” Rakan snarled, but didn’t move. “Now, where was I… oh, right! Don’t worry. I’m just borrowing him for a while. I’ll bring him back… for next year’s anniversary, let’s say? I hope you’ll all be here, as well!”
As the hall looked back at them in utter confusion, the attacker lowered his voice, murmuring in Catalin’s ear. “Well, Cat, looks like we’ve gotten ourselves into a bit of a bind! I can call you ‘Cat,’ right?”
“No,” Catalin snapped.
“Great! Now, just one question before we get going: can you swim?”
