"Excellent... well, I'm off. Oh, I almost forgot!" Katarina was already at the door but spun around sharply. Light as a shadow, she flitted back to the pedestal. Before Saigo could react, her lips pressed against his cheek. Sudden and, for the most part, humiliating. A chill of strange energy ran over his skin, like a web of frost, only if it were made of pure lava.
"Hey!" he growled, scowling angrily, trying to jerk away, but the blue goo only coiled tighter around his body.
"My mage acquaintance will be here soon to dispel the charm," she said with a playful smile, bouncing back. "Don't be bored, darling! Think about our bright future!" And with those words, hopping lightly like a girl running out of school, she disappeared behind the heavy door.
The bolt clicked with a hollow finality.
"Fan-fucking-tastic..." Saigo hissed through his teeth. Rage stormed inside him, but his body trembled treacherously from the onslaught of fatigue. Now that the adrenaline had subsided, he felt everything: every muscle ached, his joints throbbed as if twisted in a vise.
The healers had certainly worked patched up the holes, set the bones but this time they had worked as if half-heartedly, with obvious reluctance, even with hidden sabotage. He was sure it was deliberate, on a separate order. They left him weak, vulnerable, and, most importantly, manageable.
Sleep descended on him suddenly, like a sandbag. Darkness swallowed his consciousness before he could even begin to formulate escape plans. His body, pushed to its limit, demanded a respite.
…
The Old Man scribbled furiously with his pen, which screeched across the parchment at a frantic pace, leaving behind lines of sharp, blade-like characters. The situation was hurtling towards Tartarus.
His best blade in the Phoenix's clutches. The capital network shattered to pieces. And now news of an armada moving towards Sen-Baza... His head buzzed with tension. Decrees, orders, secret directives he was mobilizing all resources, preparing the fortress for a long, bloody siege. Every nerve was stretched to the limit, blossoming in an intricate pattern on his shaved scalp.
"Hey! You can't go in there! Who do you think" the duty guard's shout outside the door was cut off by a sharp "A-ai!" and the dull thud of a body hitting stone.
The Old Man didn't look up, but his sharp ears caught the faint rustle of expensive fabric and a gust of wind smelling of mountain freshness... The door swung open without a knock.
Marri entered his study, violating all rules and protocol. Behind her, armor creaking, the knocked-down guard was trying to crawl in on all fours, muttering confusedly.
"Chieftain, she... I..." the guard stammered.
The Old Man finally lifted his gaze from the papers. His eyes slid over his daughter, lingering on the object in her hand.
A small fan, but by no means an elegant trinket. The frame was dark, matte bronze, resembling an ancient shield. The feathers not avian, but something silvery, shimmering with a cold lunar light, each the size of a man's palm. The artifact the "Rukh Bird Fan." The very one Saigo had "acquired" at the clan auction half a year ago.
"So that's why he needed it," the Old Man whispered, leaning back in his chair. His gaze was heavy and appraising. "And everyone thought he'd just stashed it in a chest for better times... Leave us!" he nodded to the guard.
The man, without turning around, literally crawled back out, closing the door with a relieved thud.
"Idiots," the Old Man ground out through his teeth, now looking only at Marri. His daughter's face was unfamiliar. Not a trace of her usual modesty or meekness. A cold, ruthless anger enveloped her like frost. Her eyes, usually warm, were like shards of ice.
"Father..."
"Yes, I'm listening," he replied, setting down the pen. His tone was neutral, but the air in the study smelled of a storm.
"What about my husband?" Marri's voice was quiet but cut the air like a blade.
The Old Man ran a hand over his high, wrinkled forehead. "I am doing everything in my power, daughter. But you are not a clan member, and you... are not entitled to know operational details."
"I am aware," she cut him off, taking a step forward. The lunar light from the fan played on her pale face. "And I am also his wife. So, keep at least a drop of conscience in your stone heart and give me a straight answer. Where is Saigo? What is happening to him? And what are you doing to get him back?"
The Old Man frowned. The mention of his "stone heart" stung his ego. "Only out of respect for your husband and his merits..." he began slowly, "...have I sent Ayato to sort it out. I am confident she will reach Saigo, wherever he is. We will get first-hand information then we can begin to negotiate."
"Negotiate?" Marri's eyebrow shot up sharply. "For what? His ransom?"
"Of course. He is, after all, the best blade, the pride of Cotto. We don't discard assets like that." The Old Man's voice sounded pragmatic, almost cynical.
"So, the story about our 'departure' from the clan also a lie?" she asked, her voice dripping with icy contempt.
The Old Man clicked his tongue sharply. "How do you...?"
"I have ears too, Father." Something dangerous flashed in her eyes.
'Damn gossips...' the Old Man hissed to himself, stroking his beard. 'Although,' he chuckled silently, 'this was to be expected. An event of this scale...'
"Not entirely," he tried to evade a direct answer, picking up the pen again but not using it.
"You were sure Saigo would choose to stay?" she pressed harder.
"I don't deny it. But it would have been his decision, a conscious one." Hearing this, Marri took another step forward. Her father just smirked. "You haven't changed, girl. I am a killer. And more than that lead killers. This isn't your doll games, where feelings decide everything."
"Then I will go to the capital myself," Marri stated calmly.
"No!" The Old Man surged to his feet, slamming his fist on the table so hard the inkwell jumped. "That's the last thing we need! Perhaps you..." he pointed a finger at her, "...are the only thing still keeping him from falling into the arms of that damned Katarina!"
"Hmm? What, do you doubt his loyalty?" Marri exclaimed with anger.
"Not one bit," he replied instantly, without blinking. "But it's better if you remain here, in safety." His gaze hardened. "And I..." he rubbed his chin, as if considering what he could promise, "...promise to keep you fully informed, completely and without concealment."
"Every day," Marri stated firmly. "In detail and without concealment."
The Old Man froze for a moment, then nodded. "Agreed. And the sooner this... farce is over, the better. Business," he waved a hand at the pile of papers, "is suffering, people are nervous, and revenues are falling."
Marri was no longer listening. She turned, her skirts rustling like snakeskin. "I rely on your honesty, Father." A pause. "Though one cannot rely on what isn't there." She threw this over her shoulder without turning. "And one more thing..."
The Old Man looked up.
"Replace those sheep at the entrance," she said, already at the door. "I wouldn't want my precious father to fall to the hand of some random guest off the street. They aren't even fit for cannon fodder."
Without waiting for a reply, she gave a slight bow and left, leaving behind only the scent of mountain freshness and the sharp tang of a woman's offense.
The Old Man leaned back in his massive leather chair. It creaked under his weight. Silence fell in the study, broken only by the crackling of embers in the fireplace. His face showed neither anger nor offense. There was only cold calculation.
He reached for a goblet of strong wine.
His plan, though moving forward with the sluggishness of a cart in spring mud, was... being executed. Marri was under control (for now). Ayato was already in the capital. The Cotto forces were preparing for defense. And Saigo... Saigo remained a valuable hostage and a trump card in a very complex game...