Chapter 2:


Deal


It was an merciless torment, the monotony of the cell Katarina lay shackled in. The darkness was everything, inescapable and supremely boring. No light, no windows. The muggy air was borderline suffocating, and the stones that lined the walls all felt the same, rugged, uncomfortable, and somewhat oily.

So to pass the time, Katarina played with her loose tooth, one of the few that she still had, pushing it out of its groove and then pressing it back down, flashes of pain and discomfort filling the void. The trip to the castle had left its mark, as she could feel the scratch marks and bruises and cuts, the swollen eye and the cracked rib, all burning and bubbling underneath her skin. Injured as she was, it was nothing that magic and medicine couldn't heal - otherwise Katarina would have been toothless at least five times over. Her father did not raise an ounce of weakness in her, her pain tolerance was not to be underestimated... She still remembered the time when she had been caught celebrating her 100th successful mission: beaten senseless in order to instill a sense of vigilance. She was stupid to have approached her father with a poorly concealed smile, with alcohol in her veins. He saw right through her. Always did.

"100 victories, a thousand… That does not absolve you from the fear of failure, nor should it weaken your tolerance for challenge." He growled at her, pinning her against the wall so that she would not crumble back down to the ground, so that he could stare her straight into her pupils.

"Understand?"

The thought twinkled and dissolved as quickly as it came, allowing her to reflect on the current predicament for the hundredth time. Swain had certainly toyed with her, testing her composure under pressure before flinging her into this rotten little hotel. It was unlike of him to gloat and play with his prey. The only thing she did know was this humble little abode was none other than the Obsidian Gallery, the most famous cell in all of Runeterra, the Noxian holding place of enemies of state or traitors to the highest degree. Supposedly a natural formation, prisoners were treated to the most beautiful assortment of black stones, a peaceful yet dour stay that ended in the execution. As far as she knew, nobody had entered the Gallery and had emerged unscathed and free. It was a purgatory for the execution, blackness and darkness and boredom.

The train of thought returned her yet again to the amusing contemplation of what form of execution she would be sentenced to. Of all of the forms the most distasteful she recognized would be death by the twirling axes of Draven. She could imagine the jeering crowds as Draven tossed her fake rubber daggers, daring her to resist. Hell, even fake daggers would be too risky, they would probably have to poison her or cut her tendons beforehand. Then again, death by The Cage would be just as dreary, especially with the sudden influx of crows- their murders infesting the city like a pestilence. She wondered how much they would peck away at her before the Kindred came. Impalement was an amusing afterthought and promised a rather quick end. Immolation, quartering, Singed's latest concoction, molten silver, molten iron, molten copper...

So there she dreamed, imagining every conceivable inglorious end, so absorbed and invested in her death that the sudden creak of the door took her by surprise.

She remained apathetic, unaffected, as the light of a single candle flickered into the room, flooding the dark chamber in a subdued glow. Swain's face appeared behind it, before turning around to address the other figure, who Katarina made out to be Darius. The axe-wielding general carried the keys in a tightly clenched fist, his eyes sharp, black and unreadable, signature scowl on display. Swain placed his hand on Darius's shoulder-plate and gave it a pat, a command that was received as Darius retreated from the cell, closing the door with restrained force, a decisive clang…

Silence yet again. Katarina spied a black mass crouching on Swain's shoulder, deducing that it was his crow companion, Beatrice. As Swain brought the candle above his head and stretched out to the center of the room to survey her form, she spied the bird's red, monstrous eyes glaring straight down at her. Unceasingly.

Swain did not rush himself, instead choosing to take in all of the details, appraising Katarina in benign indifference. The darkness on his shoulder shifted and quivered, grooming itself.

"You shouldn't have resisted, Katarina. You know the Guard does not let its prisoners walk on a loose leash."

The air in his voice was completely objective, unemotional, and practical. As if he had not given them the orders to get her a bit dirty. Katarina let the heavy air flow through her bloody nostrils, summoning her willpower and self-control. Swain was in command. She had to accept that.

Swain spoke again, either impatient or patronizing her.

"Do not give me indifference, miss. The matter at hand is most pressing for the two of us."

Swain bent down, placing the candle to his right, on a small indentation in the wall. The light seemed to glow from the walls, the darkness getting just a little brighter, and in this strange light she could see clearer now, although her vision was still weak and fuzzy from the concussion. She swallowed the urge to roll her eyes at Swain's remarks and responded as calmly as she could, as if she did not realize where she was being held. She opened her mouth, and felt the sting of the air as it swirled against the blood and lacerations in her mouth.

"The grounds for my arrest?"

"You and I both know the answer to that," Swain responded stoically, refusing Katarina the chance to know anything, "All that matters is what tomorrow shall bring."

"And what would that be?"

"Whatever you make it." Swain responded rather quickly, folding his hands in preparation, watching her closely, before explaining:

"You have put me in quite the dilemma, Katarina. I had thought the episode earlier today would have been lesson enough, but others disagreed. To my dismay, they had more than words to back up their claims, my faith in you wavered once more. They demanded death."

Bullshit.

All of it, she was clean, as well as the Du Couteau house. Nobody had a speck of incriminating material that wasn't pure speculation. Regardless, Swain seemed to value these so-called advisors and their "honorable" information over her record. He could be lying straight through his teeth as well, just toying with her and daring her to disagree and seal her fate. Insulting, but she kept her lips sealed. Swain continued.

"Many are jealous of your estate, Miss Du Couteau. Many pine for the status that your House has achieve, convinced that as long as the Du Couteau line exists, no other family will be stronger, not even the Grand General's own house. They call you tyrants and usurpers of the throne, ruthlessly dispatching anyone who rivals your influence."

Katarina sniggered internally. That accusation she could not deny, although it was those families' fault for not being as skilled and professional as her heritage. On the outside, she responded with a shrug.

"Now, I know you. I know you and I are quite at odds, but we both have an interest in Noxus's prosperity. The Institute of War is gone, and without it war is on the horizon: Demacia has not been idle, amassing strength and forging alliances with Freljord, Piltover, and possibly Bandle City. Ionia is recovering from our last dalliance, and shedding their pacifism too quickly and too easily for comfort. Bilgewater is becoming impatient and aggressive with the latest chain of events caused by the strange weather on the sea, business with them is more erratic than it has ever been, with that accursed Pirate King of theirs missing. From the sands come stories of an emperor with an army of gold… So many threats to be put down. For that, I need the Du Couteau line. I need Marcus."

Katarina felt the rage suddenly surge forth. She rubbed her fingers together, reminding herself that her hands were still in shackles, chained to the ground. Reigning in her fury, she used her words quietly and calmly.

"I have not found him, Grand General."

"Yes, yes. You obviously blame me, it's not hard to reach that conclusion, any nitwit could have made that connection, the entire city already has," Swain remarked in an irritated, bitter tone, "All I could do was sit on my hands when your father disappeared. Nothing I could do would convince you, only dig me deeper into suspicion. I hoped you would not resort to treason, but I cannot blame you for it. Sadly, it has brought us both here."

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you." Katarina responded in a subtly vicious manner. Swain shrugged off the edge in her voice. Swain had been in the Du Couteau's crosshairs for a long while now, that was true, but his insistence that he had tangible evidence was more peculiar than irritating now.

"Don't doubt me. I have secured my position, but I do not want to lose you. I am willing to strike a deal."

Katarina grimaced, her tooth letting go a sharp pang of discomfort. The crow on Swain's shoulders let loose a strange murmur and quiver.

"What are the terms?"

Swain hissed it out, anger clouding his indifferent demeanour.

"Loyalty, damn it. I will make you head of the Crimson Elite. General. In return, I need your obedience, the trust that you had for Darkwill for the years you spent in his service. Nothing less than exemplary."

"And if I refuse, death."

"By Draven's Whirling Death. Yes."

Katarina couldn't hide it this time, Swain saw her skepticism and amusement.

"A strange deal, and an obvious answer, isn't it? An obvious trap, no?"

He began reaching into his pocket, pulling out an object sealed in a tattered piece of paper. He tossed it to her, and she caught it, feeling the weight of the object.

"Read."

Katarina took the paper in her restrained hands, unraveling the parcel. She took the sharp, heavy object within and weighed it in her hand, familiar to the touch.

Her father's knife. One of his concealed makes, meant for a silent kill. Personally crafted and sharpened. Swain explained as she scrutinized the weapon.

"Found on the back of a man 100 feet underwater, in Bilgewater. Just a month ago. Body had barely aged in the muck he was in."

Curious but not fooled, Katarina began to read the letter, every word and letter. To Swain's credit, it seemed like a familiar writing template her father used...

"How did you find this?" She asked, returning the letter.

"Traced the man back to his boat. That paper has his signature."

"Found in some dustbin?"

"No, we searched the boat, found that in the hold, folded and wedged between the ceiling planks. Must have fallen through some cracks, the boat was rather… worn."

Katarina nodded, maintaining composure. She checked once, twice: giving nothing away. Still, she felt as though her heartbeat would betray her. After a minute or two, she returned the items back to him along with her answer.

"I'm yours."

Swain stared into her eyes momentarily, then focused on his robe, rummaging a moment before producing a key.

"I now know why the Du Couteau line is so legendary: the resilience, the gumption. Noxus is lucky to have your house in their service. I promise you, we will find your father and bring Noxus to even greater heights."

Katarina smiled, but only after the chains that bound her fell to the black, slick floor did she actually believe the she would live to see tomorrow. The crow gave out a slithering little shriek, and the door to the cell opened moments after. Darius's unhappy face had returned.

They walked together, up the stairs, away from the darkness of the Palace dungeons and towards the inner chambers of the castle. Katarina skipped every other step, despite the pangs in her abdomen, her bruises and bones strained and battered.

"As my first command: clean yourself up before leaving the privacy of the High Commands chambers. Your promotion won't have ceremony, but we'll try and give it as much publicity as possible. Hopefully Marcus takes this as a sign that he is missed, not hunted."

"Sorry to say, but it's a long shot," Katarina remarked, more focused on Darius and processing the knowledge that he was included in the search, "My father is an excessively cautious man."

"Agreed. Still, I'd rather try with what I have at the moment. In regards to your first assignment, I would rather explain through a council appointment..."

"Understood."

"Then go." Swain commanded, ending the discussion as the group reached the top, entering the main corridors of the Palace. Katarina bowed before him, and with the conversation over, he turned and continued down the hall with Darius at his side.

Katarina wasted no time and set off to the infirmary, walking tall and proud despite pains that would make a commoner limp; Swain had no empathy for the wounded, a sentiment Katarina shared. Still, the unnatural friction that was occurring inside her with each step nearly brought her to grimace. As she presented herself to the healer and laid down on the operating table a bit of relief passed through her.

The healer only raised his eyebrows when he surveyed the damage, no words spoken. The healing process was warm and a tad uncomfortable, but with every broken piece snapping shivering back into where it belonged also gave the process a pleasurable tingle. Though sedentary, Katarina took the time to order her thoughts, and anticipate the rest of the day.

Swain had proven more ambitious and strategic than she had come close to predicting. Surely a powerful leader, but his intentions? Katarina could not say. That was reason enough to consider him a threat: No man would bring a political adversary to death's door twice and let them go twice without having a contingency. Either he was a genius or he was a fool.

And what of Talon, or Cass? She grinned at the thought of them cowering behind the walls of the mansion, expecting the dark news at any moment. It would be an amusing chat once she walked into the landing, she was sure. Katarina toyed around with a punchline she would use when she strode through the doorway, while absentmindedly running her tongue over her full set of teeth. She was used to the operating table and its procedure, to the point where the process had been completely memorized. It started with the heart, then out into the extremities, finishing with the teeth and the fingers. Of course, some things would never heal.

Once again, she got to her feet, this time without an ounce of discomfort. She thanked the professional with a nod and went on her way. The man, although visibly drained by the operation, managed to return the motion.

The warmly lit, calm vibe of the inner chambers lessened, darkening more and more until she strode down the pitch-black hallway that emptied into The Chamber. The room was sparsely populated by various high-level officials, and the bright circle in the center was unstained and polished from the deadly melee that occurred just a day beforehand. Particles and clouds of dust and dirt rose up from the ancient stone, creating mountains and valleys made of air and light. She strode right through, bisecting the circle, leaving turbulence and chaos in her wake as she passed through the cavernous forum, out to the entrance and the Upper District.

The dark night and misty morning were gone, replaced with the bright sun and its hord of shadows. The lack of tree cover was a nuisance in the city, but Katarina was more than happy to bask in the radiance and swelter. The breeze from the coast was strong, and with such a clear view she stood in momentary appreciation.

The Iron Adder wove its way around the perimeter of the city, a reminder of Noxus' history as a haven for raiders and men of war who wanted to make their claim on the lands of Runeterra. Out from the Iron Adder stretched fields of forests and rocky hills and formations, the source of fire and metal to fuel their ancestors expansion. As they grew in power and prestige, they built larger constructs at the base of their mountainous home. Katarina took note of the raucous Coliseum, also known as "The Pit", its distant roar audible to her trained ears. The Palisade of Bone encircled the city and formed part of the Coliseum's structure, faint and supposedly unscathed for more than ten centuries. The guess had some truth: Noxus never had much of a siege on the capital since the days of the 1st Rune War. Up the hill was the spiked, castle-like structure of the Archives, also known as "The Stone Cathedral". Stone piled on stone, buildings piled up the mountain, jumbled and seasoned like its inhabitants. The closest landmark to her, besides the main palace, was the silver Wall of Honor, or "The Silver Divide". Only the elite could pass through freely, the rest required permission, or conditions.

The sight refreshed the sleepless assassin. She remembered how Marcus would often dangled her over the edge of one of Skull Hills many drops, telling her to look out and spot the clothes on the clothesline, or count the guards patrolling the walls, miles below.

"If I dropped you, would they try and catch you? Would they notice? Would they care?"

"No sir." She replied, paralyzed by fear but conditioned to respond.

"Remember that, dear. You are better than all of them, they will obey you and let you walk all over them. But if you fall, nobody will save you."

She hurried down to the manor. Its foreboding appearance, with its massive features made it look as royal as the palace itself. A single iron fence led to a single iron door, frugal and deceptively humble. Anyone who ever entered through these worn, ancient entrances quietly acquiesced their fate into the hands of the Du Couteau family. All bowed in the house of Du Couteau, and only when they stepped back into the streets of Noxus were they free yet again, masters of their own destiny.

For Katarina's chagrin, she rapped the door three times with an airy touch. For a moment, the door remained static, unflinching. The next moment, wide open, with a set of intense, green slits staring her down.

"Hey sis!" Katarina jovially announced, walking right by Cassiopeia into the foyer of the house, pointing her fingers towards Talon once she spied him sulking next to one of the pillars.

"Talon, how are ya doing? Could you grab me a cool drink, I've got the thirst."

She fell down on the nearest couch, propping her feet on the table across from her. Cassiopea reacted violently, closing the door in frustration before twisting around and approaching her in an aggravated manner. The metal frame quivered loudly as the door reverberated in its lock.

"Gods, Kat. Not. Funny. We are safe?"

"Yup, you can unpack your twenty varieties of lip balm now." Katarina joked.

"Stop it. Stop the bullshit. Explain yourself."

Katarina shrugged as she saw Talon approach with a pitcher of water. As adept as the man was, he couldn't ever take a joke. Katarina had no complaints though, after a night of blood oozing from her gums, the taste of water was sorely missed.

"Fine, best get a seat: it's a fun one."

There was a brief respite, a pause of contemplation and composure, before Katarina began. She had naught finished her third sentence before Cassiopeia broke in.

"The Obsidian Gallery? Really?"

"I'm not joking anymore."

"It's always been hard to tell." Cassiopeia responded sullenly.

Katarina continued, repeating the dialogue that occurred within the black and muggy crucible. Another unnecessary question broke into her train of thought:

"Does he plan on war or hope to avoid it?" Talon asked.

"I'm not sure," Katarina responded, "All we know is that he is aware of Noxus' precarious position. That's his reason for sparing me - so I can do his bidding."

"What a nice setting for an ultimatum though. Swain wanted to get you nervous." Cassiopeia added.

"More of a message," Katarina muttered, souring at the thought, "The inquisition yesterday and the late-night arrest - he knows he's in control and wants to show it off, acting fickle and unstable, but really it's just a kitten playing with a mouse. 'Just give me a reason', you see."

"That is no surprise," Cassiopeia acknowledged, "but you cannot act like you were never in mortal danger. This was more than a simple trick."

"Pretty sure it was just some fancy message to me." Katarina remarked calmly, impatient and eager to break the news about Marcus.

"Well, it looked damn geniune through my eyes," Cassiopeia hissed, "I could taste your blood in the air. I saw how they dragged you up the street."

Katarina raised a shoulder with a simple shrug, accepting her sister's remark. She was right, but Katarina did not want to dwell on how close she had gotten herself to the Kindred. Her jovial attitude had already melted away, and she took another sip of the cold water to refresh herself.

"What matters is that the deal is made. Obedience will preserve us, and give us room to breath."

"As long as he holds his end of the bargain," Talon observed quietly, "I fail to see how this was a deal."

"Oh, but it was," Katarina responded happily, gleeful of the upcoming reaction, "Swain has quite the offer for us."

"Do tell."

She told them, and the reactions were just as amusing as she imagined. Cassiopeia was the first to react, and violently too. Katarina was surprised no furniture was broken due to her lashing tail.

"Lies. He liquidated father, drove him out," Cassiopeia spat, "I can understand that Noxus is under strain, but does he really need our father? Call me a skeptic."

Katarina nodded.

"My initial thoughts, dear sister."

"Why do you believe him?" Talon questioned.

"Because the letter is Marcus's." Katarina explained, highlighting the nature of the note and how it was discovered.

Cassiopeia furrowed her brow, deep in thought.

"'In the shadows, above all the filth. Weathered, unconventional, but professional.' Closest thing to a family motto we'll ever know, and the location of the note is too much of a coincidence."

"'Messages mean much. But where, how, and why they are presented are just as important.'" Katarina rehearsed, "Another lesson dearest father would always teach. Whatever the note is, and whatever it means, it's the closest thing we have to a lead. Swain said he'd let me spearhead the effort..."

"He also absolved you of treason yesterday morning," Talon disagreed, "He is not to be counted on."

Katarina opened her hands in a display of exhaustion and silent agreement. Talon's doubtful attitude was going a bit too far for her liking.

"What matters the most is the tasks Swain will assign to each of us. We all now know where we'll end up if we piss him off in any way."

"Square one." Talon clarified.

Katarina gave him a slight frown of disapproval. She found herself in no mood for his belligerence after all that she had been through the past day.

"Better than the Obsidian Gallery. You know how boring it gets in there? I'd rather not have either of you find out."

With that, she hopped to her feet, sensing the fatigue and the itch of a body experiencing magical healing. Somehow, the phantom discomfort of her broken tooth remained. She stretched one of her shoulders.

"This talk is over."

Cassiopeia weaved her way out of the room, while Talon remained idle and thinking for a moment, as if anticipating a command or some other sort of sign. When Katarina gave him none, he walked off. Only when the room was vacated did Katarina leave, up the stairwell three steps at a time, to the landing, and to her private quarters.

Shedding her dirty clothes, she sat with her hand to her chin, watching the steam curl upwards from the spigot as the water filled the tub. As she settled into the burning liquid, feeling her muscles and skin shiver with new exposure, a weight was lifted, the stress and strain melting away. She loved the bath, the comfort of hot water and the smell of sweat leaving the body. Not that grime made her uncomfortable - her training made it clear that disgust was an alien emotion. It was the sense of accomplishment, of a day's work done well, that was pleasing to her. It was when her father let her bathe did she know that she had survived another session, pleased him and earned his good humor. Of course, in the beginning she received no warm kiss, just the frigid, ice-cold grasp of the Iron Adder, but as she grew, she earned her right to warmth. Today, she felt in the mood for a scalding cleanse.

As she sat, basking in the comfort, she thought of the future. The jobs she would have to do. Talon, Cassiopeia, Swain, the thoughts that they had. Freljord, Bandle City, places she would soon travel to.

Father. Mother. What should I do?

A flower of panic and confusion blossomed, only to be drowned out by the hot bath. No matter how hard she tried to contemplate, the questions and thoughts became harder and harder to grasp in the warm fog of the water and soap. She focused on the warmth, the feeling of cleanliness, a fleeting sensation of peace and quiet. Safe for another day. Eyes closed, she let the mask melt away, smiling ever so slightly as she lost consciousness.


End Chapter