Katarina winced and swallowed blood. She had not brought potions into Kalamanda's forest. Assassins were not meant to take hits. So there she sat, facing a tavern full of help that she was too weak to call for. A pile of signs to her right read warnings that came too late, and a pile of Sion's limbs lay in the bushes nearby. She had been too late. Another lecture lay in her near future, assuming her survival- and this lecture would probably be fatal. Katarina could only wait, then, knowing that if she could call for help, it would only kill her sooner. Garen would be more likely to save her at this point. The stabbing pain at her heart was at least partly literal. She spit blood. Her vision swam. Marcus appeared- the man with a presence that overshadowed death. He kneeled next to her and extended a potion in his hand silently. It was strange to her whenever he extended his compassion. Did she remind him of mother? Was his sternness an act? Katarina accepted it and drank blood and life, feeling the two mix in her stomach and spread throughout her as pain. Her wounds were splicing together, ignoring whatever dirt or disease had already breached it. Grieve would have work to do later. But when she finished drinking, it was not Summoner Grieve she thought of. Markus was still there, kneeling before her, his face wracked with her pain. She shook her head, giddy at the realization of what he was thinking.

"I didn't lose. Garen looks worse. We were fighting, but... the trees..." she made a clashing motion with her hands.
"It looks like you nearly died in there, Kat."

She nodded, conceding the point, but froze when she saw the flicker of his nose. He was smelling something. And when his brow tightened ever so slightly, she could tell that he knew- at least knew something. He handed her another potion, produced from a bag that he had brought. He talked while she drank.

"You've been missing for about five hours. Demacia brought more men than we expected, and some toys we didn't know about." He waited for her to finish the potion before continuing. "The High Command has already retreated. We're on the Kalamanda Contingency now." His brow flickered over confusion and disappointment as he remembered who he was speaking to.

"I told your sister about that. I can explain later." Then he fell into a patient silence, and Katarina couldn't help but feel that it was her job to fill it with something he could be proud of.

"I can still get Sion back," she wheezed.

He smiled at the enthusiasm and patted her knee with a gloved hand.

"I'm glad to hear it, but..." His smiled warped, but did not falter.

"Sion is not worth my daughter to me." His gaze captured her, serious. "I would not think less of you if you were to join the retreat and leave with the High Command."

Katarina accepted and drank the third pot as he handed it to her. Her father, Her father, did not want her to fight. Katarina didn't know how to react. So she drank and let the thought muddle around in her mind until it reached a conclusion.

"Why? Why would you let this go?"

Marcus's pain was very real now. He reached a hand for Katarina's cheek, but her head shook and she continued.

"I failed. Why did you come here? Why save me?"

She could see the patience in him, the cautious wait for her anger to abate. And when he saw that she was ready, he answered.

"You are more to me than you know, mon fleur. You are the inner petals of my rose and the end of my goals. And when I am dead, when you are free of my shadow, you will blaze like the brightest star. You will lead all of Valoran, all of Runeterra, to its rightful place among the order. I am here because you are my plan, Katarina. I am here because you are the summation of my worldly efforts, and the summation of every Du Couteau before me."

Katarina accepted another potion and chugged it. What were fatal gouges before had now become minor lacerations, zipping closed like a properly buttoned dress. She nodded, recognizing that tone of voice that father reserved for inspiration and drama. She could never tell what was serious for him. Was the plan a joke and his business as a Noxian General real? Or was the world just a distraction to him from his duty to her? Katarina settled on a better question.

"And what if I die? What if I try to rescue Sion again and the Demacian Executioner hangs me from his banner? What if I fail you?"

Marcus reached for her cheek. And when she tried to shake his hand free of her, he grabbed her chin and forced the contact. And he stared into her eyes like worldly distractions to the plan behind them when he answered.

"If you ever feel death, then it will be I who have failed you."

Katarina didn't know how to respond. She nodded, feeling more than seeing her vision focus. Marcus the blob became Marcus the man, her father and his few well-earned wrinkles. She felt his finger trace the line of her scar, felt the lights of the city blaze against her eyes, and realized then that it was fire. But before she could comment on it, a woman stepped from the shadows behind Marcus and stood at his side- Cassiopeia, Katarina's mirror, save the mistake of mercy. She was wearing the same dress they had matched in when the spy was caught. Katarina glared, remembering the unnatural tone Cassie had taken only hours before. She could still see the new posture was in place. Cassie had never held her head so high or thrust out her breasts with such bravado.

The twin's lips parted like cut skin. "Surprised to see me?"

Marcus' annoyed glance turned up to her. "Why are you still here?"

To Katarina's horror, this strange woman- this woman who was definitely not Cassie- set a hand on Marcus' head and patted him. "I have assets in Kalamanda, darling. You two, for example."

Katarina leaped to her feet and grabbed the imposter by her throat, dragging her to the ground under her weight. But when she drew a dagger for the kill, Marcus restrained her wrist and slapped her hard. Katarina recoiled in shock, releasing the now choking Not-Cassie. The impostor stood, her cough turning to an ugly chuckle.

"Did you just find me out? Marcus, I thought you sent your daughters to the same school."

Marcus scowled at her. "Damnit, L-" he caught himself, mouth shutting like a trap over knowledge that Katarina realized was only being kept from her. She sheathed her knife and stood slowly, feeling a strained tendon that had not fully healed in her leg. But more importantly feeling a strained relationship with her father.

Marcus held up a hand at the imposter. "You don't need to be here."

Cassie's image flinched spite at Marcus. "I decide where I need to be. Right now I've decided to borrow your daughter."

Katarina balked, but quickly fell to worry when she heard her father's response.

"She's injured. It's up to her."

The strange woman smiled, finally making a gesture that felt sincere. She extended a hand to Marcus and beckoned. With a nod, she added Katarina to the gesture.

"I think I've put my wrong foot forward for you, Katarina." She faced Marcus the whole time she spoke, sending him an entirely different message with her eyes. "Why don't we go have a drink? I have a friend here who runs a wonderful tavern. Do you remember, Zim, Marcus?"

His eyes sparked in the darkness, interest flaring. "Zimmel. He's Here?"

The woman in Cassie's form turned and walked without another word. Katarina glared at her father, looking for help more than scolding. He nodded for her to follow. Katarina made quick work falling in with him while he explained.

"We were hoping you'd catch on a little quicker. Cassie can't appear in public for a while and we can't afford to look weak."

Katarina's feet carried her where Marcus directed, past the Sudden Night Inn and into the street. She was reminded again of the burning houses and the screaming people, but remained more concerned with family politics. Katarina hissed at her father.

"Who is she!"

Cassie's borrowed figure stopped and turned on her heel to face them. With broken cobble supporting and the burning city framing her deceit she lashed, "I am not your sister! I am not your father! I am not Jarvan the Fourth, Ambassador Laurent, Duchess Karma, or any other fool who feels their identity secure! But most importantly, young lady, I am not an object of your curiosity! Marcus."

Katarina nearly screamed at the sight of her father's posture straightening in respect, as if this woman was Grand General Boram Darkwill.

"Yes?" he asked.

Cassie's impostor flinched spite at Katarina.

"Please impress upon your daughter the nature of the clandestine arts. We can't lose people to silly mistakes."

She turned and walked again, and Katarina felt her arm grabbed by Marcus. He turned her and led her by the force of his grip while his mouth ran quietly. Katarina could barely hear him over the cackle of the pleased fires.

"There are some things Cass was going to do. She's ill, so it's up to you now."

Cassie's silhouette mouthed "Ill" mockingly as she turned up a street away from the battle. Katarina was having trouble keeping her blades still, but Marcus' voice and grip were stern and firm.

"She's rude. I know. But if you trust me, you trust her."

Katarina tried jerking her arm free, unsuccessfully. "Why?"

"Because I'm telling you to." He pulled her closer and whispered. "Because this is part of a plan. And if you stray from it, I can guarantee you nothing."

He released her then, knowing that Katarina's loyalty to him would always extend to his word and its benefactors. He caught up with Cassie's impostor and discussed something with her angrily. Katarina wasn't sure whether to join or tag behind until the mean woman's hand extended back and snapped at her. Katarina's face was burning by the time she had joined them. The impostor woman promptly turned away and walked up the steps of a pub. She waited for Marcus to open the door, then nodded her thanks to him and entered. Katarina followed her father's nod inside.

The pub was well lit, not yet touched by fires or screams, but the air of Kalamanda's unease was obvious. The pub was empty, its tables and chairs lying ramshackle and ugly without the comfort of warm bodies. Katarina watched as the impostor, Cassie's image, took the center of the room, gown resting as if on a noble, beautiful in every way that didn't belong to her. She seemed to basking in the attention that natural beauty garnered, rolling her eyes at dust and sneering at dirty windows.

"This won't do, Grieve," she finally said.

Katarina startled at the realization that Summoner Grieve was behind her. He had been leaning against the wall by the door. His face was still covered by robes that swirled black and rust. His weight shifted forward, and he passed Katarina with an obscured glance that could have been contempt or wonder. She saw the veins on his hands were bulging and black, and the skin was far more wrinkled than earlier in the day when Katarina had first met him. He passed Cassie's imposter with obvious reverence, to the bar. And there, like a piece of the upholstery, was a bald bartender with thick arms and a thick accent. He spoke first. "Eivie's Angvish?"

Grieve's voice rasped like death while he took a stool, "Small thorns and a large mouth. And the drink."

The bartender reached for a fresh wine glass and brought it to the tap of one of many, small kegs. The nozzle control was a wooden, black rose. Grieve nodded to the bartender, accepting and drinking Anguish before turning to the deceiver in the room, the woman in Cassie's body, in Katarina's dress. Grieve rasped, "You don't like the pub?"

The fake Cassiopeia's response was not one of concern.

"If no one is here, then the person they are looking for is not here. You must add patrons to the illusion, Grieve. Are you alright?"

Grieve's hood swayed "no. Sion or not, Boram wanted his procedure-" he paused at the flinch-look that the deceiver seemed to use as a weapon. She nodded sideways at Katarina. Grieve turned to Katarina, then looked back to the imposter and nodded sideways at Katarina. The deceiver's head shook and Grieve sighed, leaving Katarina with no understanding.

"Oops," Grieve rasped. He drank more Anguish and knocked on the bar. "Zimmel. Run my tab 'till the bar burns down. Free drinks."

The bartender nodded, his sultry grin watching Cassie's borrowed form and silk dress take the stool by Grieve. Grieve was busy staring at Katarina.

"Sion," he rasped at Katarina. "Did you get Sion?"

"Patience, Summoner," the deceiver cooed in his ear. "Sion isn't the only thing that can make you feel better. Maybe you just need a... Summoner's Outing."

Grieve's head tilted toward her. Katarina was starting to feel like the fifth wheel on a tricycle as Cassie's foot started toying with Grieve's ankle.

"Grieve," her voice was cooing. "Catch a drift sometime. Summoner's Outing? Haven't you heard that story?"

Grieve's hooded gaze turned off into space while he thought. "Is that the one with the Elf and the Lizard-girl where they-?"

Marcus sighed and put an arm around Katarina, turning her away from the conversation. "We're waiting for another team of assassins. I assume the men you took into the forest are dead."

Katarina nodded and Marcus continued.

"The Ionian spy we had was brought by the Demacian Ambassador's envoy. Remember when you knocked out her tooth?"

Katarina shook her head. Marcus's eyebrows shrugged. "You slammed her face against my desk. The tooth had a nifty device in it: Like a ward, but more discrete. Well a few hours ago, the Demacian commanders decided not to take prisoners in Kalamanda."

Katarina was momentarily distracted by the high, punctuated laugh of Cassiopeia's impostor. She and Grieve were still engaged in pseudo-platonic flirtation.

Marcus continued. "So we brought the beacon here, and activated it a little after they gave the order. It's a fork."

Katarina's confusion became Marcus' disappointed look.

"I didn't teach you regicide, did I, Kat?"

Katarina's head shook. "Is that the one where you turn the little pieces into big pieces?"

Marcus nodded. "Pawns. Remind me about it later. The point is that by activating the beacon, we've put Demacia in a bad position. They have to send someone to this pub to recover the Ionian spy."

Katarina's eyes danced around the thought, not understanding. "What?"

Her father's eyes misted with patience while he held in a sigh. "If they send no one, we know that they have recovered their spy already or that she is not worth recovering. They don't want to reveal that. So if they think they'll win the battle, they'll go back on their orders. We're retreating right now and they didn't do that. The only other option they have for recovering their spy is to feed us a special forces team."

Katarina held back a sigh, and was worried that she didn't know if her own sigh was regret or something else. "Garen Crownguard."

Marcus nodded. "They'll send Garen Crownguard."

Katarina pointed across the room, at the bartender. "And what does he have to do with it?"

Marcus turned to the barman, Zimmel, who nodded his hello. Marcus nodded back. "It's his tavern, Kat."

"No," Katarina growled. Marcus' expression took a serious issue with her tone, but Katarina pressed on in anger.

"I know it's his bar. Who is he? How do you know him? Who is she? What's going on here?"

The door opened, admitting several Crimson Blades. Marcus straightened his uniform and decided on only answering one more question for the night.

"What's going on here is you're setting up an ambush. Grieve needs something dead for his health. Now if you'll excuse me," he finished, "Swain needs a supervisor if he wants any medals out of this." Katarina was about to turn away and fume, but Marcus grabbed her and pulled her into a full embrace. She thought for a moment that this was another of his all-important sentimental moments, but his lips fell to her ear and whispered his real parting words.

"Everything she says is a lie. Trust her with your life."

He was out the door before Katarina realized the contradiction. She only knew that she had suddenly and inexplicably been placed in the care of liars whom when was to trust, and lone-wolfs whom she was to lead. Garen she could kill, but not her doubts. She needed a drink. Katarina walked across the entryway to the bar and took a stool by the woman who was not Cassie. She signaled Zimmel. "What's Eivieie's Ang- whatever?"

Zimmel picked up a cup to wash, not meeting her eyes. "Iv you must ask, I must not tell."

Katarina glanced at Grieve, who was sipping his wine and very intently avoiding her gaze. Katarina glared at the barman. "I'd like one."

Zimmel, ever faithful to a club that Katarina was not welcome in, shook his head. "Ve do not serve zis drink."

It was a test. Katarina could feel it in the silent posture of the people she had been told to trust. She could feel it in the patience of the barman as he washed his cup. This was a game, just like the games the assassins she had been raised under taught her. She only had to learn the rules and then win. This was a game meant for Cassie, but Cassie was ill. Katarina thought back through the conversation, to the social cues she had gathered, to simple words with complex meanings, and wondered to herself what Cassie would do.

"Sharp thorns and..." she started.

Grieve seemed to sigh with his shoulders. She had said something wrong.

"... and large... Small thorns and a loud mouth."

Zimmel turned, poured, and delivered in a single motion. "Clozenough."

Katarina felt a soft tap on her hand as she reached for the drink- the lithe finger of her sister, of the strange woman who was using her sister's identity.

"You'll do just fine," the touch seemed to say. "Wait outside- across the street," is what she called out. The assassins left, and Katarina found herself looking into the eyes of this liar who was to be trusted. The deceiver spoke.

"Well done, sister."

Katarina summoned a stern look. "Don't flatter yourself. I knew something was wrong the moment I saw you."

Katarina felt her look slip when Grieve's raspy chuckle sounded. "We spent hours figuring out how to tip you off," he whispered.

Katarina's own spiteful smile was being reflected at her. "I have honed my craft to perfection, sweetie. You knew it was me because I wanted you to know. Now let's discuss this wonderful ambush that you are about to perform for my dear friend Grieve. He does love corpses."

Grieve nodded and rasped, "I do love corpses."

Katarina shook her head. "No. You don't know anything about me or what I do. There's nothing to talk about."

She stood, leaving her drink in a mixture of anger and pride, and walking to the door to retrieve her assassins. But the chilling sound of her own voice interrupted her. She turned on a heel to see that what had been the image of Cassie in a dress had now become a perfect mirror of Katarina, her leather armor and blades shining perfectly under the light. Grieve was watching from his stool, a bemused smile shining from under his hood. Katarina watched in strange foreboding as the deceiver rose from her chair, childlike wonder playing across the borrowed face of Katarina, looking to the heavens. Katarina watched as the image of her lips parted. She heard as the imitation of her voice sounded.

"You're too kind, father. I do only what you have taught me."

The inflection was perfect. Katarina swallowed fear as the charade continued. The mirror's expression changed to fear. The image of her scar bled, and when the deceiver's hands opened, she dropped the four pieces and three cuts of a prisoner's rope. The image sniffed and wiped away a fake tear.

"Even spies deserve a second chance, daddy."

Katarina's face flushed with the anger of betrayal compounded by insult. She drew a sword, ready to swear life for honor in mutual combat, but was horrified to hear her own voice speak before her. The deceiver had drawn the same sword at the same time, and was stealing the very words from her lips.

"How dare you! My private life is no concern of yours, and my loyalty to Noxus extends beyond anything you can ever know! I will never bow my knee to liars or accept the title of Murderer!"

The tip of Katarina's blade wavered under shock. The tip of her imitation's remained still.

She was still trying to comprehend the exact degree to which this spinner of illusions had copied and parodied her when the illusion changed again. Katarina watched as her imitator's cheeks flushed pink and bit her own lip. Her chest was heaving in sensual gyrations that Katarina didn't care to see in the center of a pub. She swallowed despite herself.

"That's enough!"

The mirror image opened her lips and released a quavering moan, and suddenly, Katarina realized what was about to revealed. She was panicking, breath heaving harder now than in the display before her.

"Shut up!"

Grieve was laughing, even in his feeble state. And then she said it. Her mirror image, the sound of her voice, the tenor of her panting moan broke and whispered, "Oh, Garen."

Katarina could have died on the spot. Every worst nightmare tearing her limb from limb would have been better. No sword could parry this blow. She covered her face, not hearing Grieve's slow clapping, not seeing the rhythmic washing of Zimmel's cups. The illusion disappeared before her, and the feeling of silk lips against her ear- the feeling so many had died with- that feeling was all that she was aware of.

"This is the perfect ambush," the lips whispered. "Your first strike should be the killing blow, the strike that you have practiced and perfected your whole life. If you fail but smell blood, your second strike should be a bait. Make it convincing. And if the target falls for it, land another killing blow. But this time, strike where you smell fear..."

The deceiver sniffed.

"... or sex."

Katarina's breathing resumed. The room focused around her.

"One more thing, sweetie." Her image circled around her from behind, finger trailing over her cheek. Katarina slapped the hand and stepped away. Her foot slipped on a very intentionally placed cup, and Katarina found herself flat on her back.

"Try not to wear your heart on your sleeve when you do it."

Grieve and Zimmel clapped for the performance. But Grieve lifted his cup as well and announced,

"Jarvan is coming. I have seen it. Let's fill this pub."

Author's Note: The reference to Summoner's Outing was shamelessly stolen from the story Seduced By The Deceiver by Waddlebuff. "The Lusty Argonian Maid" is the one with the Elf and the Lizard-girl where they-