They hadn't even made it past the nearest corridor before Severa turned to him. Whatever she was muttering, he didn't respond. There was no need. It would blow over.

However, she was no longer muttering. "Are you sabotaging me on purpose, Kestovar?" she growled, low enough not to echo. The marble caught her voice anyway, bouncing it back in a whisper's mirror image.

"What? No. I was helping."

"Helping?" she repeated. "Helping would've been not volunteering unsupervised commentary during an interrogation. Helping would've been keeping your mouth shut while I was managing a narrative that required precision." She hissed through her teeth. "Why do you do that?"

He frowned, processing. "Because you were lying." That wasn't exactly the reason, but that was the first thing that came to his mind.

"That's called tact!" Her voice cracked, so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she finally opened her eyes again, her voice sounded marginally more composed. "Do not for a second think I am tricked by your fabricated naivety."

He barely registered her words. The cat-thing was in his peripheral vision again, its ears twitching as though listening for invisible signals. It paused at the edge of the corridor then turned its attention to the door just beyond Severa. With both paws lifted, it pushed the door open. The room beyond swallowed the light from the corridor, leaving only a shadowed slit.

"Uh . . . Montreal . . ."

She ignored his protest. "I fell for your scheming before; I won't fall for it again."

The room inside looked extremely austere. In there stood a single large, glossy desk sat centered in the room, bare except for a single closed ledger.

"Montreal . . ." His voice grew more concerned.

"You are about to cut me off to say something distracting. You could at least learn to listen before you speak—"

"Is that room supposed to be open?"

She turned fully toward the corridor. Her eyes narrowed. ". . . No. Why is it open?"

"The cat-thing just pushed the door and ran in," Kestovar said.

Severa's eyes went wide. "Ah, no! I can't let it get in there. Forsing is allergic to cats. Well, not exactly allergic, but he becomes insufferably fussy when fur is present." She pursed her lips.

"Forsing is your brother?"

"Yes. The same one you saw in the Atrium."

"You can let him stay allergic. He was pretty mean to you."

Severa's hand went to her hip, and her lips twisted to one side in a sharp, wry curve. "I can't do that. He's still my brother."

"Ah." The lilt of his 'ah' sounded strange and unplaceable even to himself. He didn't expect that kind of answer from her. It lacked the habitual sharpness and haughty dismissal he usually associated with Severa.

She turned back to him, catching the faint quirk of his brow. "What is that face for?" she asked.

"Nothing. I just didn't expect you to say something like that." He promptly looked away.

"Like what?" she pressed.

"Nothing."

Severa's eyes darted back to the open study door, the cat-thing already crouched near the ledger. She pressed a hand against Kestovar's arm, tugging him forward with a sharp nudge.

"Come on. Inside, now. Before anyone sees."

Fabrisse gave a small, resigned nod and stepped forward, and she followed immediately. He stepped into the threshold cautiously, eyes fixed on the cat-thing. Its small, fluid movements were mesmerizing, calculated, almost unnervingly precise for a creature so diminutive. He felt a small thrill of anticipation; this was a puzzle, and he liked puzzles.

He slid a hand into the folds of his robe and found the crinkled pouch of treats he'd been carrying all along. One simple morsel, placed cleverly, and the creature would be lured into a predictable path.

He considered his approach. He could set the treat somewhere the cat could see but not reach immediately, and then crouch just beyond its line of sight. If he did it right, the cat would advance, pause, sniff, and—

"What is that?" Severa asked as she stared at the food pouch.

"A cat treat," he said, almost casually, holding it up. "To lure it."

Severa's jaw tightened. Her cheeks warmed with a flare of indignation. "And you didn't care to bring it out all afternoon?"

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He gave her a sidelong glance. She's right. I should've thought to use this earlier. But . . . I can't turn back time. The treat's here now, and that's what matters.

The cat-thing had slinked closer to the glossy desk, its back arched slightly, limbs moving with unnervingly precise, fluid steps. The sounds it made were too conspicuous in the quiet room.

Severa pressed closer to Kestovar's side, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Use your subtlety. Place the treat within reach, but leave a blind spot. It needs to see the bait, but not you at the same time."

"And what are you going to do during this time?" He asked.

"I will stand and instruct." She folded her hands.

"You don't want to use your magic?"

She lifted her chin, dignified. "I would, but there is a long-standing rule in House Montreal: no thaumaturgy is to be employed within the estate proper. It is considered uncouth, rather unbecoming of one's station."

Fabrisse frowned. "Even in emergencies?"

She allowed the tiniest incline of her head. "Guests may, under distressing circumstances, bend this regulation, naturally."

"But you are not allowed to."

"Yes."

"Even as the cat is scratching your brother's carpet?"

"Yes—what?"

Severa turned sharply back to the study, and her eyes went wide in horror. The cat-thing was swiping at Forsing's carpet, claws scraping across the fine weave, leaving faint gouges in its wake. "Argh! We must stop it. Get in, Kestovar!"

Without protest this time, Fabrisse stepped into the room with careful precision. He paused only to hand Severa his satchel of stone. "The cat will notice if it hears the ticking from the detector," he murmured with a face still utterly expressionless.

She only nodded as she took it from him.

Fabrisse crouched, slipping the treat into position with almost imperceptible movement. The cat-thing froze, its gaze flicking to the small morsel just within reach. He activated his Stealth skills and lowered himself into a crouch, instinctively shrinking his silhouette, careful not to cast a shadow across the treat.

He adjusted the angle of his approach, using the corner of the desk as cover, keeping the treat between them but out of the creature's direct line of sight.

It was once again working.

Finally, he was within mere paces of the treat, hidden from view, the perfect position to see it step forward, sniff, and—

Then a glint from somewhere deeper in the room caught the cat-thing's attention, and it turned sharply, abandoning the bait entirely.

Not again.

The moment the cat-thing bolted, Fabrisse barely had time to react. He yelled as clearly as he could. "Montreal. Block its path!"

Severa was peering into his satchel and not really paying attention, so when she heard him and jolted, spinning toward the dash of fur, it had almost gotten away.

No, no, no, Fabrisse thought. Containment ward. Just cast a spell, Montreal.

She . . . tackled the cat.

What are you doing? Why did you refuse to cast a single spell just so you could tackle it?

And she missed it.

The creature zipped past her. She dropped the satchel.

In the chaos, her forward momentum carried her past Fabrisse, and she collided with him as he tripped over the satchel she'd dropped. He toppled forward, landing atop her.

Severa gasped, pressing herself beneath him, her arms pinned awkwardly at her sides.

Severa's eyes were unusually wide. He noticed how the color in her cheeks lingered, the same color as during the afternoon earlier when he'd caught her, despite the absence of sunlight. Why is this happening twice in a single day? More importantly, why did she tackle the cat?

[Emotional Spike Detected: Confused Nervousness]

[Damage Dealt: Emotional damage from someone breathing too close to you]

"Do you have something to say?" She asked.

He hadn't expected her to say anything. It would've been too awkward for him to speak up, but he guessed Severa wasn't him.

Why did you tackle the cat?

The thought still stuck with him as he blurted out the only logical conclusion, "So you can't use aether."

Her jaw tightened. With a sharp, well-aimed kick to his knee, she shoved him off her, scrambling upright and backing away. "Get off me!"

Ah! Can't she stop kicking for a second? Fabrisse rolled off her and landed on his back, taking a moment to catch his breath. He pushed himself up into a seated position, swung one leg out, and rested an elbow on his knee. His hair was mussed, his breaths coming in shallow, hazy pants.

Severa scrambled upright, brushing at her pants. Her hair was no less mussed than his. She jabbed a finger at his shoulder. "You think you're so clever, weaponizing your—"

"My what?"

Her sanguine eyes blazed. "Your utter idiocy on me, and thinking that'd get a reaction. Don't you dare do it again."

Fabrisse stared at her, then gave a small, almost apologetic half-smile. "If you don't lie across the floor, I won't trip on you again."

She huffed, scandalized and exasperated all at once, but the admonition landed. "And don't think you can get away with that stupid smile of yours," she grabbed his collar. "Now sit up. That thing is running towards my room now."

"Careful . . ." he murmured. "It's hard to fix a wrinkled collar."

She was positively fuming now. "You—"

"Ahem." A third voice rang out.

They both froze and turned toward the sound. The Head Butler stood in the doorway, arms folded, expression neutral, but his tone carrying the faintest hint of amusement. "Miss Montreal. The Magister is wondering where you have gone. But it seems you and your friend here are . . . pre-occupied."

She immediately released his collar and smoothed her robe. "Ah . . . yes, Berrick," she said, coughing into her curl-fisted hand. "There seems to be a pest loose in the estate. Kestovar and I are handling it. Nothing for the Magister to concern himself with. We'll have it caught in no more than ten minutes."

The Head Butler raised an eyebrow, though the faint trace of amusement didn't leave his eyes. "Very well, Miss Montreal. I trust you'll be efficient."

"So we have to be efficient now," Kestovar remarked as he trotted behind her.

"You don't have to do anything anymore," she spat. "I'll handle it."

Okay, sure. But how are you going to do that with no aether?

One thing he knew, however, was that he wasn't going to argue with Severa Montreal.

"Of course," she replied, nodding briskly. She shot Kestovar a warning look over her shoulder, and as soon as Berrick left, she gestured for him to follow along.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.