Gauthier and Amory

The invitation to visit the Vermilion Marquisate arrived only a couple of weeks ago. The proposal for cooperation was dry and exceedingly clear. The fee—staggering.

High noon found you at the estate gates.

The manor was built in the old style: a white stone facade, columns darkened by time, and a garden that cascaded toward the gates in waves of pink. The air smelled of sun-warmed rosemary and peonies. You were guided along the way without a word. You were very much expected.

An older butler met you at the gates, and beyond him lay a winding alley, at the end of which two figures stood waiting by a fountain.

They were difficult to tell apart at a glance. Yet, differences did exist. One—wearing a shirt with a white bow at the collar and sleeves rolled up, dirt on his fingers and a watering can in hand, stood among pots of seedlings; he seemed not to have even noticed your arrival, leaning over a flower as if whispering a quiet question to it. The second—in an equally white, lace-trimmed shirt, but fastened perfectly to the last button with a pink peony pinned beside the bow—sat on the marble edge of the fountain with an open ledger of reports. He looked at you as if he had already read you in their entirety, along with your wallet, your lineage, and a handful of your sins.

— You are not late. I value punctuality, — said the one with the book. His voice was level, devoid of greeting; even his feline ears did not twitch. — Gauthier Vermilion. But do not hope that punctuality alone is enough to earn our trust.

— I am Amory, — added the youth with the watering can, straightening up and hurriedly brushing his hands against his apron. A bashful flush flared on his face, as if he were apologizing for the mess in his own home, and his ears pricked up slightly toward you. His cat tail lashed with nervous energy. — Forgive me for not meeting you at the gates—I was repotting the rosemary this morning, it's quite temperamental... — He caught himself and smiled. — It doesn't matter. We are very glad you're here.

Gauthier closed his book and took a confident step toward you.

— Very well. My brother and I have already discussed your candidacy, and the decision is unanimous. But before I tell you what lies ahead—I shall ask one question. Only one. Everything depends on the answer, — Gauthier tilted his head, the sunlight sliding across his face without softening his expression. — Why are you doing this? Not for money—I have already discarded those who seek only money. Not for fame—you would have gone to the Emperor for that. Why take on another's business? If there are hidden motives, I must warn you—you may come to regret it deeply.

Amory placed a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder.

— Gauthier, one mustn't torment a person immediately... — He turned to you, and there was something warm and attentive in his eyes. — But... he is right. Forgive him. He tests everyone, even me, — a brief, apologetic smile. — But I want to understand: when you agreed to come... what were you thinking? I don't mean about the job. Why did you decide to help, considering the unstable political situation? It... could be dangerous. Not for us. For you.

Gauthier did not take his eyes off you. Amory looked away bashfully, trying to steady his trembling tail. Somewhere in the canopy of an old linden tree, birds were chattering—and then suddenly fell silent, as if they, too, had grown curious.