As he dragged his attention back to the letter he was struggling to compose, he heard the click of the front door opening and tensed. Anthser bolted upright, ears alert and swiveling, muzzle wrinkled in a half-snarl. “Yo, Lord Nik?” Jill’s voice called out.

“In here, Jill.” Nik patted Anthser’s neck. The black greatcat relaxed again.

Jill poked her head through the archway. “There’s a watchcat here. Wants to talk about Brogan an’ the trial. Want me to send ’er away?”    

Nik did not want to talk about Brogan or a trial or anything else that would remind him of that ordeal. I have enough trouble putting it from my mind already. Anthser curled closer to him, rumbling with a protective purr. Still, Nik could not turn the Watch away forever, and he’d already refused them three times at least. “A watchcat? Just the one?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see her. In the parlor here.” Nik disliked the idea of visitors seeing his squalid surroundings, but the thought of approaching Anverlee Manor’s bustle was far worse than mere mortification. And it was only a greatcat.

The Watchcat was young, leopard-spotted, and huge, as large as Jill. “I’m Feli Thranthier,” she introduced herself, jaws parted to imitate a human smile, whiskers spread wide in true reflection of her good mood. “Thanks fer seeing me, your lordship.”

“Thranthier?” That wasn’t a Newlant place name. “Are you from the Free Nation?”

“Parents are, m’lord. I immigrated back.” She declined Nik’s gesture to the human-proportioned couch, which looked barely adequate to her size if she lay lengthwise upon it. Instead, she sat on her haunches on the small carpet set at the center of the grouping of couch and chairs, while Nik took the chair in front of her. Thranthier tucked her tawny black-tipped tail before her forepaws, scarlet and brown-trimmed watchcloak settling on her back. “Want t’ talk to you about the trial of your abductors. Mr. Vance – the prosecutor for this case – wants to set a date fer the trial and would like it at a time good fer you to stand witness.”

Nikola rubbed a hand over his face. Everything about the prospect appalled him: appearing in a packed courtroom, bearing up under cross-examination, forced to relive the horrors of that night, confronting Brogan – he controlled a shudder and forced his mind away. No time is good. “Must I?”

Feli Thranthier ducked her head and hunched her shoulders in a vain effort to appear smaller than Nikola. “Need your testimony, m’lord. Mr. Vance wants those bastards to hang, pardon my language. Miss Vasilver c’n testify as to her own abduction, which’s a capital crime in itself. But Mr. Vance don’t think that’ll be enough. But what they did t’ you—” her voice hardened “—well, with yer help, we’re sure t’ nail ’em.”

Nikola stared at his hands, fingertips curled inwards by a reflexive instinct for protection. “I don’t care,” he said, softly.

“Beg pardon?”

“I don’t care what happens to them. Brogan’s not even in his right mind.”

“They – m’lord, Lady Beatrice says he knew what he did was wrong. We got t’ punish him, or what’s t’ stop others from doin’ the same?” The spotted watchcat canted her ears flat to either side in dismay.

This time, Nik did shudder. What’s to stop them now? “They didn’t fear death anyway, Feli Thranthier. Especially not Brogan. Killing them now won’t change that. Look, I know you want to protect people, and I’ll not stop you from doing your job. But I am not fit to testify, and I do not know when or if I will be, and to be honest I just want this to be over. Far more than I want vengeance. What’s past cannot be undone, and no amount of punishment can make it better.”

The watchcat lay down on her belly with her eyes turned up to him, supplicating. “Please, Lord Nikola. Mr. Vance can delay the trial ’til yer better, but y’ got t’ testify.”

“No, I don’t.” Nikola rose. “Good day, feli.”

She didn’t rise. Very quietly, she said, “They’ll subpoena you.”

Nik stopped. “What?”

The greatcat shifted, still prone. “They’ll subpoena you. To testify. Was a capital crime, Lord Nikola. They got t’ press charges. They’ll make y’ testify, even if you don’t want to.”

“What?” Nikola took a step backwards, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you honestly telling me the watch will drag me in chains to stand witness? For the crime of being the victim of abduction?”

The feli would not meet his gaze. “’s the law.”

“Get out,” Anthser growled. Nikola started, jerking to one side; he’d not even heard his warcat enter the room. The black greatcat loomed in the archway between parlor and ersatz study, fur bristling, head lowered, teeth bared in a snarl at Thranthier.

The watchcat flattened her ears, rising to a defensive crouch on the carpet. “Look, I don’t like it neither, but we need ’is help—”

Anthser leapt past Nikola to land before her with a thump that shook the cottage. “Enough!” he roared, tail lashing. “You want to know what we need his help for? To mend greatkitten minds. Only we’re not getting that any more, and you know why? Because we failed him. Because you failed him.” He advanced on her; even though she was the larger of the two, he drove her backwards with the force of his fury. “That’s the deal, curse it. We take care of him and he takes care of us, and we blew it. Where was the watch on Ascension night, when he needed them? Where were you the morning after, when we rescued him? Too fucking little and too fucking late, that’s what you were. And now you have the gall to come here and tell Lord Nik he has to do any curst thing? Brogan a problem now? He’s your problem. Take care of it.” Anthser had backed her to the front door now: Thranthier looked as agitated as he did, her hackles raised and muzzle wrinkled to show teeth. She started to say something and Anthser roared over her. “NO! We’re done here! Get out.”

“Fine!” Thranthier snarled, then turned tail and fled the cottage.   

Anthser watched her go, his body tense and quivering with rage. After a few moments, he took a deep breath and turned back to Nikola, whiskers straight and ears canted in a parody of his normal good humor. “Er. Sorry about that, Lord Nik.”

Nik stared at him, not sure what had just happened. Unsteadily, he crossed the floor to Anthser. The black greatcat met him halfway, dropping his head to nose the hand Nik extended. “Anthser…it’s not that I don’t want to see petitioners, you know.”

The dark head sank lower, ears flat and whiskers drooping in mortification. “’Course not, Lord Nik.”

“I can’t. I’m not doing it to, to punish anyone. It’s not your fault. Or hers, or the watch, or…whatever you seem to think.”

“I know.” Anthser slid his muzzle against Nik’s hand, then butted his head against the man’s chest. “I didn’t mean that you would. No one thinks you’re doing it on purpose. But…we should’ve been there for you. None of this ever should’ve happened.” The greatcat screwed his eyes tightly shut, pressing his head hard enough against Nikola that the man had to put one foot back to brace against the weight. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Nik bent, hugging the warcat. “It’s not your fault.” He stroked the bristling dark fur down. “It’s not your fault.”

§

While Justin was at breakfast on Friday morning, one of his servants came in to say, “M’lord, there’s a greatcat from Anverlee here with a message. Says it’s important.”

Justin’s heart leapt – perhaps Nikola will see me earlier than Monday after all! – but he confined his reaction to a calm “thank you,” and held out his hand for the message.

The serving girl looked anxious. “Begging your pardon, m’lord, but she won’t give it to me. Says only to you personally.”

Justin raised an eyebrow. “Very well. Show her in.”

This time, he recognized the massive blue-gray form when she padded into his dining room: Jill, the greatcat who’d started the search for Nikola while Lady Striker dawdled. “You have something for me, fela?”

She dropped to her haunches on the polished hardwood floor and glanced to the servant by the door. “’s private, Lord Comfrey.”

Justin wondered what Nikola felt this creature could be trusted with that his own servants couldn’t, but dismissed the serving girl. “Well?”

“Some prosecutor is out to make a name fer himself by makin’ an example of Lord Nik’s abductors,” the greatcat said, without preamble.

“Good for him.” Justin felt a certain grim satisfaction in that, although he was perplexed why this greatcat was telling him.

“No. Not good for him. Lord Nik doesn’t want to be dragged through standin’ witness at some long, drawn-out trial, forced to relive it all again and again. He doesn’t need the hammer to come down on those monsters. He needs this to be over.”

Granted, that did sound like his friend. But… “Why did Lord Nikola ask you to tell me this?”

She snorted. “Lord Nik didn’t ask me. You know he won’t ask for help. But he needs it just the same. Prosecutor’s threatening to force him to testify whether he wants to or not. You’ve got influence. Make ’em back off.”

Justin blinked at her. “You’re never serious. Subpoena the victim? The prosecutor would have to be mad.”

“Then you tell ’im that. Savior knows they won’t listen to me.”

“You are serious.”

She dipped her massive blue-gray head in a curt nod.

“And Lord Nikola doesn’t know you’re here.”

“’Course not.” She gave him a scornful look. Her whole attitude was infuriatingly insubordinate, but beyond that it unsettled him. Everyone knows Nikola and I are friends, and I am the most influential friend he has. Naturally she would turn to me. It doesn’t mean she knows anything more.

But she knows us well indeed, to realize this is a favor I would do for Nikola as well as one he would never request of me. “Who’s the case prosecutor?”

“Mr. Vance. You know him?”

Justin shook his head. “No, but it’s no matter. I’ll see he’s set straight. If he imagines bullying a lord and a Blessed will help his career, he’ll soon enough realize otherwise.”

The greatcat relaxed, whiskers flaring, her imposing demeanor vanishing with her tension. “Great. Thank you, Lord Comfrey.” She rose to all fours and offered a low bow, head down and both forepaws stretched before her.

“You’re welcome. And – there is no need to tell Lord Nikola any of this, of course. Good day.”

“’Course.” She flashed an open-mouthed smile and left him to his breakfast.

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Nik was staying in the gamekeeper’s cottage on the grounds of Anverlee Manor. It was a modest one-story building screened from the main house by a small orchard of apple and pear trees. The hunting preserve was long since gone: it had not been part of the entailment when Anverlee County had been restored to Nikola’s ancestors. The Strikers had never kept game in Gracehaven, and the cottage had been uninhabited for decades. It was weathered by time and disuse, but Anverlee’s people had put a great deal of effort into making it habitable in the day before Nikola took residence there. The furnishings were comfortable if unfashionable, taken from his suite and office in the manor, plus some of the more serviceable pieces dredged from the attic. Lady Striker had purposed its rooms as parlor, dining room, bedroom, and dressing room: it was so old that it had an outhouse, a detached kitchen, and no plumbing. The greatcats brought him food from the manor’s kitchen. At Lady Striker’s direction, an antique tub occupied the dressing room, but Nik made the trek every day to the felishome to use their bathing facility instead. The felishome had a spacious pool that the greatcats themselves seldom used, preferring old-fashioned tongue-grooming. The cottage lacked gaslights or a furnace as well; it had wall sconces instead, and wood-burning stoves in three rooms.

The “dining room” was more a workroom at this point. At Nik’s request, Jill and Gunther had retrieved boxes of papers from the house: old journals, correspondence, observations. Some were Nik’s own, and some inherited with Fireholt. Nik had brought it all from Fireholt with him, half-thinking he’d get to it during the season and suspecting he wouldn’t. Now they were spread in heaps across two long tables pushed against the room’s two exterior walls, while a not-yet-crowded bookcase stood against an interior wall. With help from Anthser and Meredith, he’d sorted most of the papers into rough categories. The dining chairs had been stacked and displaced to the front room; the only seating in the room was a greatcat-styled couchbed beside the bookcase.

Nik lay on his stomach on the couchbed, open notebook on a lapdesk before him, pencil in one hand. Anthser sprawled next to him facing the other way, dozing with a foreleg draped over Nik’s right calf. The situation made Nik feel like a small child, before deportment instructors beat such undignified behavior out of him. He didn’t mind; feeling like a boy kept worse recent memories at bay.

Mostly at bay.

He had been indexing case studies for an hour, until the description of one mind reminded him of Mrs. Brogan’s, and the memory drew him back to that awful cabin. Nik had spent a quarter of an hour trying to force himself to continue regardless, to ignore the panic, the shaking, the terror and remembered pain. None of it real.

Knowing it wasn’t real almost made it worse, because there was no Brogan here to blame. Only his own mind, doing this to him.

Forcing the issue hadn’t helped; he’d given up when Anthser had come back with a pile of books and found Nik curled in a tight knot on the couchbed, crying.

The greatcats’ concern – all of them, not just Anthser – was hard to bear. Everything was hard to bear: solitude left him with too few distractions from memory, company oppressed him with their fears added to his, work reminded him of trying and failing to help Marie Brogan and of lashing out at the Savior, leisure made him long to go out at the same time that panic rendered him incapable of doing so, sleep brought nightmares – whatever he did or didn’t do had its costs. So he rotated between activities until the next one sounded not as bad as the current. Waiting for this to pass, for the day when life would be good again and not just endured.

Nik was working on a letter to Miss Vasilver now. It had taken him two days to finish a short letter to Justin, draft after draft fed to the stove: too intimate, too many details, too revealing, not grateful enough, ungracious, cowardly, everything wrong. Nik wanted desperately to see Justin and was desperately afraid to do so. Terrified that even Justin would trigger those too-vivid memories of torture, that he would crumple – again – in front of his closest friend, that Justin’s gaze would hold nothing but horror and pity at the wreckage that remained of him. Bad enough that Justin had seen his degradation after Brogan’s abuse, but this inability to cope even when he was safe, when everything was fine – this was inexcusable weakness.

Oddly, he was less worried about Miss Vasilver even though he knew her less well. Perhaps because he knew her less well: it wouldn’t be as awful to be judged by her. But more likely it was her frankness, her willingness to broach any subject without hint of judgment or condemnation. As attached as Nik was to Justin, feelings were not something they ever talked about. Trying to do so was unnatural, an invitation to awkwardness at best, if not scorn and contempt for such unseemly behavior.

But Miss Vasilver, with her peculiar disregard for convention, would perhaps not be sensitive to this.

Even so, he could not write her about his present state. Every line that conveyed too much, Nik crossed out. All he wanted to do was express his gratitude in some decent fashion and invite her to call on Wednesday. Maybe by then he’d be able to face Anverlee Manor, his parents and family and the horde of human servants.

…Nik doubted that.

His mental condition had not improved in the four days since Justin and Miss Vasilver had saved him. If anything, it was worse. He had a full catalog of problems: trauma-induced panic attacks, flashbacks, phantom pain, isolation, depression, self-loathing, and thoughts of suicide. Nikola was…pretty sure he wouldn’t attempt suicide. I know I’m irrational. This isn’t like when I was thirteen and couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. All of this is textbook, diagnosable, curable.

With the Savior’s aid.

…which I am too terrified to request. And there aren’t any greatcats with a Blessing for minds. But the same gambit might work with a human mind-healer. There’s hope. I can’t give up yet.

But it was irritating that he would even think about suicide again, that he would fantasize about those freezing moments in the harbor before Crit pulled him from the water and wish he’d drowned instead. I thought my great-grandmother had cured me of this urge ten years ago. Why is it back now? He could guess the answer to that. When he was twelve, he’d realized he was sexually attracted to men and not just women. That realization had led to the terror of discovery, and a desire to cure himself of his unnatural longings. He’d prayed to the Savior, begged for insight, and scoured his mind for the source of his carnal urges. When he hadn’t been able to find it, he had been overwhelmed by guilt and shame, and descended into the despair that led to his suicide attempt.

What his great-grandmother had cured was not his lust, obviously. Instead, she had altered his mind so he was no longer ashamed, no longer as eager to please a society that condemned his nature. Nik had long known that – among other things, it meant his intractability as a youth was even more pronounced relative to his childhood than most. It wasn’t until now that he had realized the impulse to self-destruction in the face of adversity was still untouched under that change. It was only that he hadn’t had a reason to face despair since then.

Nikola stared at the shapes of his own mind with contempt. I hate the way my head works. What a mess.

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Justin did not know what he was doing, which bothered him as much as anything else.

Other than Nikola, Justin had no close friends. He had a wide range of acquaintances, and a fondness for many of them. Even silly giggling girls and overstuffed peers were amusing in their own ways. But all of them were interchangeable, each with some uses and one no better than the other as far as company went, only differing in the details. There was no reason to cultivate any particular one for the sake of mere companionship. He preferred to keep them at arm’s length: it discouraged hangers-on and presumption. Even with people he screwed – especially with people he screwed – he recoiled from the appearance of attachment. In part that was due to the need for discretion, but it was a personal preference as well. He did not want be dependent on any one individual for anything. If his admiration for Nikola had not always been so intense, he would never have let their friendship progress as far as it had.

And now Wisteria Vasilver threatened to do the same. She was unlike anyone else he knew, with her quick grasp of details, her deep understanding of finance and investment, her cool, calm, analytical mind. Not to mention her remarkable bravery, her fearless, dispassionate evaluation of risks. Men called him brave, but Justin was not the one who – with both hands tied! – had tackled an armed man half again his size. Even without her considerable physical appeal, he wished to see more of her. With her considerable physical appeal, he wasn’t sure what to make of her. He was certain that she was a virgin who wished to preserve that state for marriage. Perhaps he could persuade her otherwise, but…he liked her. He didn’t want to risk that for mere physical gratification. Apart from the way he kept acting as if he wanted to risk it. He hadn’t meant to embrace her this afternoon, never mind kiss her. Yet it had seemed the sensible thing to do at the time. Madness in retrospect. Perhaps I ought to propose to her. Isn’t that what normal bachelors do with maiden women they admire and desire? But it was far too soon in their acquaintance for such thoughts, even if he’d been a normal man. Which he wasn’t. If I wed, would Nikola break from me? Even if he did not, it would be still harder to arrange assignations with him.

Justin assumed he would see Nikola again eventually. The alternative did not bear contemplation.

He arrived home without reaching a resolution even in his own mind. In the foyer, Justin shrugged out of his overcoat, letting the footman take it as he asked his butler, “Messages while I was out?”    

“Two callers left cards, my lord, and three letters delivered.” The uniformed man proffered a silver tray with the papers on it. “The top one is from Lord Nikola.”

Justin couldn’t contain his smile, his heart lightening at the name alone. He collected the correspondence with more haste than necessary. “Thank you, Frederick. That will be all.”

Justin went to the cosy second-floor parlor, taking the seat by the window that Nikola always chose when he called. He put the cards and other letters aside without looking at them, holding Nikola’s in his hand. An actual letter in an envelope, not a folded page sealed. For a few moments he gazed at his name, penned in Nikola’s own deft slanted hand, then broke it open.

Comfrey,

I must apologize – for quite a few things, in fact, but first and most of all for not contacting you before now. I know you’ve called, and I cannot readily describe how much it troubles me to have turned you away. Friendship alone demands a better reception than that, nevermind the very great debt that I owe you. To have treated you so shabbily after you have done so much for me…Common decency insists I return the call, but I do not know when I will be in a position to do so. But if you were so kind as to call at Anverlee Manor yet again, say on Monday morning, I should be very happy to receive you. I know it’s nonsensical to say in one breath “I cannot see you” and with the next “I’ve missed you”, but it is nonetheless true. Anthser and Jill and the other greatcats are good people, but they are not you. And there are the (admittedly rather tattered in my case) obstacles of class between them and I. It’s not the same as conversing with a peer. I do hope you will excuse my lapses and return, my friend.

I cannot thank you enough for rescuing me. I do not write that as hyperbole, but literal truth. I understand from Anthser’s account that he and Miss Vasilver played critical roles in finding me, but all that would have been for naught were it not for your skill and courage. I have never been so glad to hear anything in my entire life (and hope never to be again) as the sound of your voice ordering Brogan to surrender. I shudder to think what would have become of Miss Vasilver and myself without your intervention. I should sooner be exiled to the Abandoned World than have spent five more minutes as that man’s prisoner. I have done a poor job indeed of expressing my gratitude thus far, but never imagine I do not feel it. I will see what I may do about rectifying that lapse in the future. In the meantime: thank you, Comfrey.

I am not myself of late – I imagine you’ve noticed. I have a mountain of apologies to write for canceled engagements. Jill thinks I am mad for caring: “Nobody expects you to apologize for bein’ tortured.” Savior, I hope the whole world doesn’t know everything that transpired. But Jill thinks all humans mad, and I know better than most that is untrue. Apologizing for my indisposition is perhaps not needful, but it’s one of the saner things I’ve done of late. I am trying to make some use of my time, organizing my own notes on my work and cross-referencing them with my great-grandmother’s and her grandfather’s. It’s slow going, but I daresay a worthwhile project.

I hope this finds you well, Comfrey, and enjoying all the usual Ascension things. I look forward to hearing your dry commentary on Lady Dalsterly’s Fifth Night supper and Elsbury’s dance and everything else I am liable to miss this year. Take care, my most excellent friend.

Your obedient servant,

Striker

Justin touched his fingertips to the final sentence, a smile still on his lips. Monday! he thought, heart soaring. It did trouble him that the date was five days off and that Nikola wrote as if he were a recluse or a pariah, with all plans canceled. Why? With his body healed and himself a mind-healer, what could be troubling him so? Does he have some undiagnosable condition?

But five days was nothing: through most of the year Justin went months without seeing him, while Nikola was at Fireholt and Justin in Comfrey. Even when they were both in Gracehaven for the season, they might go a week without seeing one another. The important thing was that Nikola would see him, still cared for him and thought well of him. The typical round of parties would be far duller without Nikola there to enliven them, but it was of no consequence. I could wait five days, or five weeks, or five years if I have to, so long as Nikola will be there at the end. He smiled at the dramatic turn of his own thoughts. Being cynical and unromantic is just another of the many pretenses of my life. He traced his fingers over the words, reading the letter again, guessing at the emotions that went unwritten in it. The unhappy, apologetic tone bothered him more on subsequent reading, but the tangible proof of Nikola’s regard was too precious not to re-read. Justin gave over after the third reading and composed a quick note of reply.

Striker,

You know I would not give an overripe berry for convention in this case. Any man who would is an insufferable pompous ass, and I would like to think I am not such. (Pompous, yes, undeniably, and an ass – alas, I cannot refute it – but surely a sufferable one.) Had you done anything to forgive or excuse, I would readily do so. Since you have not, there is no need. It will be my pleasure to wait on you Monday.

Your devoted friend,

Comfrey

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