Waterfront
“Our Fortunes
Rise and Fall Together.”
When Katarina had
first come to Zaun, as a child, the words had hung on the lips of
every man at the bottom. The towers had risen on their backs, until
the men at the top could hang the structures from the clouds,
completing the mantra. But the land of Zaun was a land of change.
“Steam or Bleed.”
That mantra had hung above the gates to the land of change when
Katarina returned for war. Profit Bay had become Killik Naval Yard.
The luxury industries had collapsed, and from the ashes rose a bird
of vengeance.
And now, Katarina
was here again. Now she waded through a denser smog than before to
see that the motto had been replaced for a third time. The archway to
Killik Naval Yard had been removed, probably to make way for
something. In its stead, hanging from the dock tower that Noxus'
officers had commandeered, was a banner that hung several floors.
“Steam saves
Blood,” and the Hextech logo.
Katarina stopped to
ponder it while a sea of faces moved around her on the sidewalk. The
difference from before was only very slight, but she felt it was
significant. An anonymous bump from the crowd taught her its meaning:
No one is still before war. She crossed over the street and through
the Naval Yard's gates, and began her kilometers long trek through
the smog with that thought sullying her experience. The bandages over
her eye had drawn too much pity at the city boundaries, so she had
removed them, and subjected her itching wound to the smog. Her
father's blade had widened the scar only a few days of travel ago.
The pain clawed at
her mind. She hefted her duffel bag higher to breathe through it,
almost missing what she had been meant to catch. An envelope fell
from the top of her bag, cartwheeling in the air. She snatched it
mid-flight with practiced ease- with restored depth-perception- and
noted the seal. The bump and the letter were not anonymous. Both were
sealed with a black rose. Two more were tucked into the bag's flap.
Katarina pushed them in properly. She had a long walk through Noxus'
newly raised army to think about it.
No soldier was
sitting, as the last time she had visited. Drill Instructors shadowed
and roared over the sound of thousands of sparring sessions. Platoons
marched through and between each other with precision or punishment.
Katarina knew her friend Riven was among them. She knew she would be
among them soon. But first she had to check in. Her father's office
was across the flat surface of the Naval Yard, and high atop the
control tower.
But Zaun was a land
of change. When she exited the elevator, the title on the door
before her was Field Marshal. No name. Another door in the hallway
was for High Summoner Sander Grieve. She had been expecting her
father and General Hawkmoon. Her moment of shock was broken by an
arcane, inhuman growl.
“First Lieutenant
Katarina Du Couteau?”
The Field
Marshall's office had two men guarding it. Green uniforms and golden
heavy armor were not assigned to Noxus' soldiers. It wasn't until
Katarina saw their helms that she realized who she was facing.
Noxians did not wear Green, and men did not have four eyes. But the
helms held four slits that glowed red with magics.
“Captain
Du Couteau,” she corrected.
Both guardsmen
nodded, and baleful smiles appeared below their masks. The other
guard answered this time, in another voice that no human could
produce.
“You can take
that up with the Captain.”
Katarina refused
her fear the only way she knew how.
“You mean with
the Field Marshal? I guess they don't teach big words to the
dogs.”
The smiles turned
to scowls, and the guardsmen alternated their answers.
“He's Field
Marshal to you, regular.”
“And you're
nothing to us.”
The guardsmen
parted with tempered discipline and a resuming malice in their grins.
One opened the door while the other prompted Katarina to enter.
“Don't keep him
waiting, dog.”
She passed into the
office, and was mildly shocked when the two guardsmen joined her and
stood within reach. She was more shocked by the man she'd come to
see. Katarina had grown accustomed to men with magnanimous presence-
she had grown up with it. But this man was not magnanimous. This man
was terrifying. His form darkened the halo of Piltover's reflection
across the bay. Her father had stood in the same spot a month ago and
blocked out the sun. This man made it hide behind the expanding smog
of Noxus. His presence cast a shadow of dark amber across all the
land below him. He did not move, or smell, or sound like any normal
creature. His every step was the death blow of a void daemon. His
desk was the throne of a mad god. His glare was the soul-stealing
gaze of monsters. It wasn't until he finally turned and smiled that
Katarina felt she could breathe. She had seen that smile in the
reflection of the elevator doors, and she showed it now, proving that
she, too, was dangerous.
Then, remembering
herself, Katarina set down her duffel bag and saluted.
“Captain Katarina
Du Couteau, reporting for duty, sir.”
The Field Marshall
wore only one decoration on his uniform. Katarina wouldn't have
recognized it, but she had just seen it on the guardsmen beside her.
It was a unit marking, the image of the golden Raedsel helmet and its
four, red eyes. Katarina swallowed hard as she realized whose
presence she was in, and what manner of soldier she had just
insulted.
After a long pause,
Nirmal Raedsel answered,
“Captain. Yes.
Hawkmoon mentioned your... promotion.”
With the last word,
his hand settled on a folder on the desk before him. Without opening
it, he continued,
“I don't
recognize royal privilege. And I don't recognize brevet ranks.”
He waited for the
thought to sink in to Katarina's shocked expression. Her father's
jurisdiction did not allow him to promote her. He had assigned her a
brevet rank, thinking that General Hawkmoon would assign her to a
command platoon and keep her out of harm's way. But Hawkmoon was not
here. The guardsmen on either side of her were chuckling, but the
sound was of hungry dogs smelling fresh meat.
Her salute held.
Raedsel had not reciprocated.
“Sir. If I may.”
“Report for duty,
First Lieutenant.”
Katarina nodded.
“First Lieutenant
Katarina Du Couteau, ready to serve.”
She saw his posture
relax into conversation, and he sat into his desk chair. Katarina
tried her question again.
“Sir, I thought I
would be reporting to Field Marshal Hawkmoon. Is he alright?”
“General
Hawkmoon was reassigned to naval affairs. I have resigned from my
post as Captain of the Raedsel guard to take command of this force
and ensure Noxus' victory. Now why did you arrive injured, soldier?”
The question
drawled in casual, explanatory tone. Katarina had to take a moment to
remember her not-yet healed scar.
“I'm fit for
duty, sir.”
“I just told you,
you aren't,” Raedsel growled.
His voice had no
arcane augmentation. He didn't need it.
“There's a healer
downstairs named Buri. Go to him.”
He waved her
dismissal, and the two guardsmen at her side saluted.
“Sir,” she
asserted. “Summoner Grieve is just down the hallway. He has healed
me before.”
The Field Marshal's
glare was now hostile.
“You will not
waste his time, and you will not waste mine. Now get this straight,
princess. You are a blade of Noxus, and Noxus sharpens its weapons.
Get with the program. Ferro.”
He gestured, and
one of the guardsmen tapped Katarina's shoulder. It was not a
request. She saluted and pivoted with the guardsmen at her side. One
stayed by the door.
The other
guardsman, Ferro, did not speak again until they reached their unit.
The 42nd had a rally point on the Naval Yard marked by
it's standard- “42nd” on a black flag. The crates
nearby were organized as tables, either for kit or wounded soldiers.
One medical table had a poster on its side. The image of two
soldiers: a Demacian using a civilian as a shield, and a Noxian
shielding a civilian. The caption read, “Remember Kalamanda.” It
was here, at this medical table, that Katarina saw the summoner,
Braxton Buri. And it was here that Ferro spoke, without his
augmentation.
“Buri.”
His calm tenor was
for the summoner's benefit. Buri was hunched over a medical table,
hands pressed against the gash in a man's torso. The flesh zipped
closed with a relieved exhale, and the summoner turned to nod at them
both. Ferro stepped forward and nodded for attention.
“Summoner, this
is our newest Lieutenant, Katarina-”
“Du Couteau,”
the summoner mumbled. “We've met.”
He was easily twice
her age, and weary from the memory she surfaced in him. Katarina knew
not to mention the scene at the embassy. Ferro spoke for her.
“Raedsel wants
her fixed up. Where are my platoons?”
Buri paused to
remember, “What company are you? Echo?”
Katarina nearly
died on the spot. She wasn't Fury Company's Captain. It hadn't
occurred to her to wonder who was.
“No. Fury,”
Ferro answered.
“They're still
running, Captain.”
Buri turned back to
his crate-table and nudged the soldier that was laying there.
“Get up. You're
healed.”
The soldier
groaned, “It still hurts, Staff-Major.”
“Pain is an
illusion. Get up.”
The soldier removed
himself, and Buri turned back to the conversation with a gesture to
Katarina.
“Could have sworn
that scar was healed when... So did it open itself? Any arcane
after-effects?”
He licked his lips
and tried to avoid thinking about the man that was beaten into
Death's tender caress at the embassy. Katarina shook her head clear
of the thought.
“No. Just- it...”
She didn't feel
like telling everyone she had lost a fight, or revealing her family
troubles.
“Mundane. It's a
mundane wound.”
Buri shrugged. A
quick, arcane zap was all he needed.
“All better,
Lieutenant. Anything else, Captain?”
“Yeah,” Ferro
grumbled.
The four eyes of
his helm were peering through the masses of bodies filling the
dockyard, not finding something he wanted.
“Would you mind
keeping the Lieutenant company? I'd like to see what's taking so
long.”
Captain Ferro was
out of earshot before Buri could nod. He sprinted with speed that
Katarina had never expected from a human. It was only when his image
disappeared behind the marching formation of the 15th
Regulars that Katarina felt free to relax. It was only then that she
realized how scared she had really been. She jumped to the side as a
hand fell on her shoulder. Buri was there, a consoling expression
offered her way.
“I would ask if
you've got a tremor, but the Raedsel men take a little getting used
to.”
He smiled as
Katarina sighed her shakes away.
“Why are they
here, Buri- I mean, Staff Major? Is Darkwill here?”
She nodded
sideways, to the rank on his lapels, as an apology. Buri shrugged the
tongue-slip away.
“Noxus needs an
army. War Veterans are the best men to raise one, but we don't have
many left. There haven't been any real battles since Mogron or Del
Garde. Few even remember those.”
He sighed and
leaned his weight back against the crates he had used for healing.
“So they
re-drafted old codgers like me and brought in the Raedsel Guard.”
He smiled as
Katarina asked, “You're a veteran?”
“Yeah,” Buri
smiled. And with a nod to the poster beside him, he added, “You
too. Kalamanda, right?”
He turned away from
the conversation before Katarina could respond. The injured soldier
had returned, this time clutching at his missing fingers.
“There are more
vermin in the supplies, sir!”
Buri stared for a
moment before answering, “So you stuck your fingers in them?”
He gestured for the
soldier to come closer, then examined the wound long enough to tell
that “we need to go get your fingers back. Lieutenant, would you?”
He nodded for
Katarina to follow, and they took off at a jog, with the bleeding
soldier at point. He gestured with the working hand towards the sound
of scuffling, and Katarina approached a stack of crates with caution,
Buri at her side.
The crate before
them had its lid still attached. Blood was congealing around a
scavengers hole where the soldier had no doubt been stupid enough to
stick his hand in blind. Buri gestured at the lid, and took hold of
one side. Katarina grabbed the other, fearing the scuffling inside
and keeping her fingers tense.
Her eyes met
Buri's. He nodded.
“Now.”
They threw off the
lid expecting the seven maws of hell, but a fox's head popped into
the sunlight, scarlet blood scoring its white fur. Two fingers
protruded from either side of its mouth, like a comic impression of
Freljord's Walruses. Katarina made the connection instantly. This was
the horrid critter that had bit her when she and Garen- she shook her
head free of the memory, searching for another. This thing had been
in Bilgewater when she and Garen- Katarina bit her cheek to suppress
it again. In any case, this vermin was a bad omen.
Buri sighed across
from her over the crate.
“Nine Tails,”
he murmured.
“Sacred vermin.
This'll be easy. They like shiny things. I had to handle an
infestation when I lived in Ionia.”
He summoned some
currency from his pocket while Katarina stepped back with mild awe.
“Wow,” she
murmured.
Buri glanced up,
nearly getting caught as the fox pawed at his hand.
“What?”
He grinned as the
fox turned from murderous to playful, and dropped its finger snacks
to try and steal his coins. Katarina shrugged, bemused.
“Well... you're a
Veteran, a Summoner, a Forensic specialist, a Historian, a Fox
charmer... Is there anything you haven't done?”
Her smile fell with
his. Buri nodded, focusing on his distracted prey as it lunged up to
him from the ground. He had drawn it out of the box, and was leading
it to the waterfront. A stiff drop and no access would drown the
problem.
It was as he
reached the edge that he answered,
“Yeah. I never
killed anyone. And I never requited my love.”
Katarina glanced up
from the dancing fox to see if Buri was joking.
“Love?”
She saw him smile
as his eyes trailed toward the water. A splash confirmed his kill.
“Too late now.
We're at war.”
And then his tone
changed with the subject.
“You know,
Nine-Tails are sacred in Ionia. But they say that when a fox tastes
human blood, it can't get enough. It turns evil.”
Katarina followed
his gaze into the water, and watched as the fox surfaced. It paddled
around in a circle, looking for land, and set off down the harbor
when it found none. Watching it move, she realized that the tides
were not lonely for it. The tiny waves brought up by wind had blown
other debris against the paved wall of the Naval Yard. Other foxes
had fallen to similar fates at Buri's tricks. Their corpses danced,
locked together in harmony with the ocean's tune against the wall.
“Thousands of the
damn things,” Buri mumbled. “They keep coming from inland. Maybe
they smell something on the wind.”
The sound of a
horn's call drew them away from the lapping waves, and back to the
movements of the yard. Several platoons were arriving exhausted and
panting under the 42nd's banner. Katarina picked out her friend Riven
at the lead of one formation instantly. She was spry, but still worn
and sweating. Ferro looked like he'd just won a cheap battle. The
horn lowered from his lips, and he waved for Katarina and Buri to
join him. Buri was grinning.
“I didn't
mention,” he murmured.
“The Raedsel men
have an interesting initiation process.”
Katarina arrived in
time to straighten her uniform and approach Ferro from behind. He was
addressing the platoons that had just arrived. Most of the soldiers
were catching their breath still, but there seemed to be an unspoken
rule against slouching or sitting. Ferro's voice called out to those
gathered like the horn had.
“The modern
soldier is not a tank! He is an endurance runner. He is a machine
that does not stop to sleep, eat, drink, or piss. He does not need
encouragement. He does not need a reason to fight beyond orders.
Allow me to state again: He is a machine!”
Ferro took a brief
respite from his spiel to glance at Katarina.
“In a moment,
Lieutenant.”
He turned back to
the recovering soldiers and paced across them.
“An Ionian
swordsman doesn't give a damn how heavy you are. A rifleman could
care less how much you can lift. A martial artist will never find out
how hard you can punch. The goal of this army is speed and
efficiency. Wars are ex-pen-sive. The faster we're done, the faster
we come home. Do you all understand? By the time we get on those
boats, we should be a speedy machine!”
Ferro sighed.
“So it is with
great distaste...”
Katarina could tell
by the soldiers' reactions that they had known Ferro for a while.
Their faces fell as his words came.
“It is with great
distaste that I award Riven her new weapon. Step forward,
Lieutenant!”
Katarina hesitated
a moment before realizing that he hadn't addressed her. Riven stepped
forward, the sun catching on her smile and new rank insignias. Zaun
was truly a land of change.
Ferro stepped back
to the nearest crate, a double-wide box, and kicked its top off. The
faces around him were lit up with bemused excitement as he reached in
and produced the most obnoxiously large weapon Katarina had ever
seen.
“Two meters long
crafted with three Quintessences of Desolation in the blade. The
primary material is Ironspike Obsidian, with a thickness of one
molecule on the blade's edge. Oh. And check this out.”
Ferro tossed the
sword to Riven with a single hand. Its immense weight soared just
like the weapon it was. Katarina was more worried by how easily Riven
arrested its motion. When her fingers secured a grip, the arcane
marks of the quintessences lit up along the blade. Arcane, green mist
lifted out of the obsidian to illuminate Riven's manic grin. Ferro's
mouth was a happy snarl.
“Congratulations,
Lieutenant. You are now in possession of the finest weapon ever
crafted. You can show it off later. Third Platoon! You have a new
recruit.”
Ferro nodded in the
Platoon's direction, and the men nodded back, their weight shifting
in interest. Katarina did not need to straighten her posture further.
She held their glares, and felt her scar itch under the attention.
The general emotion was the anticipation of an inside joke- all but
Riven and her suddenly apparent worry. Katarina caught her eyes long
enough to shoot a questioning look, but Ferro had her attention
before Riven could respond.
Katarina took a
step back as Ferro turned to her. Somewhere in his throw to Riven, he
had drawn his own broadsword.
“Weapon ready,
Lieutenant,” he called.
Katarina's hands
fell to her sides.
“What?”
“Weapon ready,”
Ferro repeated.
“No man serves
under Captain Raedsel's watch until they can draw blood against him.
The same goes for you and me.”
His broadsword
raised to point at her.
“You don't have
to beat me, Lieutenant. Just draw blood. Now last warning. Arm
yourself.”
Katarina had not
brought a sword. She had several daggers concealed on her body, but
none of them were regulation.
“What if I'm
unarmed?”
The pleading in her
voice was heavier than she had intended. Ferro's snarling smile
returned below his helm.
“You die.”
He lunged. Katarina
ducked and rolled to her side, rising with a dagger in either hand.
But she had to move before she could use them. Ferro was always
advancing, always striking. She lost a dagger and dodged for more
room, but the 42nd standard had formed an arena by their
attendance. Katarina reached for another dagger with more lore than
survival on her mind.
She had heard
stories about the Raedsel guard. They were supposed to be Boram
Darkwill's bodyguards. She had heard that each recruit had to draw
blood against their captain or die. She hadn't thought that was true,
though. Had Riven already fought him and won?
Katarina ducked a
swipe at her throat, cutting her hair in the process. She flicked a
dagger, thinking Ferro exposed after his strike, but cursed herself
when the blade ricocheted off of his gauntlet. She had three left.
“Nice effort
though,” Ferro chided. His next blow sent her rolling backwards.
Katarina landed on her feet and brought two daggers to the ready,
lowering herself finally into a proper stance for fighting. The
dagger by Ferro's feet had blood on it- hers. Katarina hadn't
realized it at first, but she would need to wash her uniform later-
if she lived. There was another dagger between her and Ferro.
Katarina could tell by the handle that it was the blade she had
concealed behind her waist. Blood trickled from it, and her back, to
the ground. With two daggers and some blood left, Katarina found
herself realizing the trouble she was in. What would Cassie do?
“This is
ridiculous! Wait! Can't we settle my rank without killing each
other?”
Her tone remained
assertive and level, but Ferro's patronizing response made everyone
forget that.
“Welcome to war,
princess!”
Another lunge.
Another dagger lost under powerful blows. Ferro's off-hand had
remained behind his back until now, a gesture Katarina mistook for
traditional fencing. With a single knife left to her, Katarina's
options had fallen to a last ditch effort. She could no longer win by
crossing blades. A swift cartwheel carried her around the circle of
observers, and kept her just out of Ferro's reach. She landed on her
feet with the desperate hope that he would give her room. If she
could get her momentum forward, she could Shunpo. She would win and
show everyone just how deadly she could be. She just had to draw
blood. But Ferro was charging. And all she had left was her ability
to throw. But as her hand cocked back, Ferro's off-hand appeared. The
cutting pain of realization overwhelmed the feeling in her raised
wrist.
She wasn't the only
person who could toss a dagger. Sliced tendons dropped her last
weapon to her feet, and the slicing edge of Ferro's broadsword sealed
her fate. Katarina felt steel pierce her kidney and slide out her
back. The hilt pressed against her skin, and the flex of his arm
pulled the blade up. Katarina was only fast enough to grab his wrist
with her remaining hand and hold herself up. She could only vocalize
a scream. Through the scream, she heard a voice speak for her, just
as desperate and scared as she was.
“Captain!”
Riven stepped
forward, her eyes pleading and hands gripping a sword that asked no
questions. But Ferro held Katarina's gaze.
“You've got one
hand and no weapons, sergeant.”
His off-hand
grabbed her shoulder, pressing her down and dragging the blade
against her organs. But she held, pressing against his wrist to stay
alive.
“You should
surrender,” was his last advice.
But Katarina did
have one more weapon. And she was thankful to have sparred with her
step-brother, Talon. Her wrist flicked against Ferro's grip,
launching the vambrace she'd hidden in her uniform into his skin, and
slicing tendons in beautiful retribution. His grip failed instantly,
and Katarina fell to the ground with the Captain's weapon still
sheathed in her gut. Ferro's hand raised to show her victory, and
they both smiled through the pain.
Katarina had never
heard applause in ballet, in poetry, or in any of the subjects at
which her sister excelled. But she heard it now. And the sound
carried and echoed into the following two weeks. Her wounds healed
under Staff-Major Braxton Buri's care; the solitude of the Du Couteau
estate gave way to Riven's company and the Summoner's tales about
Ionia. Zaun was becoming the home she'd never had. She would rise and
fall in darkness, always seeing the city's haze glow golden in the
rising sun while her platoon ran the perimeter; always seeing the
smog fade to blue as it muddied the stars over their formations. The
weeks and their work did not pass quickly. But the bond Katarina felt
with the men and women around her grew closer than she had ever been
with strangers. She had learned everything about Riven's childhood as
they drifted to sleep in their bunk beds. She had learned about
Ionia's flora and fauna during healing breaks between combat drills.
She had wondered where Swain and her father were.
On the evening of
the third week, her mind finally cleared of the past. A sheen of
sweat pearled over her skin and lit up under the occasional Hextech
lamppost. A steady jog kept the light stations coming every few
seconds. Riven was panting at her side, breasts wrapped tight against
her chest, muscles tensing in feminine grace as she bobbed through
the night. Katarina's jealousy had driven her through every exercise.
Riven glanced her way suddenly, noticing the attention.
“What?”
She smiled it.
Katarina shook her
head.
“Nothing.”
The occurrence was
too common for that excuse to keep up, but Katarina had no intention
of admitting her insecurities. The jog ended and another of the
endless briefings began. Ferro had dragged out a chalk board and
propped it up against some supply crates while Fury company gathered
around. Katarina was still eying Riven with contempt when she heard
her name called.
“Sir?”
“Our designation,
Lieutenant.”
She could never
read his expression through the Raedsel helm. His mouth remained an
unimpressed line.
“Light Infantry,
sir,” she called back.
Ferro nodded,
satisfied, and pointed to Riven.
“Fury company has
four divisions. What are they?”
“Sir. Platoons
One, Two, Three, and a command element.”
Riven's posture
relaxed as Ferro nodded.
“Correct,
Lieutenants. Four squadrons of eight per platoon. How many fire teams
do you have?”
He pointed out to
first platoon.
“Eight fireteams.
Thirthy-six men, sir.”
“Excellent. We've
got this down. Moving on! Tonight we're learning about some equipment
that's new to this war. Ionia is a land of hills with runes in 'em.
We can expect our ward systems to fail hard and often. To counter
this problem, we will be using flares as a secondary method of
communication.”
Here he turned
around to retrieve one from a supply crate. Katarina's lost attention
drifted towards her envy again, but was caught. Riven was already
watching her.
“Lieutenant!”
Ferro's gaze had
caught Riven first. Her posture straightened under his reprimand.
“Pay attention!
This might save your life.”
Ferro held up the
flare, a small cylinder with a Hextech logo on the side and a string
on the bottom.
“For those of you
familiar with Hextech sparklers, this works the same way. Point it up
and pull the string, like so.”
Ferro jerked the
string, removing a cap from the bottom. The toy reported like a
rifle, and a green sparkler shot up to the heavens, pulsing bright
and reporting with a bang every few seconds. Katarina remembered
little of the technical explanations that followed. Don't get it wet.
Don't look directly at it. Don't point it at your face. Pull the
string; make the sparkles. Her father had bought two when the Hextech
corporation had first invented them. She and Cassie had launched one
each from home. That thought sullied her night until the hour she
finally reached a bunk.
The officers
quarters were separated by sex. Katarina kept that in mind as she
followed a male's footsteps through the shadows to the bunk she
shared with Riven. She was at Katarina's side, peering through the
unlit room to what was definitely a man. To them, he was just a
shadow rummaging through Katarina's trunk, at the foot of the bunk
beds. Katarina could see a Noxian trench coat covering his frame, and
the shadow of a second person standing behind him. Her eyes focused,
thinking it was an illusion of the dark, but it refused to disappear.
She and Riven had
been panting before, but they cut their breathing until they couldn't
hear each other over the sound of their own hearts. Katarina checked
Riven's face for the certainty she needed. A nod back confirmed, and
Riven moved to flank the strangers. Katarina scooted forward another
bed through the shadows, swift and silent. The intruder seemed to
find what he was looking for. His posture shifted to satisfaction,
and shifted again to remove a parcel from his cloak. Enough
moonlight was peering through Zaun's smog and the windows to
illuminate the seal of a black rose on the package- enough for
Katarina to realize who was before her. The image of his face in her
father's house appeared- the thought of him murdering the ambassador
in the vilest of ways. This was the man Talon had been sent with to
Freljord. Lieutenant Mayfield. Katarina wasn't sure if she felt fear
or anger.
Either way,
Mayfield felt her presence. His head tilted up suddenly, as if
knowing he was in her thoughts. The shadow behind him vanished just
as he turned to look at it, and then his ear tilted towards Riven, to
the sound of her finger against a switch. Hextech lamps blazed to
life around the room. But his silhouette lingered in darkness for a
moment too long. Katarina hesitated at the sight, but blinked away
the illusion as his face appeared.
Now or never,
was all she had time to think.
Mayfield jumped to
his feet and sprinted for the window, but Riven intercepted him,
swinging the hammer of her fists. With their contact as a fulcrum,
his feet swung up behind her, and locked around Riven's neck. He
grabbed her arms and rolled, using their combined momentum to flip
Riven forward and land her on her back. His arms reached to secure
her neck, to snap it, and Katarina charged in without a moment's
thought.
But the assassin's
speed appeared again. Abandoning the kill, his feet planted, and he
drew a dagger from behind his waist just as she did. Katarina hated a
fair fight about as much as she hated being watched. Thanking the
gods that had passed the art of Shunpo on to humanity, she stepped
like a flash, and left only smoke in her wake. Mayfield's eyes
flashed wide, and his head swiveled just in time for Katarina to
admire the surprise she'd inspired. Descending with a blade to his
back, she felt the thrill of the ambush Garen had escaped. Her
opponent had similar intentions. With his eyes still wide, he flashed
a smirk and vanished. Katarina felt what she feared and swiveled her
head to check. Their places had switched.
Katarina sprung
forward and turned, seeing the hilt of Mayfield's dagger jab at where
her neck had been. So he wasn't playing to kill. Katarina was now at
Riven's side. She had a knee floored, and was about to rise when
Mayfield drew another weapon. This was a revolver, with another
Hetxtech logo in the city they owned. Riven froze under its
attention.
“Stay out of
this, sweetie. You're expendable.”
The patronizing
tone did not have its intended effect. Riven scowled, biding her time
while Mayfield paced his way to the window, weapon on Riven and eyes
locked with Katarina. As another bunk bed passed between them,
Katarina shot her friend a glance. Riven understood, and dashed to
cover, dodging the spark and report of a bullet. Mayfield seemed
unfazed now that his back was to the window.
“You've got mail
in your box,” he murmured.
Katarina saw his
weight shifting back against the window sill. His voice continued.
“I'll give you
the benefit of the doubt, and assume you lost the last few letters.
Make sure this set gets read.”
The revolver
returned to his cloak, and his weight shifted farther back. But
Katarina's scowl stopped him.
“I don't feel
like doing your dirty work,” she spat.
Riven had
disappeared from her senses. Katarina knew she was in earshot though.
She would have to explain this. Mayfield's reaction was bemused. His
weight shifted back forwards, into the room, and he advanced on her a
few steps. Katarina readied her stance again, hoping Riven was closer
than just earshot. But Mayfield stopped just out of her reach, and
whispered so only she could hear.
“Transcendence is
not refused.”
Katarina did not
afford him the same discreteness.
“Try me,”
she hissed.
Mayfield sighed, a
mix of disgust and annoyance.
“It will interest
you,” he growled.
“I'm going to
burn it,” she growled back.
Mayfield's jaw
seemed locked onto words he didn't want to use. Katarina wasn't
thinking of using words at all. Nothing he could say would make her
consider following the path of whoever had selected the ambassador's
death. She shifted to her back foot, ready to spring and attack, and
Mayfield took his opportunity to stop her in her place.
“Garen Crownguard
wrote one... to you.”
Katarina hesitated.
In that moment, Riven sprang from her cover, surprisingly close to
Mayfield. He had no time to react as her fist slammed into his
stomach, percussing his lungs and tossing him through the open
window. Katarina ran to Riven's side, peering through the window to
catch a view of the bastard falling. But he had landed on his feet,
revolver drawn. Perimeter guards were already rushing to meet him,
but they could only fight what they could see. A bullet to the
nearest Hextech lamppost cast two deep shadows onto the dockyard. The
same uncertain thing that Katarina had seen before was now back at
Mayfield's side. Her eyes refocused as Mayfield's silhouette turned
to their window, and she realized with a pang of fear what he was
doing.
“Duck!”
She pulled Riven
back in time to avoid the next shot, which splintered the wood where
Riven's head had been. They fell to the floor together, panting and
reeling from the adrenaline. But Katarina couldn't stay down. She
found her feet and stumbled to the trunk, leaving Riven panting on
the floor. Mayfield's parcels were there waiting for her, all tied
together with a steel cord made for throats, and tied with a slip
knot. The first three were all for Sander Grieve. The last, a
leather-bound book, had no address on it.
“Hey, Kat.”
Riven's voice went
ignored. Katarina flipped the book open and read the first entry to
herself.
December 1st,
5 CLE
I recognize “Mayfield”
from the embassy in Bilgewater. He killed the Noxian ambassador.
General Laurent and I rescued him. Talon appears to be a Noxian
himself, but has expressed no allegiance.
Our equipment includes
Zaunite craftsmanship, but was delivered by a Demacian quartermaster.
Our orders are delivered to Mayfield in envelopes sealed by black
roses. Their contents are shared only by Mayfield's mouth. Talon
knows me by some fame. Mayfield knows more. By virtue of knowledge,
he is in charge.
“Katie.”
Riven's
voice was shaking. Katarina turned to see that her outstretched arm
was as well. Riven had propped herself up against the wall, and was
watching as the combat high receded from her body.
“I've
never been in a fight before,” she confided.
“So?”
“Were
you like this after Kalamanda?”
Riven's
eyes twitched and darted over the arm she couldn't control.
Katarina
turned back to her diary, furious that it didn't interest her, and
wanting to read more, to find what would. But she couldn't do it
here- not with Riven.
“What
did he mean about Garen Crownguard?”
“I
don't know,” Katarina lied.
“And
no,” she lied again.
Riven
swallowed her excitement and smiled. The survival giggles were coming
on.
“We
sure showed him, huh?”
Katarina
bared her teeth in an attempt to reciprocate the smile.
“Yeah,
Riv. We got him good.”
But her
sarcasm was lost on the younger girl. And her will to spite was lost
as she realized the look Riven was giving her.
“Thanks,”
Riven whispered.
Katarina
blinked it over a few times.
“Thanks
for saving me, I mean.”
Riven
smiled; she meant it. Katarina nodded, and returned the parcels to
her trunk.
The next
day began at Sander Grieve's office, an hour before she would rise
for drills. He answered her knock with the same, perpetual weariness
that he always had, and the same unnatural energy behind it. She
still hadn't learned to trust the youthful face he'd bought in
Kalamanda.
“Hey,
toots.”
The
accent was a parody of Zaun. He dropped it for his greeting.
“Seriously,
though. I'm glad to see you made it out of Kalamanda.”
“You
pitted me against a summoner,” Katarina grimaced.
Grieve
shrugged as he accepted the letters from her.
“Nothing
you couldn't handle.”
He waved
the letters.
“I
guess this means you've met Mayfield properly.”
Katarina
was silent, so Grieve opened the letters.
“Charming
guy, I know,” he filled in. His eyes scanned the first letter for a
second before he added,
“Quick
learner, too. I think he forged this. Missing an arcane signature.
He's blunt, like you. No magic.”
He
tossed the letter aside, and it immolated before gracing the floor.
“Don't
go yet, Kat. I love your company.”
His
words stopped her from turning. In her tired stupor, she hadn't
noticed his mind reading hers. A focused effort corrected that.
Grieve winked. She feigned a scowl.
“I
have some papers for you to incinerate,” he explained.
Katarina's
eyes turned to the air where the falling letter had been. But
Grieve's hand waved and caught her attention. He pressed a finger to
his lips, and then to his ear. Katarina's eyes darted over the room,
expecting to see whatever wards were hidden nearby. The futility
struck her, and she nodded back to Grieve. He handed her a pile of
papers, and waited for her to turn away before mumbling, “oh.”
Katarina
turned back to him.
“This,
too. Be sure and use the elevator. It's much more convenient than
stairs.”
Grieve
slapped a folder on top of her stack- address: Field Marshal Raedsel.
She
nodded, understanding, and finally left. The incinerators were at the
bottom of the tower. And Grieve had been very clear about the one
place that wasn't warded. As soon as the elevator doors secured her,
she flipped open Raedsel's briefing and crossed the line of treason.
Operation
Thorn
The
Black Rose agent “Mayfield” is being upgraded to a high-priority
target after a JOJ announcement that “Mayfield is loyal. Begin
Phase One.” Subject was spotted in Freljord, due to anonymous tip.
Agents assigned to follow were spotted and killed in unarmed combat.
We have switched to indirect observation, and are now tracking Black
Rose agents supporting Mayfield.
Katarina was not a fast reader. The elevator slowed to a stop, and
she flipped through several pages, hoping to see words highlighted
for her convenience. Sander Grieve had wanted her to see this report
before she destroyed it. He had risked both of their deaths for it.
The last page held the shortest topic, so she skimmed it.
Conclusion
Only
two Black Rose agents, “Scarlet” and “Gold,” have survived
the selection program against Mayfield. They have been designated as
his handlers. Neither has been identified yet, but, as noted in
another report, intercepted letters indicate that “Gold” is a
Demacian and “Scarlet” is a Noxian within the military.
Rank unknown. Neutralization of “Scarlet” and “Mayfield” is
now the top priority of Operation Thorn.
The doors opened, and Katarina flipped the envelope closed. She had
understood few of the words, but most of the meaning. The rest of
her day was spent contemplating the strange hue of turquoise that the
report burned. It wasn't until midday that Riven finally snapped her
out of it. They were squatting together, back to back. The team
exercise involved more weight than Katarina had ever carried on her
own, and the stress was demanding her concentration. Riven was just
starting to break a sweat. Her head turned to talk over her shoulder.
“Did you file your report?”
Katarina leveled her breathing before responding, “What?”
“Your report. About last night. I already did.”
Katarina laughed through her breathing.
“Must have slipped my mind.”
Her legs felt like the papers. But she couldn't look weak with Riven
beside her. She wouldn't. Riven didn't even have parents. She
couldn't be stronger.
“Hey, Kat.”
“What?”
Her impatience revealed more than she'd hoped. But Riven's hesitation
was internal.
“I just wanted to say... thanks, again. You saved my life.”
“Break!”
Katarina knew she would never meet an angel, even a fallen angel, but
Ferro's voice was close enough sometimes.
She pressed off of Riven's back and stood, stretching her legs out,
feeling the pain get its last stabs in before recovering.
“Three more sets, kids! Ionian's have a fascination with powers of
two! They do thirty-two, and we do sixty-four. We will be a speedy...
Damnit, Riven! Why don't you look dead?”
Riven smiled sheepishly.
“Sorry, sir.”
“Second Platoon! Look at your CO! Is she doing something
differently? You all look like you've been working harder. Is that
the case?”
The men appeared more embarrassed than sheepish.
“No, sir,” one of them moaned.
The ensuing condemnations were issued during the next two sets.
Katarina felt her envy growing with every second that Riven's face
did not break. Was she better at putting on a show? Was she really
that much stronger? Katarina remembered the greatsword that Riven had
been awarded, and the stories she told about wrestling cows on her
adopted family's farm. It was possible, she decided. But it was not
her pedigree. Katarina would not lose.
“Lieutenant!”
Ferro's voice was
unhappy. The difference in tone was very slight, but Katarina had
learned to recognize it. She looked his way to see an aide from
headquarters standing by him.
“You've got a
summons. Go see Raedsel. Riven, I'll take her spot.”
The exchange was
quick, and Riven finally had a worthy match at her back. Katarina
heard “We're holding this one until Riven or I break!” before
falling out of earshot.
But she had not
been spared. She knew that as soon as the office door closed behind
her. Nirmal Raedsel was seated, his reading glasses and anger in
place. His introduction interrupted her salute.
“There should be
five reports sitting before me. I see four.”
Katarina knew she
could not lie convincingly, and that honesty meant death.
“I do not have
your perception, sir.”
His glare shot up
to her before she had finished.
“Bullshit,
Couteau!”
Raedsel rose from
his chair, broadsword unsheathed and singing from the sudden motion.
“Draw your
weapon,” was his only warning as he circled the desk.
Katarina cursed
herself quietly. She had left her sword and kit in the field. He
would kill her just for that.
“I burned it,”
she admitted.
“Grieve told you
to. I know. Raise your weapon.”
Katarina could not
afford to choke on her next question, so she forced it through and
yelled,
“Then why do I
have to duel you?”
Her desperation
sickened Raedsel's expression.
“Do you know why
I came here, Couteau? Because I know who needs to rule this nation
right now. There is no man better suited for the job than Boram
Darkwill. We came to a disagreement about who to trust, and that left
me with two options. Step up, or step down.”
His blade extended-
an accusation.
“You burned those
documents because you think you know better than I do about what
should reach my desk. Now prove it.”
Shunpo, flash
stepping, is the skill whereby a person travels large distances with
highly efficient, and therefore fast, motions. Katarina hard heard it
called a skill. When Nirmal charged, she realized it was an art form.
Her dodge left some blood behind. His second strike scraped her
before it had fallen, and his third took both of her weapons, slashed
her palms, and pinned her shoulder to the wall.
She grunted to
suppress a shriek. The sword would not remove itself, and she
couldn't get proper leverage.
“Usually I would
cut out your tongue,” Raedsel growled. Katarina was pinned too low
to see his face. From her vantage point, she could only note that the
four, red eyes on his unit insignia would fluctuate with his voice.
“But I need to
know what that report said.”
Nirmal pulled the
visitor's chair away from his desk and straddled it backwards to face
her. His sword was left pinning her flesh to the bookshelf behind
her.
“Take your time,”
he egged. “I'm not the one bleeding.”
“I didn't read
all of it,” she admitted.
“Then tell me
what you did read, Scarlet.”
His words connected
with the name on the briefing, and Katarina realized with a start
what the words around it meant.
“What?”
“Scarlet. That's
your codename, right? You're one of LeBlanc's thugs.”
Nirmal Raedsel was
not a man who joked. Just days prior, Katarina had been worried about
possibly fighting a group of assassins that played on rumors about
secret societies. Now she was realizing that the stories had the
merit of Raedsel's faith.
“No! LeB- what?
LeBlanc? She's a myth! She's dead! Or she never existed!”
Katarina grabbed
the blade in her shoulder and tugged. The wood shelf behind her
wouldn't ease its grip though. She grunted and tried to adjust her
feet beneath her while Raedsel folded his hands in patience.
“Then you're a
fool, as well,” Raedsel mumbled. He reached for one of the four
folders on his desk, and tossed a photograph from it to Katarina's
feet. She had seen that face published in a Hextech tabloid before.
And here it was having tea with Captain Swain.
“Yesterday,”
Raedsel mumbled. “After six hundred years of 'being a myth.'”
“That's
impossible,” Katarina whispered.
“That's...”
Boram Darkwill's age flashed before her mind.
“She's younger
than the Grand General,” Raedsel supplied. “And she'll probably
live a lot longer than you.”
“Sir. I...”
Pleading would get
her nowhere, and he had little reason to believe her words.
“I don't know
LeBlanc, and I don't work for the Black Rose. I just want what's best
for Noxus. I want to make sure Kalamanda never happens again. I
burned those papers because I thought Grieve knew better than me what
to do with them. I was just following orders.”
If only Riven could
see her now, cowering and kowtowing to men with sharper swords.
Katarina would never fail again without seeing her secret rival's
physique overcoming all odds. Quite possibly, she would never fail
again. Raedsel stood from his chair and straightened his uniform.
“An idealist,”
he groaned.
“Tell me, then.
What is best for Noxus? The Monarchy, or the Meritocracy?”
Raedsel's unit
marking carried a steady pulse when he was silent. The eyes would
glow just bright enough to reflect on the badge's gold before dimming
to darkness and rising again. Katarina had no idea how to answer.
“I- I don't
know,” she stuttered. “I thought we don't have a monarchy
anymore.”
Raedsel stood and
kicked his chair away.
“And don't you
forget it! We are a meritocracy: a nation of virtues that must be
upheld. Enemies to that cause are enemies of virtue itself!”
His hand rested on
the hilt of his sword. A quick twist of the wrist would carry along
the blade and through her shoulder. Katarina watched it with the
growing trepidation of the pain she was about to feel. His words were
muted behind that fear, but the growl of his voice supplanted all
other thought.
“Make a choice
now, Katarina. Pick a side. Do you think the people of this nation
should be held as slaves and traded to new masters on heredity?”
Well when you
phrase it that way, “No.”
“Then tell me,”
he growled. “What was in that briefing?”
“I don't know,”
she whimpered. “I just burned it sir.”
Cassie had insisted
that this would work in even the most dire of cases. Raedsel twisted
his sword, and Katarina learned that her sister was wrong.
“Mayfield!
Scarlet and Gold and Mayfield! They're going to kill those three! But
I'm not Scarlet! Mayfield is my enemy! He killed the ambassador in
Bilgewater!”
She waited in
Raedsel's indecision. He contemplated her words, or something, before
answering,
“You don't have
the heart of a soldier. You don't belong in the regulars.”
His tone betrayed
no meaning to his thoughts. But his sword jerked free from her
shoulder, knocking a book loose from the shelf.
“Get up,” he
mumbled. His off-hand was reaching for a handkerchief to clean his
blade.
“We're going to
duel again. This time, one of us is going to die.”
He and Katarina
both knew who. She wasn't dumb enough to accept a fair fight.
“I'm not your
enemy,” was her answer. And as she pondered a way to prove that,
her eyes fell to the book that had fallen.
Io- ni- an Fer-vor.
Ionian Fervor.
Talon had read one
of the fables aloud to her and Cassie. If she could read, she would
have finished the story herself. An entire night she had sat up
thinking over the passage in her head.
“I'm not your
enemy,” she repeated. “So I cannot raise my weapons against you.
But if you believe that I mean you harm, sir, then order me to throw
myself on my blade, and I will.”
Or it went
something like that. Raedsel had frozen with his sword almost clean,
handkerchief at the tip.
“Hmm,” he
finally grunted. And his eyes fell to hers.
“I won't pretend
to understand an assassin's virtues. But I suppose I can recognize
them.”
His blade sheathed,
and Raedsel resumed the chair at his desk. He busied himself for a
moment with signing an order, then replaced his reading glasses and
began reading through one of the four briefings. It was only when
Katarina began testing her injured arm that his glare shot up to her
and he scolded, “That wasn't an invitation to stay.”
She didn't.
Thank
the gods it was Friday. Katarina could not stop shaking. Twice that
day, she had been in mortal peril. All of this due to the
political vagaries that she ignored. Politics, it seemed, would not
ignore her. Even here, in the center of a Zaunite pub, she felt the
eyes of Noxus upon her. A slurred glance over her shoulder led to the
hooded stare of a stranger across the bar. A lock of scarlet hair
fell loose and blocked her view. And by the time her hands had
fumbled it away, the man had disappeared.
“Aren't you supposed to have a
buddy?”
Katarina swiveled around on an uneasy
axis to see Riven taking the stool beside her.
“Yeah,” Katarina mumbled. “Oops.”
She had three shots of Whiskey left
before her. But her vision corrected to two, and she took one.
As her head came down, she heard Riven
smack the third against the bar, empty. Katarina only stared as Riven
coughed up the fumes of her first drink- first ever. When her
composure returned, she giggled at Katarina's expression.
“Something troubling you?”
Katarina ran her tongue over her lips,
enjoying the numbness. The shaking in her hands had subsided, but now
Runeterra was swaying on its heels. Katarina nodded without
explanation, and Riven's mouth fell to a frown.
“Is it... is it about the break in?”
Three more shots appeared before them.
With a slight delay to aim, Katarina's hand reached out and grabbed
at where one had just been. Riven finished it while Katarina wondered
if her hand was going numb. She glared at her friend, demanding an
explanation. Riven only smiled, nervous.
“That's what buddies are for, right?
I can't let you get too drunk. The weekend's only started.”
Katarina sighed, her lips flapping
without control, and buried her head in her hands. But Riven seemed
determined to not let her slink away into solitude. Here she was,
nervously stealing Katarina's drinks and bothering her. Katarina felt
Riven's arm nudge against hers.
“Hey. We should probably get out of
here before someone catches us. I'd rather not get guard duty.”
Katarina nodded, remembering that there
were rules she was expected to live by now- more rules than just her
father's. Katarina lifted her satchel from the floor. Garen's diary
was within. She was still too sober to read it.
Riven guided her walk out the pub and
into the Hextech maze of Zaun. The city stretched around them into
the sky, with lights flickering high enough above them to replace the
stars the smog hid. Katarina might have lost her balance in her gaze
without Riven there. She followed the tug on her arm as Riven began
guiding them back to the yard. This was getting useful, if
humiliating. Katarina had never been there for Riven. It was always
this younger, stronger, more attractive girl picking up for her.
“Thanks for saving me,” Riven
whispered.
Her voice had dropped to a more
sheepish tone, quieter to hide the shaking. Or maybe the shots were
starting in on her. Why was she nervous? Katarina nodded, amending
her last thought. Now what was she supposed to be upset about?
Riven's arm guided her into an alleyway. The shortcut was taking them
to Hextech Avenue, to the gates of Killik.
“I still remember that pirouette you
did in ballet class.”
Riven's words were a muted mumble in
Katarina's head, but the meaning shone clear. Was Riven... ?
“I looked up to you a lot back then.
My parents were away making preparations in Zaun, so I really had you
as a role model. And you were always nice to me.”
Riven laughed. Katarina had little
memory of her or their friendship. Her focus had always been
competing with Cassie.
“Glad I could help,” she mumbled.
Riven stopped suddenly, her eyes
hesitating on the avenue ahead of them.
“Hey, Kat?”
Katarina's gaze slurred to her
direction.
“Yeah?”
“I...”
Riven gulped and scoffed at herself.
“Oh gosh. I... I don't... I don't
know how to say this.”
Riven's breathing deepened as she took
the air she needed.
“Should've had more drinks,” she
finally whispered.
Katarina remained silent and bemused.
“Ok. I um... I came out here looking
for you because I wanted to talk to you.”
“Ok,” Katarina nodded.
“In private,” Riven added.
Katarina nodded. A cat hissed nearby,
and engaged in a battle of wills with a nine-tailed fox. The fox
retreated, and the cat remained to rummage through a trash bin.
Katarina's eyes fell back to Riven, and she realized with a shock
that she had the girl's full and undivided attention. Also, Riven was
about two inches taller. Katarina straightened her posture, trying to
make up the difference.
“I guess this is as much privacy as
we can get,” she finally answered.
Riven's eyes focused into a question.
“What?”
“Nothing. Go ahead,” Katarina
murmured.
Another dose of conspiracy couldn't do
much more harm than it already had. But Riven's worry seemed slightly
different.
She swallowed again, her chest heaving
under breathing she was struggling to control.
“Ok. I... I... Sorry. I'm just really
nervous. I mean- maybe I shouldn't.”
Her head shook.
“Sorry. Just- we should go home.”
But her turn was stopped by Katarina's
arm. If the girl needed encouragement, she was about to get it.
“Riven, just-”
And she did.
Katarina felt lips press against hers,
and hands holding her waist, and all the attention that Riven could
give holding her in place. Her lips parted to speak, and she found
herself entangled in a dialogue. Maybe it was because she wanted
attention, or to have the girl she thought of so highly be so
enamored with her. Maybe it was a confirmation of the beauty no one
else would acknowledge. No, Katarina decided. She was drunk and it
felt good, and that was all the reason she needed to pull Riven
against her and accept a reverie under the smog of war and Zaun.
She didn't remember stumbling drunk
into a hotel or threatening the bellhop to silence. But her back fell
into soft sheets, and she knew where she was. Riven's body pressed
against hers, smiles and moans abundant. Katarina was just enjoying
the ride. Her satchel slid to the floor, dropping the weight of
business, and Katarina swore it moaned in her voice as its flap
opened and Riven's hands slid into her uniform. The feeling of skin
against her stomach was too much.
“Wait,” became a moan as Riven
found her lips again. The next opportunity she had to speak fell to
pleasure as Riven's tongue traced lewd pictures on her neck. But she
couldn't give in. Her arms wrapped around the younger girl, and she
rolled them across the bed. That was her first good look at Riven's
face. She was blushing with anticipation and fulfillment.
“I like you a lot, Kat,” she
whispered.
Katarina knew what she meant. Somewhere
behind the pleasure and risk was more than friendship or rivalry. But
she didn't have to lie to keep it going.
“I like you too,” Katarina
murmured.
And she pressed a finger to Riven's
lips.
“No more talking.”
Riven frowned,
uncertain about the rule, and she sighed. Her words passed through
the finger.
“I've admired you
since I first saw you, Katarina. I-”
Her head rolled to
the side in thought, but her expression flashed suddenly to
curiosity.
“Is that...?”
Her eyes had
focused on the open satchel, and the leather-bound diary poking out
of it.
“Kat, why do you
have that?”
Katarina hopped to
the satchel and flipped it closed, smashing her shoulder against the
wall in the process. Alchemy and Brewery did wonderful things
together. Her head cleared enough to remember the diary. She had to
explain this somehow.
“Ok. Riven,
you're drunk. I don't think-”
“It's fine!”
Riven's eyes were
wide with shock at what she'd just said, but she persisted.
“Kat, it's fine.
I won't... I won't say anything.”
Despite her power
and talent, Riven was not a willful person. Katarina couldn't imagine
her staying silent under Raedsel's gaze. But the offer was
heartwarming.
“Thanks, Riv.”
“I...”
Riven stopped
herself again. She was on the verge of saying what she had meant to
before, but a still-too sober mind kept her thoughts hidden. Katarina
spared her with an exit.
“Riven, I like
you too. I think- I mean... I like this.”
She smiled her
sincerity.
“But you're very,
very drunk, Riven. And I don't... I think you should be in your right
mind to-”
“So are you,”
Riven frowned.
Katarina nodded,
still clutching her satchel.
“Yes. Yes, I am
also drunk.”
She sat in a
complimentary Hextech chair, next to a complimentary Hextech desk,
and stared across the room at Riven's form on the bed. She hadn't
remembered stripping the poor girl. Oh, that body was tempting.
Katarina clutched her satchel tighter, and tried to muster the
courage she needed. She had to read this diary. That was the whole
reason she drank. And she couldn't let Riven feel so strongly about
her. Katarina didn't even know if she wanted this yet. Well...
“Ok. Ok, you're
right, Riven. It's fine. And... thank you... for not saying anything.
But...”
Riven smiled, and
let the dimples fade as Katarina looked for words.
“But I-”
She stood to leave.
Riven's smile disappeared and she sat up.
“I have to... I
have something to do... later.”
The satchel fell,
and Katarina let her uniform go with it.
Hours later,
Katarina lay wrapped in an embrace with her sleeping comrade. Riven
was snoring away the alcohol left in her system. Katarina was feeling
it pounding in her head. But she couldn't sleep without reading that
diary. Her fingers were still entwined in Riven's hair. She had
cropped it to her ears on enlistment, but it grew thick. Thick black
locks wrapping around Katarina's fingers and slipping away like silk.
She pushed Riven's arms away and stood, still feeling her balance
lag.
The diary was
buried under discarded clothing. She had to use the bathroom light to
not wake Riven. And Garen's hand was much softer than she had
expected.
December 15th,
5 CLE
The Journal of Justice
has printed rumors about myself and the Sinister Blade of Noxus.
Apparently we were too busy having sex in Kalamanda to kill each
other. There was a change in climate at the summit which somehow
became an official inquiry into my private life. Ashe raised more
objections to amendments. Sejuani accused me of being a prostitute.
Mayfield and Talon are still holding Lissandra somewhere. I haven't
discovered the location.
Every entry flowed that way, detailing the movements and descriptions
of the assassin or of Talon. The one exception was a page of notes
that had been scribbled over. Katarina lingered on that page for a
moment, but could only pick out the image of a gear, and some
equations she didn't know. She flipped to the end.
December
21st, 5 CLE
Gods
are mortal. War is a racket. I can only apologize for my own actions.
I believe that history will show Demacia's innocence in this horrible
affair, and will reveal the real culprits behind the monstrosity that
I have helped commit here. I will leave this book in the Library of
the Frost Archer Tribe. I don't give a damn who reads it, or how far
this information spreads.
And
for the record, Katarina and I were too busy having sex to kill each
other. It's the only part of Kalamanda I don't regret.
