Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 45: Summons

Cain waits a few moments after Cecilia closes the door, his gaze lingering on the empty space she left behind. I still can't bring myself to meet his eyes, staring instead at the worn blanket pulled halfway up my chest. The silence stretches uncomfortably before he breaks it with a familiar, amused tone.

"You and an Inquisitor, huh?" he says, the corner of his mouth twitching into that insufferable smirk. "Never would've seen that one coming."

I groan softly embarrassed, burying my face into my hands. "I... I don't really know how that happened, to be honest," I mutter, voice muffled and lame. "She's just always in the right place, I guess."

My hands drop back to my lap, and I feel the heat rising to my cheeks. "I've never been with a girl before," I add, almost too quiet to hear. "Especially not one that... cute. I don't really know how to act around her."

Cain laughs full-hearted and genuine, not mocking. He strolls over and drops into the chair Cecilia had occupied earlier, the wood creaking under his weight. "Well, I don't know how much advice I can offer there. I'm hardly an expert on matters of the heart," he says with a shrug. "But it's pretty obvious you care about her."

I think about her warm smile, the way her hazel eyes lit up when I woke, how her voice cut through the madness like sunlight through fog. I smile despite myself. "Yeah... I guess I do."

Then the smile fades, replaced with a frown.

"And that scares me," I whisper. "She's part of an order I should hate."

Cain studies me for a long moment before exhaling slowly. "How many times do I need to tell you, Ayato? The world isn't black or white. You hate the Inquisitors for what they did to your parents, for the way they abuse their power. That's fair. But not all of them are like that. Some of them... truly believe they're doing the will of the divine."

My thoughts drift to Bishop Lark, his arguments foe the gods and their will, then I drift to my talk with Cecilia in her room and how much passion she talked with. I feel a flare of resignation knowing this conversation will be repeated again and again. "I don't want to debate this again right now," I mutter.

Cain raises an eyebrow. "Again? We rarely talk politics or religion? I know how much contempt you have for the system not that I care everyone is entitled to their opinion in my book as long as it doesn't evolve into more then that."

I finally glance up and meet his eyes. There's no judgment in them just that smirk that somehow feels both reassuring and infuriating. I swallow hard, the words crawling up my throat.

"I'm sorry... for what I did." Ignoring his question.

It's quiet. Barely audible. But I mean every word.

Cain's bright blue eyes narrow just a bit, the playful glint dulling under a flicker of something harder. He exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate, before crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in the chair.

"Well, I'm sure you are," he says, voice cool but not cold. "You completely lost control of your powers, man."

I say nothing. There's no point. Nothing I could say would make it better.

He continues, his tone softening, "I also want to say sorry. I let my anger cloud my judgment. When you no-showed for training and Howard had no idea where you were, I got worried. So I waited. And waited. And when I finally saw that carriage pull up damn near midday, it pissed me off, to be honest."

I nod slowly, guilt gnawing at my ribs. "I shouldn't have done that. I was just... walking around. Lost track of time. And she... she convinced me to stay."

Cain shakes his head with a tired smile. "You're right. You shouldn't have. But what's done is done. I already spoke at length to Cecilia, and she explained everything why you were with her how she made you stay, and how Bishop Lark delayed you the next morning."

I squint at him, the muscles in my neck tightening. I didn't expect her to tell him that. I thought... I don't know what I thought. That our conversation would stay between us?

Cain catches the look and chuckles lightly. "She didn't give me specifics, if that's why you look like I just stabbed you in the back."

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"That's... nice to hear, I guess," I mumble, glancing away again.

He leans forward now, resting his elbows on his knees, expression sobering. "The problem, however, my good man," he says, more seriously, "is that you killed thirty-five soldiers after it was all said and done. You also sent poor Howard into a four-day coma."

My stomach knots instantly. I feel the blood drain from my face. 35 men dead? 35 people with hopes and dreams crushed because of me. And Howard as much as I hated to admit it, that virtuous bastard was probably my only real friend.

"He's okay, and he's forgiven you, by the way," Cain adds quickly, noticing my expression. "And as for the deaths of those men, I already put in my official report that Sergeant Blake ordered them to engage despite me clearly telling him to stand down. So... you shouldn't face too big of a punishment for that."

"Too big a punishment?" I whisper, voice brittle. "What's... what's going to happen to me, then?"

Cain hesitates, the easy smirk slipping just a touch as he reaches into the inside of his coat and pulls out a neatly folded letter. The seal is intact royal wax, crimson and gold, gleaming faintly in the light.

"I was going to hold onto this until I was sure you were okay," he says, voice carefully measured, "but... I can not delay anymore you have been out of it for to long."

A pit starts forming in my stomach, heavy and cold.

"After everything that happened—after you collapsed—the illusions you cast into my head vanished." His tone sharpens, just a bit. "Thanks for that, by the way."

I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, glancing away. "Yeah... sorry."

Cain continues, brushing right past it. "Lieutenant Kirper took command of the remaining men. They started securing the area, sorting bodies Bla bla bla. I personally sent Sergeant Blake to his room before he could do anything else stupid."

"Count Ashland was beside himself, enraged, mostly. His son nearly died, after all. And after a brief argument" he says the word 'brief' with just enough sarcasm that I glance up at him suspiciously.

"Brief?" I echo, narrowing my eyes. "You mean you two screamed at each other."

Cain smiles, not even trying to deny it. "Anyway, he rushed Howard to the infirmary and used his amulet to contact Awakened Manahar."

That makes me pause. I frown. "Wait now that you bring that up. Why don't you have an amulet?"

Cain raises an eyebrow, like it's the dumbest question he's ever heard. "Out of everything I just said, that's your question?"

"I mean... yeah?" I shrug. "Isn't it important? What if someone needs to reach you?"

He just gives me that patient, condescending smile the one that makes me feel like an idiot.

"Because if I have an amulet, they can call me anytime."

I look at him confused. "Isn't that... the point?"

Cain gives me a look. That signature smirk curls at his lips, but his eyes are glinting with something halfway between amusement and pity. "Of course it is, my good man. That's exactly the point."

Then he just waves his hand like he's brushing the whole conversation aside, leaving me sitting there more confused than before. I frown but say nothing, my gaze drifting back to the letter still in his hand.

"Anyway," Cain says, voice shifting back to business, "Count Ashland filed an official report with one of His Majesty's emissaries, and shocker they passed it along to the palace rather quickly."

A strange, sinking weight begins to settle in my chest.

Cain's fingers tap the envelope once before he looks back at me, eyes serious now. "This," he says, lifting the letter slightly, "is an official summons."

I can't breathe for a second.

"From His Imperial Majesty, King Malik," Cain says, voice calm but final. "He's demanding your audience."