Chapter Text
The air was heavy, laden with the scent of smoldering leaves outside the warehouse. Here, in the corner of the attic, the flickering light of the faulty lightbulbs glowed warmly in the room. Blankets formed a small den between crates, shading the area from the cool drafts that snuck through the broken glass windows. Below, the loft floor loomed like a dusty maw and promised nothing but chilled touches on any flesh that lay in touch with it.
A flat-faced molly muttered to herself, yellowed claws scraping marks into roughened wood bark. Her long fur was matted, crispy gold leaves tangled in her snowy dappled fur, and her amber gaze squinted at the tallies on the wood. From the top of the crate, a scarred brown tom peered down at her, eyes like dirty ice chips, golden paws crossed, his tail flicking with ambivalence.
Abacus had never been fond of the old molly, and the passing of the seasons had not warmed him to her even now. Perhaps her owners had never truly liked her, he mulled, pondering her clipped ear. Especially for a cat they had raised as a kitten, she had brought home those shiny ribbons her owners fawned over, and yet they chose her sister to carry on that prestigious bloodline she had boasted about in her youth. He had never chosen her because he had affection for her, but precisely the opposite. Her bloodline was nothing to the streets, but yet she’d walk through them unharmed tonight and into her owner’s nest with nothing more than lowered glances from others.
“All litters are finally on the ground, sir .” She rasped, turning to face him. “Overlord Castor’s mate finally kitted this morning. Things considered, it was a blessing overall this season.” Her amber eyes glittered in her flat face, tail twitching as she set the tablet aside.
“How many culls overall, Helga?” It was the roughened voice of Asher who responded before the brown tom could open his scarred muzzle. His nephew rose to his paws from where he had been huddled over a pooled nest of scavenged cloth, the pale grey tabby’s ears pricked at the old hag’s words.
Helga blinked, turning to another shredded piece of bark. “Sixteen overall, and none from Lord Amaro’s mate this time.” Her tone spat out the word mate, ears flattening to her skull. A small flicker of relief glowed in Abacus’s chest, yet his face remained deadpan at the news. “Despite Clover’s disappearance, when I finally checked on Lady Nettle, she had only birthed one daughter.” Helga turned away, fur bristling down her spine. “I suppose it was a good thing;, it was her last chance to prove herself. She remains weak, though, but Lord Amaro said he required naught of my services for her treatment.”
Abacus didn’t miss the spark of ambition flickering in Asher’s ichor eyes. His sister, Crocus, had slipped behind the nurse and glanced across the rosters that had been neatly tallied. A shade darker grey than her brother, he didn’t miss the flicker of disgust that had crossed her muzzle at the faint interest that showed in her brother’s face. “If Amaro doesn’t require your services, it’s understandable, Nurse Helga.” Abacus spoke up as he once again drew her awed gaze onto him.
That look in her eyes made his skin crawl beneath his rich brown fur. Absinthe had always called that mewling face she turned toward him–longing–not something that Abacus had ever wished to see on any cat towards his presence. He had become familiar with it long ago, but seeing that sappy soft gaze on any molly had made his fur bristle when he was younger. Time had tempered that, and a wave of pride at the discipline he had mastered filled his chest as his coat remained flat. “Her last several litters have been culled, have they not?” He knew the truth, but whether she knew that, he had no idea if she remembered after all the seasons. Did the task blur together after each litter? Kits faces becoming a smear of color, scented milk and exhausted mothers with pride in their mouths and worry in their eyes–was that how it became to a cat like Helga? An experience she had shared many times that she could count, yet never fully understood. “You have been the one attending after each birth, surely you can understand why he keeps you at paw's length and would rather assign another nurse?”
Helga’s jaws twisted in a frown, hackles rising, yet her tone was even as she replied. “As the head of the nurses, I am the most qualified to provide any mother and their kits the best care.” She sniffed, turning away with a huff as she glanced over to where Crocus was scanning the rest of the tablets. “Regardless, that’s why I sent Clover. I plead with you to consider allowing me to train more mollies as nurses, Emperors.” Abacus rolled his eyes, but dragged a claw across the wooden crate. “We’ve lost six nurses this season–I couldn’t tell you where some of them are, but Silkie died half a moon ago after she got hit by a car. Moonshine died to that fever two moons past, not to mention how everyone’s ranks were thinned by that cough last winter.”
Crocus piped up, tail tip flicking with interest. “It looks like we’ve gained some of our ranks back, despite the culls.” She flicked an ear, turning toward her uncle with thoughtfulness in her gaze. “It does look like the nurses are stretched thin, especially with all the surviving kittens born. Many of these queens are first-time mothers as well, and while they might have their sister-mates to guide them, it would be smart to select some that showed aptitude to become nurses.”
He knew better than to ask if it was the lingering grief that showed in the edges of her face that guided this plea. “It’s a good idea, Crocus.” Abacus gave a nod to her, noticing the brightness coming to her gaze. A coughing fit turned his attention to the cloth nest, Asher appearing at the source of the sound as if he had never left his post. “You take the scribes and seek out at least four or five young mollies. Once they’re weaned, bring them here, and I’ll talk with Belladonna to see who is suited to train.”
“Tell their sires if I hear any word of them bartering them at them at their mother’s bellies, or they’re already spoken for…” A coughing fit shook the reddish tabby tom, who wiped at his spit-soaked muzzle with a dark paw. Rising to his paws, the tom shouldered the younger away as coughs racked his frame. “It makes no difference, they’ve got an excess of mollies and at least this way they’ll better society as a whole. They should be grateful.”
“Absinthe,” Helga turned toward his brother, long tail flicking with worry. “Shall I prepare some more catnip for you? Something to chase that cough off?” Abacus’s golden eyes scanned over his younger brother, flicking over to his kin, attempting to comfort the old tom. Time had not been kind to either one of them, he mulled in his mind. Absinthe’s form was still sturdy, but his dark pelt hung ragged off his frame, and his muscles had gone soft in the seasons that had passed. The hiss that eeked out of his brother’s muzzle was stifled as Helga prodded at his stomach, yet the worried look that passed between the niece and nephew made him pity them.
Waving her off with a paw, Absinthe lashed his tail as she pulled her paw away. “Asher, make sure that their fathers know that I don’t care if they’ve made deals, this isn’t an opportunity to pass on their ugly or dimwitted burdens.” His fur bristled down his spine, eyes narrowed. “I also don’t care if they’re fruitful or if they are the most beautiful she-cat that they’ve promised to someone else. I want them to be competent at least–” He rasped, jaws twisting into a smug smile that made Abacus roll his eyes. “If they’re pretty, that’s not exactly a problem either. It won’t be too much longer before I have to trade you off, Asher. Might as well take the time to survey the options.”
If Asher was surprised, he didn’t show it. Only concern washed across his face as his father’s smile was wiped away, and another coughing fit began. Leaping down onto the attic floor, the icy shock made Abacus’s fur ruffle in annoyance. Pressing his body against Absinthe’s form, Abacus tried to swallow the wave of surprise at the feeling of how bony his brother’s shoulders felt against his side. “Let’s go out and get some fresh air,” Abacus muttered, rasping a tongue over his younger brother’s ears. He still smelt of woodsmoke and warm cinnamon, but a faint, sickly-sweet scent lingered beneath, like burning flowers.
Absinthe straightened up, letting out an amused purr. “Off me, you old bat. I’m fine.” He chuckled, rolling his eyes before turning toward his kittens. “Crocus, you see to it that the nursing recruitment is done. Keep an ear out for any more disappearances; it’s not good to have cats goin' 'missing, especially in spring. It’s bad for morale, so spread some rumors that they’ve been located or picked off by those wild cats. We can’t have more abandon our ranks.” His eyes narrowed, ears flattening to his head with a snarl. “Not now. We’ve worked so hard for this, I won’t see it crumble.”
Abacus’s tail twitched as his brother continued. “ Asher, I have a bigger plan in mind for you.” Something sparked in the young tom’s eyes, turning toward his father as he straightened his spine at the notion. Crocus nodded, glancing down at her dark paws. “We need to strengthen the unity. I want you to take a son of each of the overlords and bring them here. I know I’ve relaxed in letting them train their own stock, but no more.” Abacus’s tail twitched in response. “I’ll have a few birds out to see which son is their favorite, and make sure you choose them. We’ll bring them here, and then the exercise can begin. When the time comes, I want to make sure whoever leads after us has a strong bond wth them.”
“Don’t say that, Father.” Asher snapped, but the wince that passed over the grey tom’s face didn’t go unnoticed. Abacus stilled his movements, glancing over at his brother. The thought still unnerved him. The idea that he would one day be alone was a concept that he had been familiar with since his youth. Absinthe had always been short-tempered and arrogant, chest puffed out with a cockiness that most toms couldn’t match in his prime and claws needle-sharp to back up any boasts. “I mean, we have seasons still of you both in charge. Haven’t I instilled enough morale to ensure loyalty to me without any more micromanaging? Deserting the city is madness! Where would they go? To the valley to drink poisoned water and fight for every mouthful of toxic food they can scramble up?”
The biting tone wiped the smile off Absinthe’s muzzle, eyes flat and glassy. “What do you know of struggle, kit?” His tail was still, fur lying down on his spine as he spoke. His tone was silk-soft, his and his ears swiveling to catch every word his son said. “It was we who fought our way through these streets, younger than you and apparently far smarter. You were born into a nest lined with fleece and have never missed a meal. You’ve never struggled a day in your life, son. Lily always had milk, and never once did you have to fear about raids over food and territory. No, your mother was acknowledged as my mate and never once while you were suckling did another tom lay claw to you and your siblings so he could lay his own bloodline instead of mine.”
Asher glanced away, shrinking in his fur. For a split second, Abacus saw a flash of indignation in the young tom’s gold eyes. There was truth in that statement, he thought. No cat could deny that Asher was Absinthe’s seed, even if they had seen them both in only passing. “Look, when we both pass, your reign will be easier if relationships are formed now based on camaraderie,” Abacus interjected, nodding toward Crocus. At the same time, he placed a bright paw on his nephew's shoulder. Relief shone in her eyes, and a vague twist of hope seemed to form a smile on her lips. If only she knew the truth, Abacus thought, wincing internally. “Whoever that may be, it will be infinitely easier if bonds are formed before they rise into their own power once their overlord’s die. There’s no reason that you should have to spill blood if it’s not needed.”
“And if their overlord’s don’t choose them as heirs?” Asher countered, ears flattening to his skull. Glancing sideways at his sister, his snowy-tipped tail curled around his paws. “Then it’s all for nothing. Selection typically does go to the firstborn, but not always. You forget that if an overlord passes all acknowledged offspring can challenge the title for heir, and then we’ve wasted all this time and training on nobody that has any say in anything.”
Absinthe shrugged, claws scraping on the concrete floor. “If they fight to the death, then they’ve weeded out the weak for us. Strength tests strength, and power can’t exist without a strong willingness to prove yourself.” His reddish fur ruffled in a poor attempt to warm against the chill of the attic. Helga nudged the chipped bowl over near the nest, lingering at the boxes. A flick of a white tipped tail had her taking her leave, her soft paws thudding on the metal stairs that led down to the ground floor. “You can always sway it so your choice can win; there’s strength in numbers and blackmail in others if that doesn’t get the answer across.”
“Don’t you always say that bonds formed in battle are stronger than those formed by birth?” Crocus pipped up, ears pricked as if she hoped to catch her father’s gaze. A worm of pity squirmed in Abacus’s stomach, touching his tail to her flank. Absinthe snorted, rising to his paws as he fought back a cough.
“I could pair you to any mate, both of you and it wouldn’t make any difference unless their family could back your authority up. Words are worthless.” Absinthe muttered, turning away from his kin. His white dipped tail twitched, and he glanced over his shoulder as he padded away. Abacus followed, brushing his fur against his littermates. “See if either one of you can scrounge up some food for us, and check in with the messengers with the reports.”
Pressing through a broken hole in the screen, Abacus’s breath was sucked out of his chest as a chilly breeze tugged on his fur. He took careful pawsteps as they wove up through the ledges, ears pricked as his brother hissed in discomfort, dragging his body over the roughened lip that overlapped the roof. Up here, he could see the entire city. The glow of the buildings with silver-thorned fences cast a dingy grey against the red brick of the houses, and the spire of the ancient church was half-obscured by the fine morning fog.
This town stank of acidic asphalt, cold concrete, and the air was always tinged with smoke, it seemed. Abacus inwardly murmured thanks that the wind wasn’t as strong as it usually was because the wind carried no smell of pungent rot and festering milk that always seemed to drift from the silver thorned area. He narrowed his eyes, trying to catch any sight of the blue pelted humans that always drifted behind their territory, yet he saw no movement in their towers that labeled their borders.
“Do they displease you?” Absinthe spoke bluntly, his own eyes turned to the skyline that was slowly turning a bright blue as the peachy tones of dawn died way. His muzzle was turned up in a faint smile, blinking as another breeze twisted his thick pelt. “My blood runs thick, you know that.” He flicked his ears toward the west, eyes glinting as he leaned onto his brother’s strong frame. “Our bloodline, Abacus. If they’re not what you’re seeking to waste your time in, we’ve got other options. Prism and Glamor have risen into fine Overlords in their own right, despite their misgivings. If you find them subpar, there are surely others I haven’t claimed.” His laugh shook Abacus out of his thoughts, the warm, rich chuckle that was so distinctly his brother’s made his heart ache slightly.
“I gave my seed to that ginger daughter of Castor’s last season; she might have taken.” He shrugged, tail twitching eagerly as if reveling in the memory. The idea made Abacus’s stomach roll. Matings had become casual as their power rose, and being young, Absinthe had always made sure he had taken full advantage of that privilege. It made Abacus uneasy, but his brother had a point. “There was that sappy white fool of Bone’s brood as well at the start of winter; she might have been in season. I don’t remember, but a kitten might be easier to mold.”
Many cats who shared signs that have been sired by his brother existed, but Abacus had never asked. There was no desire too, and his brother had a hearty appetite that hadn’t faded since the years silvered both their muzzles. “You should be nicer to them,” Abacus finally piped up, side eyeing his brother with a hefty sigh. “Lily was your chosen mate, and you’ve had every opportunity to train them as you’ve seen fit. Prism and Glamour as well, but you know Lily’s litter was always smarter than that half-feral slag who raised them.”
“They’re successful because I’ve been hard on them,” Absinthe grunted, doodling in the dust with an extended claw. “Lily knew that. I wish you would see that as well.” He stared out at the horizon for a few heartbeats, ears flattening to his skull. A chuckle escaped his younger brother’s chest, eyes closed for a minute before glancing at his brother. “Lily was smart, but that wasn’t why I chose her. I chose her because she was beautiful, Abacus, but you wouldn’t know anything about that. Would you?”
Annoyance rose in Abacus’s chest, narrowing his eyes as his brother nudged him in jest. “If I had to choose one to mold, it would be Crocus.” He mumbled, ears flicking. Surprise shifted across Absinthe’s face, his muzzle pursing in thought. His preferential treatment of Asher wasn’t something that was hidden to any extent, especially to outsiders. Most overlords probably assumed he would inherit everything as ruler, not his older sister. Out of all the options they had for a ruling heir, Abacus assumed the average cat would say it would be a tom and out of Lily’s litter for sure. Opal’s sons were strong, but heavily disliked–and for good reason. The idea made Abacus shudder. “Asher reminds me too much of you, and she’s more rational. Far less likely to escalate situations beyond their need, unlike your sons.”
Absinthe let out a tch of laughter. “You’re right,” He sighed, ruffling his fur in amusement. “But we have plenty of time. Lots of time, and more pressing issues.” Flicking his tail toward the mountains that marked the distance, they loomed slate and silver against the pale blue of the sky. His golden eyes narrowed, but another fit of wet coughs cut off his thought.
“You’re worried for nothing.” Abacus placed a paw against his brother’s back, thudding hard against it. With a gasp, a wet, slimy mass of mucus splattered onto the concrete with a wet splat. Gasping, Absinthe looked up at him, eyes wide and darting side to side. Wheezing, his lungs heaved wildly as he sucked in another breath. Shushing his brother, Abacus attempted to purr and stroked his tail down the younger’s spine till he caught his breath.
“The white coats don’t even go down into the valley anymore,” Abacus stated after a few moments of silence, ears pricked as his brother’s breathing remained steady. Gritting his jaw, Absinthe sank his claws into the mossy concrete, golden eyes narrowed on the looming mountains. His tail lashed wildly before swiping a paw over his spit-soaked muzzle and wiping in through the sooty dust. “They’ve abandoned it for a reason, Absinthe. Remember how it was when it first happened? They swarmed down there like a wasp's nest, and it was never quiet. They had those bright lights that shone like the sun on all night, and those boxes that hummed and screamed. When was the last time you’ve seen that?”
Absinthe rolled his eye,s and his brother continued. “They only go down there once a season if that. Our air is clean and fresh up here, I assure you, if a few cats want to go down into the valley let them.” Absinthe shrugged, letting his tail drift onto his brothers who stilled his frantic moments. Taking a deep breath, he motioned toward the large grey buildings behind the silver thorned fences. “There’s been no unusual movement there; life is good. You should accept life is good now.” His voice was soft, leaning on his younger brother. He huffed, glancing at him and rolling his eyes at the elder. “We don’t have to struggle anymore; we’ve set up a system for the good of all of us. A few rogue cats disappearing to the sanctuary, or even joining those feral strays, drinking oil-slick water and living in ash, mean nothing. They’re down there, probably rotting on the inside and their fur falling out in clumps with their teeth rattling in their skulls.”
“Yes, I know.” Absinthe snapped, glancing away sheepishly as Abacus flicked a tail in annoyance at being interrupted. “We have good food, warm nests, and all the young mollies we—I mean I could ever want. Our water is clean–I get it–but you’re missing the bigger picture.” His claws scraped on the concrete, making Abacus hiss before pulling away from his brother’s touch. “It took two generations for us to get this sort of stability, and it’ll only take one to undo it. These cats are young; they don’t remember how it was for us before. They’ve rarely truly struggled as we did–and if they start abandoning our ranks now, it’ll all fall apart. All that structure will be gone like dust in the wind, and then all of this will be for nothing.”
Abacus stifled a sigh, turning to face the horizon like his brother. The air was tinged with icy slush, and the heavy scent of wet dirt clung to the breeze that tugged at his fur. Soon, he imagined, would be that that the faint smell of green growth would peek through those scent notes as the air continued to warm. “I suppose you’re right.” He finally said, wrapping a tail around his younger brother. “But we’ll endure. We always do.”
His ears pricked. The city stirred below him. Cars splashed through puddles below, and the echoes of horns bounced between buildings up toward them. If he strained, he could hear the humans barking at each other, and the sets of seven blasts started up as the sun finally crested over the mountains. The rapid fire of the shots would continue till noon, and then start up until nightfall, but Abacus only sighed. There was stability here, he soothed inwardly. He just hoped his brother believed that.