Treasure Ch. 08

"I'll do my best." She beamed up at him and made to approach, but a nervous toss of the horse's head kept her at bay. "I love you too, father. Please...be safe." He looked at her for a long time before inclining his head in a slow nod.

"I'll return in four days hence---certainly no less," he told her. And then, with a snap of the leather reins, the horse thundered past her. The guards followed, and she watched them flood out of the gate with an aching heart. To her left, she saw Leda stroll leisurely out into the courtyard, her blue eyes following the procession of horses. She seemed to falter when she saw Catherine's face.

"Catherine," she began slowly, putting a tentative hand on Catherine's shoulder. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine," Catherine breathed, never taking her eyes from the silhouettes of horses in the distance. "I'm just...I'm just really going to miss him." Leda gave her an odd look and she immediately regretted her words. "I'll be in my room," she muttered, turning to march back into the house.

"There's lunch, if you---"

"I'm not hungry."

---

Catherine deposited one last pair of stockings into the pile that rested atop her blanket, then rubbed her eyes wearily. She had only packed for a handful of trips in her lifetime, and none of them had extended to more than a few weeks. She wasn't entirely certain how many dresses and cloaks one needed for a lifetime on the run with a forbidden lover. Or shoes. Regardless, she was fairly certain that she had covered all of her bases. Five dresses, a pair of white trousers and a blue shirt she had once purchased on a rebellious whim from a travelling merchant, gloves, six pairs of stockings, wool socks, her heaviest cloak, a brush, a couple bodices and her slippers. With a half-satisfied nod, she folded up the corners of the blanket and knotted them tightly, then grunted as she slung the makeshift sack over her shoulder. Too heavy.

"Four dresses, then," she grumbled, ripping the bag open and tugging out her yellow dress. After she tossed it angrily onto the floor, she gazed out at the night sky through her window. It was just past eleven, and she was a bit surprised that Adeon hadn't just crashed into her room early like he usually did. Not for the first time, she wondered what he did every night before he came to visit her. Although the city had a small, seedy underbelly that she had caught a glimpse of when she was exploring as a child, (her father had pried her forcibly out of the gambling den and had given her quite the talking-to afterwards), but overall, Blackwall was somewhat quiet at night. It couldn't be easy, wandering aimlessly and waiting for midnight.

As she watched the window, a black shape flickered behind the glass and momentarily obscured the silhouettes of the fountain statues outside. Her eyes grew large with excitement, and her heart pounded fast and heavy in her chest as the outline of a large hand tapped insistently on the glass. Thank the gods. She wasn't quite sure how she could have handled waiting another hour.

She crossed the room in a few quick, long strides and pulled open the window, grinning broadly. "You're a lot less early than usual," she whispered teasingly, and the two hands scrabbled up to grip the inner sill. "I thought something might have happened."

"Beggin' your pardon, little one," a low voice chuckled. The black shape outside rose up to clamber up and over her sill, and Catherine's face grew slack in horror as a tan, scrawny-looking face appeared in front of her. His frog-like lips stretched into a wide, mocking smile, and he waggled his eyebrows at her. "You expecting someone else?"

"EUGENE!" she screamed abruptly, and as she slammed the window pane shut on his wrists, she heard her bedroom door crash open behind her. The man at her window swore and smashed his shoulder against the window as she brought it back to shut it on him again, and she scrambled backwards. "Eugene," she gasped. "There's---"

A firm, gloved hand clapped over her mouth, and another gripped her arm tightly. She shrieked desperately into the fabric and thrashed, but the stranger held her still. "What do we have here?" a hoarse voice cackled in her ear. "Looks like a little dragon-slut, doesn't it?"

"Fiery bitch, this one is. Nearly broke my damn fingers," grunted the man at her window, slinging himself impatiently over the windowsill and into her bedroom. He was thin and a bit on the short side, maybe only a few inches taller than she was. His dark brown hair fell in a scruffy line over his green eyes, and he was dressed almost entirely in black from head to toe, save for a few plates of armor on his chest. His skin was weathered and rough-looking.

"Eugene," Catherine cried out against the man's hand, her spirits shattering as the noise was muffled into something tiny and unintelligible by the fabric of the glove.

"She doesn't look happy to see us," yet another man laughed. Catherine's teary eyes darted towards the voice angrily. "You think she only likes great, evil lizards?"

"Wouldn't touch the witch with an iron pole anyway, even if she is cute," the man holding her growled, and Catherine shut her eyes tight as he gave her a vicious jerk. "Disgusting."

"Unnatural," the man next to him agreed cheerfully.

"Where are the others?" the man at her window inquired, rubbing his wrists and glaring down at Catherine. "You think they ran into trouble?"

"The guards went down easy, so Frederek and Doran are keeping watch. Brandon hasn't come back from the kitchens yet, but I'd wager we'll see him soon. How many problems can a couple cooks cause, anyway?"

"Well, if the coast is clear." The man behind her knelt towards her ear, and she cringed away from the coarseness of his breath. "It's time to go, monster-slut. Don't you worry---you'll be reunited with your little friend soon." Catherine screamed and squirmed in his arms, biting down hard against his gloves. "Oooh, careful with this one," he laughed, ignoring the feeling of her teeth chewing into the leather. "She's a biter."

"Shame," chuckled the man at the window. "I usually like the biters. Too bad I'm not a bloodthirsty beast." He came a bit closer and leered down at her. "Maybe you can pretend I'm a goblin. Would you like that? A big, juicy goblin cock?" Catherine wrenched her face out of the other man's glove just long enough to spit viciously in his face. Her cheeks were burning with utter fury.

"It wouldn't be terribly difficult," she snapped. "You're already short and ugly enough." His face contorted into a scowl as his comrades dissolved into a fit of mirth, and he kept his dark glare trained on her while he wiped the spittle from his chin.

"Do we really have to keep her alive?" he asked in a dangerously low voice.

"Oh, let Henry have his gloat. It's not like she'll be able to get loose."

"Fine. Move her out." He brought his hand back and slapped her hard across the face, and Catherine let out a yelp. "I can't wait to watch you die, you disgusting traitor," he hissed through his teeth.

"The feeling is mutual," she whispered, ashamed by the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. Her face stung where his gloved palm had struck it. She heaved against her captor as he wrenched her towards the door, and Catherine's eyes widened abruptly as she caught sight of the figure in her doorway.

"Duck, duchess!" a curt voice demanded, and as Catherine lurched forward, she heard the unmistakable clang of cookery and felt the man behind her stagger backwards. His arms went limp around her and she crouched down onto the floor as Leda came flying into her bedroom. All around her were shouts and swearing and invocations of various gods and goddesses, and then, just as soon as it had began, the noises around her were silenced. She peered out at her bedroom from between her fingers and saw the frog-lipped man slump deliriously onto the floor in a heavy thump, and Leda was breathing hard and clutching her bedframe. "Bursting into a woman's bedroom at night," she muttered angrily. Her blue eyes were ablaze with fire, and despite her old age, it made her look quite terrible, indeed. The gnarled fingers of her right hand were clutching the handle of a large, cast-iron skillet, and several tendrils of silver hair had escaped her tight bun. "Reprehensible. Absolutely deplorable..."

"Are you alright?" Catherine whispered, scrambling to her feet and running to her side. "And where on earth did you learn---"

"Old women are afraid of nothing, my dear," she said dryly. "Have you forgotten?"

"Let me help you up," Catherine insisted, but the old woman waved her away.

"I sent Eleanor to find help, but this place isn't safe. The guards are wounded, and Gods know the other men will be here soon. You need to leave. Find somewhere safe to hide until the knights arrive."

"I'm not going without you," Catherine snapped, but Leda fixed her with a crackling stare.

"My hips are acting up. I'll only keep you. Go---and take this." She tossed the skillet towards Catherine with a slight wince, and Catherine stooped down to retrieve it after a moment of hesitation. "Just swing it at their faces if they bother you. You can't go wrong; it's the best iron this side of the mountains." Suddenly, she glanced down at the sack on Catherine's bed, and her face paled. "Just one moment," she began.

"I'm so sorry," Catherine whispered, darting past her to scoop up the sack. With some effort, she slung it over her shoulder and snatched up her bow and quiver.

"Catherine, wait!" Leda shouted weakly as she strode quickly towards the doorway, and her heart broke at the desperation in her voice. The stern authority was gone from her tone, replaced by a feeble sort of worry. She suddenly sounded her age. "You have to come back! You can't just leave. It's entirely too dangerous. Do you hear me? You have to come back!"

Catherine squinted her eyes shut against the wave of agony that was crashing in her chest and walked hastily into the hallway. Leda's shouting was growing fainter and fainter, and finally it dissipated. All around her, House Bastion was black as pitch in the gloom of midnight, lit only by a few sparse candelabras here and there. At the other end of the hall was a pile of limp limbs and fabric, and Catherine put a hand to her lips when she made out a mop of blond hair. Cedric. As she reached his side, she realized that he wasn't...moving.

"What do you think Henry'll do to 'em?" a voice wondered, echoing off of the stone walls, and Catherine swallowed a gasp before skittering quietly behind a corner. Several footsteps were approaching from the next passage over. Their sounds were deafening in the quiet of the house.

"We should starve him and put them both in a pit," another voice said eagerly. "I've heard that hungry dragons will eat just about anything, bones and all---" He was cut off as his peers burst out laughing, and his voice seemed to falter as he spoke again. "What?" he demanded. The glow of a torch illuminated the walls, and Catherine tensed in anticipation.

"That's pigs, you idiot!" one of the men crowed, dissolving into another fit of cackles. "Who gets dragons confused with pigs?" Catherine put the hand that wasn't clutching the iron skillet to her mouth to stifle the noise of horror that was threatening to rip from her throat, and she closed her eyes to steady herself as the footsteps drew closer.

"It's dragons, too!" the other man protested. His voice was just around the corner. "I could've sworn I heard---"

The poor man was stopped short once again as Catherine sidestepped around the corner and swung the heavy skillet with every ounce of strength she possessed. It connected with the side of his face with a satisfying ringing noise, and the vibrations from the impact traveled in shudders up her arms. He dropped into a wordless heap, and his other two companions let out roars of incredulity before scrabbling for their swords. Clenching her jaw, Catherine mashed the heel of her right foot into a set of booted toes, and as one of her assailants howled in agony, she slammed the skillet into the other man's waiting jaw. He toppled to the floor with a weak groan, and she quickly turned to her right to send the flat side of the pan rocketing into his companion's temple. His skull yielded to the blackened iron with a sickening crunch, and she watched in horror as he fell silently to the ground. A thin stream of blood oozed from his right ear.

The hall was once again very, very quiet.

She finally wrenched her eyes from the wounded---possibly mortally so---soldiers at her feet and swallowed hard before walking slowly into the foyer. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the silence of the dark halls. They would have killed me, she assured herself frantically. They certainly would have killed me, and...oh gods, they might have already killed Adeon... But something deep inside of her knew that he was alright. He must be. He had to be.

"Where do you think you're going?" a familiar voice snarled, and Catherine jerked in surprise before whirling to face the other end of the foyer. Eugene was sitting on the floor by the fireplace, leaning weakly against the stone wall, and as she watched, he spat out a gob of red spittle and glared at her. Blood was trickling down the corners of his mouth in a series of thin crimson lines, and a disturbingly large puddle of it was blooming on the floor beneath an enormous gash in his right leg. His nose was a crooked mass of red. It must have been broken. "You've lost your damned head if you think I'm just going to let you walk out of here." Catherine watched him nervously for a moment, but then she thinned her lips and moved a little closer. His sword lay near her feet, smeared and flecked with blood. It didn't seem to be his, and for a moment, she felt endlessly guilty for what she was going to say.

"I am going to walk out of here," she told him. "I'm leaving, Eugene. And I don't think you're going to be able to stop me." He glowered at her for several seconds, but suddenly, his expression seemed to soften. He heaved a rattling sigh, leaning his head back to gaze at the ceiling.

"You'll be fine," he finally said grudgingly. "You were always rather clever when you weren't being difficult. Not bad with a bow, either." Catherine stared at him.

"Am I unconscious?" she stuttered. "I thought I just heard you compliment me."

"Aren't you supposed to tell me that you've always seen some goodness in me? Deep down?" he wondered, and there was a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Well...I haven't, really," she admitted. "Up until now, I always thought you were rather unpleasant."

"Hard to be pleasant and keep you out of trouble at the same time."

"I suppose that's fair."

"You're in love," he said suddenly, and Catherine swallowed. "This is all for someone else, isn't it?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," she said swiftly, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.

"I knew you were up to something," Eugene rasped, coughing and flashing her a bitter smile. "You're always up to something. But you're a fucking idiot if you're planning to abandon everything you have for some boy. Your father's absolutely mad over you, and I'm sure you could convince him---"

"I won't be able to convince him this time," she interjected, and he let out a grim, rattling laugh.

"What, have you fallen for some stable hand?" he chortled. "Or a murderous rogue?"

Catherine merely shrugged her makeshift bag and the quiver over her shoulder, and her eyes burned as they met his. "A dragon," she said softly. He started to laugh again, but when her expression didn't change, his eyes went as wide as planets. She knelt to retrieve his sword from the ground, trying to ignore the way he was gaping at her. "I hope this sword isn't terribly important to you," she continued calmly, testing its weight in her hands. "I need to borrow it for a while. And when my father returns, make sure he reads the note under my pillow, won't you? He's going to be so upset, and I just...well, I need him to know why. Oh, and take this," she added, tossing the cast-iron pan in front of him with an ear-ringing clang, "in case there are any more of those scoundrels lurking about. Don't worry---Leda sent one of the cooks to find help. She'll be back soon."

"B-but," he stammered.

"Thank you, Eugene. Please take care of yourself. And if you ever see me again, I'll understand if you want to shave my head," she said solemnly before turning on her heel and striding quickly down the length of the foyer. She shoved the doors open impatiently, gave him one last look from over her shoulder, and finally stalked out into the gloom of the night.

---

The world around Catherine was dark and frigid, and she jerked up the hood of her cloak with shaking fingers. Her gloves were still in her knapsack and her hands had practically become blocks of ice. Every sensation she had, however, was overridden by concern for Adeon. He was the only thought her brain allowed itself to think, the only feeling her nerves would channel through her bones.

While she had never considered herself to be particularly skilled in the department of tracking, the remaining inches of snow had offered her a glimpse of Adeon's fate, as well as several pairs of fresh footprints. Near the gate leading in and out of her garden were thrashing patterns and the imprints of skidding heels, and, (to Catherine's delight), a splayed-out, man-shaped outline that wasn't quite large enough to be Adeon-sized. Following that were several trudging footprints that wound crookedly throughout the city, and terror squeezed at Catherine's heart as she observed a thin trail of red spatters that began following the footsteps after the evidence of yet another struggle in an alleyway. Adeon had certainly not gone quietly.

To her immense surprise, the gates to the city were slightly ajar. A pair of well-armored guards were slumped over in front of the mammoth, iron-studded doors, and she tore her gaze quickly from the dark puddles that were staining the snow beneath them. Henry had been nothing but thorough in his quest for knighthood; the king would doubtlessly appreciate the capture of a dragon who had murdered his guards. She squeezed through the doorway, her teeth gritted in disgust, and then hurried through the vast field in front of her. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she observed the continuous trail of footsteps, and for a moment, she wondered what exactly they had done that had prevented Adeon from transforming into dozens upon dozens of feet of murderous reptile. Surely he would have done so by now...

In the distance, at the very bottom of a steep hill, she spotted the glow of torches and heard the faint shouts of disdainful laughter. Silhouettes of horses were pawing nervously at the snow, and as she stumbled forward, she could make out several outlines of men.

"...I mean, good Gods, did you think we wouldn't notice?" Henry roared with glee. "A great, green dragon swooping back and forth from the mountains to the outskirts of the kingdom? It isn't as if you're terribly inconspicuous, you ugly brute..."

"I don't like this," she heard another man say in a fervent mutter. "The longer we keep him alive---"

"He won't be going anywhere," Henry growled.

Catherine slunk low to the ground, taking cover behind a cluster of small trees on the outskirts of their little camp. Her hands groped behind her to unsheath her bow from the confines of her quiver, and her fingers worked hastily to pull the string taut. Another quick motion freed a pair of arrows, and she grimaced as her elbow brushed a wayward branch.

"Did you hear that?" a voice barked, and despite her panic, Catherine was filled with a grim sort of satisfaction at the worry in his voice. There was a short pause, and she closed her eyes tight in the blooming silence.