A soft rustle, not so much a sound as a sensation of movement.
Katarina sat in the carriage, gazing out the window at the nocturnal capital, her fingers unconsciously gripping and fidgeting with the heavy velvet curtain between her knuckles. The moon, full and bright, bathed the city in silver tones, but her thoughts were far from romantic musings.
The day had brought no catastrophe, quite the contrary, only an endless series of minor, yet exhausting, pinpricks. Dukes, barons, representatives of the trade and craft guilds – it was as if they had all conspired. Their questions, disguised as respectful concern, all revolved around the same thing: the result of the trial.
Your Majesty, when will we see the fruits of your... efforts?
Tradition demands, Your Grace...
The people crave stability, which means the announcement of the new Emperor...
That old, musty tradition, dragged out from the chests of history and dusted off from mothballs, was what they had thought of now. They wanted to convene an assembly and do everything by the law.
Katarina knew: they would vote as she commanded. "Otherwise... heh-heh... their grandchildren would be much more cautious, scattering the ashes of their short-sighted ancestors."
But pressing too hard would be dangerous. Turning the entire imperial elite against herself meant losing control over anything beyond the capital.
The idea of presenting them with Saigo now only gave her a migraine. It was like taking her ironclad authority and throwing it into a cesspit. A single word from him – "no," a contemptuous glance, open defiance – and her reputation, not only as the all-powerful ruler but also as the most desirable woman in the Empire (which in her eyes was no less important than power), would crumble to dust.
"Ah, damn it!" – she exclaimed aloud and forcefully threw onto the table a parchment with the seal of another pesky duke. – And this Linsy! And his AC... what's his name... Aaron? Karl? Damn, I can't remember! - They, those scoundrels who boasted about slaying a dragon, were also pestering her, even from their prison cells. "What should I do with them? Execute them? Too simple, and too boring..."
Her ruminations were cut short by the sight of her mansion's fence appearing in the window. At the entrance, standing like a shadow, was Mona, her posture impeccable, her face a mask of polite expectation. It was precisely for her tact and devotion that Katarina had made her her personal maid, and she had never failed yet.
Katarina exited the carriage, issuing brief orders regarding the luggage.
Passing by Mona into the cool marble gallery, she tossed over her shoulder without stopping.
Well, how did he behave?
"Quite properly, Your Majesty," – Mona's voice was even, like the surface of a lake. - He rested for the first half of the day. The second – he trained intensively in the basement hall.
Did he take your bait? – Katarina asked with a hint of breathlessness.
No, all my attempts to get physically closer to him were rejected… - Katarina's face visibly brightened. "Well, at least one good thing today."
"Was there anything... strange?" - Katarina slowed her pace. She decided to ask this just in case, not that Mona was withholding anything, but caution never hurt.
Mona paused, almost imperceptibly. - Um... yes. When he was resting on the terrace. I noticed a certain... pattern. The reflections from his glass. It was as if he was... deliberately catching the sun and directing little glints of light towards the cypress hedge at the estate's boundary. Possibly signaling. But that is merely my conjecture, Your Majesty. No confirmed contacts have been recorded.
"I see." - Katarina continued on her way, her face remaining impenetrable, but seething inside. "He's definitely waiting for instructions from Above."
Bitterness rose in her throat. "Damn it, baby Saigo... Why can't you just... consider me your 'above,' and at night, as compensation, I'd gladly be your 'below'?"
The thought was almost childish, desperate. "That would satisfy anyone! When you have everything! Power, wealth, me... but you…" She mentally smirked at her own weakness. "Maybe... meet with his Leader? Directly?" This idea took root in her head.
"I'll have to clarify this matter... with the Leader of the Golden Lotus. She seems to know him..."
Passing by the door to Saigo's chambers, Katarina involuntarily stopped. Her hand reached for the handle on its own. "Go in? Now?" Her heart began to beat faster. "Ah, no! Shouldn't!"
She clenched her fingers into a fist, pulling her hand back. Every time at the mere thought of him, at his approach, she caught herself thinking that she, Katarina the Fire Phoenix, Mistress of the Empire, was behaving like a frightened teenage girl! Her body was treacherously seized by a fine tremor, a lump rose in her throat, and a strange, aching warmth spread through her chest. This feeling was so new, so all-consuming and... inconvenient. She didn't even know what to do with it. "Or maybe... I don't need to do anything? Just... feel it?" This thought was both frightening and intoxicating.
She wandered through the deserted evening halls, sinking into a whirlpool of her own thoughts, until she emerged onto the open terrace. Night had taken hold. The moon, huge and silvery, hung in the bottomless sky and seemed even brighter than before.
"Eh..." – Katarina sighed quietly, looking at it. – "Only you understand me... Only you see the stupidity of all this..."
Ahem-ahem. – An artificial, loud cough came from the darkness.
Katarina turned sharply. At some distance, leaning against a marble wall, stood Saigo. He stood with his hands behind his back, looking not at the moon, but into the distance, at the city lights, immersed in his thoughts. The moonlight silvered his white hair, making his figure almost ghostly.
"Well, here we are," – Katarina smiled mentally, feeling the familiar lump rising in her throat again and her heart starting to beat faster.
"I actually wanted to talk." - Suppressing the tremble in her knees, gathering all her imperial will, she moved towards the nearest lounge chair. She smoothly lowered herself onto it, adopting a regal pose. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded even, with a light, strained nonchalance:
"Am I interrupting your... contemplations?"