Katarina stood by the door, enveloped in a light, almost divine euphoria. A smile didn't leave her lips.
Behind her, like shadows in bright light, guards stood frozen. Inside the chambers, where every object screamed of wealth gold glinted on carved frames, lacquer on ebony shone like a black mirror, and the air was thick with expensive incense on a huge bed lay him - Saigo. Beaten, but alive.
Around him, like swarms of anxious bees, healers and physicians bustled. Their hands moved in a continuous dance: removing old bandages, applying new ones, rubbing in ointments with sharp, medicinal smells, holding tiny pills to his lips. The air above his body shimmered with the constant glow of healing spells a soft, golden light that didn't fade for a moment.
Noticing the Empress, the chief physician a middle-aged man with an energetic but now intensely focused face rushed to her. He dropped to one knee, his lips respectfully touching her offered hand.
"My lady..."
"How is he?" Katarina's voice was light, like the rustle of silk.
"Alive and, by a stretch, healthy, Your Majesty!" the physician rose, straightening up. "We'll get him on his feet, believe me! His constitution is naturally strong, despite..."
"Hmm..." her eyebrow raised slightly. "Elaborate on that part."
The physician pulled a thin leather notebook from the folds of his robe and unclasped it.
"Extreme exhaustion... of the body. The techniques he used..." the physician shook his head, "I don't know what strange arts they teach, but they... burn through the body's and spirit's resources like nothing I've ever seen before. Plus abrasions, hematomas all over his body, three fractures of varying complexity... We suspect a concussion. Possibly severe."
"How soon until he is... presentable?" The emphasis on the last word was soft but unambiguous.
The physician closed the notebook. "Under standard protocol... I'd say a month. Maybe three weeks, if..."
Katarina's expression changed. A flicker of irritation, like a small cloud, passed over it, making the physician instinctively step back half a pace.
He lowered his voice: "If Your Majesty would permit the use of... True Restoration elixirs... as well as tonic concentrates of the highest purity... Then..."
Katarina gave a shy nod in the heat of joy, she had forgotten her own strict ban on such treatment methods in peacetime; they were, after all, more expensive than gold.
The smile returned, but now it held a steely resolve. Her voice became soft, almost affectionate: "I will give you something... far more effective. Bring the syringe. Now."
The physician merely nodded explanations were unnecessary. An assistant immediately handed over a small, steel-clad case.
The physician opened it with practiced ease. Inside, on black velvet, lay a heavy syringe of polished silver, gleaming coldly under the chandelier light.
The physician took it with surgical precision. Not a hint of doubt. He brought the tip to the Empress's bare forearm.
Katarina didn't even flinch. The needle entered the vein. Only the questioning, slightly frightened glances of the guards, darting from the syringe to the sovereign's impassive face, betrayed the strangeness of the event.
The syringe filled, not with blood, but with a different-looking fluid. It glowed from within with a fierce, almost hellish crimson-gold light. It seethed, bubbled in the glass cylinder, like a living, enraged creature tearing at its fragile prison.
The energy emanating from it was almost tangible, making the air vibrate.
"You are... incredibly generous, Your Majesty," the physician whispered, carefully extracting the needle. A drop of the glowing liquid fell onto the marble floor and instantly evaporated with a faint hiss.
"You know what to do," Katarina caught his gaze. Her eyes burned with the same fierce light as in the syringe. "I expect good news. And preferably... by tomorrow morning."
The physician nodded, almost bowed, clutching the precious syringe with both hands like the greatest relic. He turned and almost ran into the corridor, carrying away a clot of foreign, almost divine power, destined for the one lying behind the door, unaware of the price of his healing.
Waiting until he disappeared around the corner, she turned to a guard. Her gaze, like an icy blade, pierced him.
"If a single hair falls from his head..." her voice was quiet, like a snake's hiss. She didn't finish. The desired effect was achieved: judging by the guard's pale face, a spasm of fear ran through him; he swallowed so loudly the sound echoed in the corridor's silence.
"Keep me informed of any changes. Any. Day, night, doesn't matter, I must know. Triple the guard. Gods help you if he bolts again..."
The guard saluted, his hand trembling slightly. Katarina turned and walked away, her dress rustling on the marble. Today, she had another... visit to make.
Marcus was asleep. The heavy hangover of cheap moonshine (a gracious gift from Parimed) hung in the air like a thick, sweetly-nauseating fog.
He was surrounded by women provocative curves of bodies barely covered by silk or completely naked. Pink flesh, the smell of perfume, sweat, and something else, cloying.
"Gha... Gha..." He opened his eyes, foggy from the previous night. His hands automatically gripped the warm thighs on either side of him.
A blissful, foolish grin was frozen on the man's face as he stared at the ceiling of the expensive brothel "Iskys."
'Had a great time last night...'
He had succeeded, pleased the Empress, as always.
That meant a reward was coming.
'I wonder what it'll be?' he thought. 'A new castle? Pointless I already have three. An estate? Ridiculous I have about thirty, haven't even been to half of them. Money, jewels, women... A promotion? Can't go any higher.'
Thinking about it, he concluded that... a simple "thank you" for variety's sake would suffice. And a month's leave.
'But after yesterday I won't see a day off, that's for sure. Ughhh... And a pile of reports is waiting. I don't want to!' he mentally wailed, sinking back onto the pillow, closing his eyes.
Bam! Bam!
Noise and commotion. Dozens of voices talking over each other. At first, he paid no mind it was a brothel, after all. But the sounds were approaching. Clearly and purposefully, heading his way. Instincts, honed by years of war and battle, tensed in an instant.
Slowly, like a boa constrictor, he freed his hand from under a warm thigh. His fingers found the cold hilt of a dagger under the pillow. The weapon slid under the blanket. Marcus closed his eyes, maintaining even breathing.
The door flew open with a deafening BAMM! "And who was scolding me for drinking yesterday?" flashed through Katarina's mind.
The brothel manager was fluttering nearby, bleating something incoherent like a sacrificial lamb.
"Shut up!" she threw out without looking. The guards remained outside the threshold. She entered, slamming the door behind her.
SLAP!
A clap of her hands, amplified by magic, sounded like a miniature explosion. The air shuddered for a moment.
Everyone jumped up simultaneously the women with shrieks, Marcus with feigned sleepiness. The women instantly recognized the guest. A shiver ran through their bodies, and their fingers dug into Marcus's hands, who was still mumbling something.
"Everyone. Out." Katarina's voice was quiet but cut like a blade. A slight smile played on her lips.
A hurricane of half-naked bodies, covering themselves with whatever was at hand (one blanket for three a record!), rushed past. The door slammed shut with a crash.
"And a good morning to you too, Katarina," Marcus said, sitting up and stretching with theatrical flair. "Since I'm awake, thanks to you, I'll ask: to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I came to see how my best warrior is slowly rotting in a sea of bad alcohol and the embraces of... available courtesans? And what will the subjects say about such an Empress?"
"Such concern," he smirked. "And what heavenly punishments await me today?"
"Hmm..." She began pacing the room, avoiding puddles of wine and scattered clothes. Her nose wrinkled slightly from the stench. "You have property. A position too. Frankly, you've stumped me, and that's unpleasant, you know." She stopped, looking at his puffy face. "But your current... appearance... gave me an excellent idea! Do you know of the 'Golden Logos'?" she asked, watching as understanding slowly dawned in his eyes.
"That cult of killers? Like the Cotto, but with tacky intrigues instead of knives!" Marcus drawled, already guessing where she was heading.
"Exactly. I recently met with their leader. A marvelous woman, of immense... virtues." Katarina made a meaningful pause.
"And what did she manage to rope you into?" Marcus sighed.
"Nothing. You will be roping her in." Her finger pointed accusingly at his stomach, hidden in crumpled pantaloons.
"I'm almost afraid to imagine what this will cost you..."
"Don't worry," she waved a hand. "Payment is my headache. You've earned it." A folded sheet appeared from the folds of her dress. She tossed it onto his blanket. "Go to this address today. And don't be late."
She leaned in; the smell of expensive perfume momentarily overpowered the brothel stench. Her lips touched his cheek with a light, burning kiss.
"Happy to serve," Marcus grunted automatically, his brain already racing.
"And I expect you at your post tomorrow, by lunch at the latest." Her smile turned icy. She left without looking back.
Marcus stared at the piece of paper, then at the ceiling.
"What a bitch..." he whispered with bitter admiration. "She sure knows how to spoil the fun..." He collapsed onto his back. "Oh well. That's tomorrow. And today..." he reached for the half-empty bottle on the floor, "...rest."