Author's Note: First, I apologize for the ridiculously long wait! I've been a bit busy and I'm fairly certain fans of(or should I just say readers of?) Disenchanted are going to hit me with an unforgivable curse if they don't get their monthly dose of Tom Riddle soon. I spent about two hours trying to brush up on my history about stuff before the third crusade and fell asleep twice so your just going to have to forgive me(and point out) if I make a drastically huge historical mistake somewhere along the line. Also, please please please review! That's the only thing that keeps me updating, knowing that I have a readership! Whereas fav's and alerts are terrific, concrete feedback is great too! In any case, enjoy these two chapters!
Astarte woke up in bed and exalted. Was it possible that her misadventure's of the last two years and three months had all been a dream? After all, it felt like just yesterday when she'd refused to marry Robert and had that horrible fight with her father-Astarte opened her eyes and her heart sank. Speak of the devil…
"Ah, petite cousine! Maria, she is awake…" The glare coming off Robert's prematurely bald head hurt her eyes and she winced and tried to roll away as he bent and pressed his lips to her forehead.
"Piss off, Robert." She said grudgingly, glaring at her French cousin with utmost dislike. She put a special emphasis on pronouncing the T at the end, very aware of how such an anglicized pronunciation would irk the sensitive Frenchman. He smiled welcomingly despite the jibe, opening his arms magnanimously and inclining his head. His wife came sweeping into the small, modestly adorned guest chamber; a histrionical expression of horror on her face.
"Oh, Azzie!" Maria, while she'd always been the superior swordswoman, had never possessed Astarte's flair for dramatics. Nor, consequently, was she as talented in the use of invective straightforwardness.
"Don't you dare Azzie me, you pampered French PET!" Astarte pushed herself up in a sitting position, vaguely registering that her head had been bandaged and her clothes changed. The nurse who'd been lurking at her bed was aghast at Astarte's foul insult and looked comically from Robert to Maria as though they might blame her for her patient's behaviour. To Maria's credit, her overdone expression did not falter in the slightest as she dragged Astarte into an awkward embrace.
"Oh, Az! You hit your head-"
"Unfortunately for you, I didn't hit it hard enough." Astarte jerked herself out of Maria's arms and stood up, still whoozy but furious enough not to care.
"Astarte Sangreal, I would never intentionally wish you harm! Now, I think you should calm down-" The honesty rang clear as a bell in the first statement but Astarte remained standing, folding her arms over her chest.
" No, not intentionally. But you certainly had no qualms about using your 'best friend' as Assassin Bait. I hope they got away, too, you -" Astarte trailed off into a stream of curses so foul that her nurse had to leave the room. As she trailed off, Robert burst into booming laughter that echoed around the chamber. A flicker of outrage glinted in Maria's eyes and she let out an exasperated noise and dropped all pretense.
"Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I did catch them." She preened as Robert smirked down at her proudly, his hands on her shoulders. "Honestly, Az, you're being completely unreasonable-"
"I could have gotten killed, this is just like when we were children and we dressed up as peasants to go running around your fathers fiefdom. I nearly got my hands cut off because you stole that bakers wares-"
"Yes, yes, ancient history. But this plan worked out beautifully so it's completely different. I didn't just catch one, I caught two." Maria pleaded, fluttering her eyelashes and taking Astarte's hands in hers. Oh, isn't that just so typical!! 'Oh, please, Azzie darling wont you forgive me? We got away with it, didn't we?' How many times have I heard that one before? Maria's crazy plans had always involved risk and subterfuge and Astarte was furious that she'd been unwittingly tricked into being part of this one. Despite being married and practically an adult, Maria still hadn't outgrown this particular brand of conniving idiocy.
"No, Maria." Astarte sighed and shook her head, taking her hands back. As she did, she saw the long bruise on her wrist where the assassin's blade had struck the vambrace. I really could have been killed and she has no idea…A thought struck her then: Why hadn't the assassins killed her? Maria's soldiers had probably been too close, but then again, she wouldn't have dared jeopardize the integrity of such a clever ruse by having a force tail Astarte too attentively...
"Please, let me make it up to you over dinner. The tailor's just finished your-"
"You had a tailor make me clothing? Knowing that I wouldn't make it out of the city in a dead man's armor? Is there anything else you'd like to tell me, Maria? One more unexpected surprise might just finish me off." She snapped snidely, not really as surprised as she made herself sound. Typical, typical, typical!
~*~
Two hours later, Astarte picked at her fish broodingly, having shot down Maria's overly cheerful stabs at conversation with curt replies. Robert was now discussing something with a young man called Sibrand who kept shooting her curious looks across the table. Probably the damn dress…asking for something that leaves so little to the imagination is her idea of a clever joke. The simple cotton gown that Maria had commissioned for her was beautiful but obviously impractical, something she'd probably wear to this dinner and then never again in her entire life. It wasn't even a colour she was fond of, a bold, venous blood red that suited Maria's tastes far more than it did her's. At least Maria had also had the presence of mind to order her a few sets of normal tunics and leggings as well, but that did not make Astarte feel anymore charitable toward her. With a loud clack, she threw her fork down and pushed her chair back from the table.
"You'll have to excuse me, my appetite seems to be rather diminished tonight." She told the dismayed looking servant at her elbow. She turned back to Robert and Maria's guilt-ridden expression with a clipped 'goodnight' and a nod.
"Milady, allow me to escort you to your chamber-" The man who Robert had been speaking to stood up abruptly and offered her his arm. Please, I've swatted flies bigger than you. Astarte reined in the urge to prove this thought by smacking the ridiculously eager whelp upside the head and instead tried for gentle rebuke:
"The gesture is appreciated but not-"
"Oh, come, petite cousine! Give a man a chance, wont you? Sibrand, you have my permission to escort her wherever you wish, whether she wants to go or not!" The men around the table roared with laughter as Sibrand's cheeks flared pink with embarrassment. Astarte, thoroughly fed up, snatched a hold of his arm and dragged him from the room and into the hall.
She steered him around the corner and down the corridor until they were well out of earshot of anyone else before releasing him and setting a furious pace towards her own room. Sibrand jogged along beside her, clanking a little in his military gear. Panting, he tried to chat her up:
"I heard that you helped capture the assassins today. That was…very brave-"
"You heard wrong."
"Oh. Well, maybe you could-"
"I don't think so, Sibrand. Goodnight." Astarte slammed the door in his crestfallen face and bolted it tightly. It took her but a moment to strip off and don a more practical tunic, jerkin, traveling cloak, riding breeches, and boots from the chest at the foot of her bed. She stuffed the remaining clothing, a few apples and a loaf of bread into her bag, shifting aside the pouch of herbs and bandages that Maria's apothecary had taken the liberty of restocking for her to make room for the additional cloth. She left the templar sword, knowing that the weight of carrying it around wasn't worth the meager protection it offered. On principal, she left the bulging coin purse where it lay beside the blade. There was a loud knock on her door and Astarte dropped the bag and turned.
"Hello?"
"Lady de Sable?" Astarte stormed over to the door and threw it open to reveal a terrified page standing on the threshold, a missive clutched in his hand. She was about to correct the young boy and tell him to try the door on the left when she noticed her family's seal on the envelope and froze. She held out her hand for the message and he handed it to her and scampered away. Astarte shut the door, pulled her athame from her belt and opened the envelope.
Dear Maria,
It is always such a delight to hear from you! You've always been so kind to our family and the news of my daughters whereabouts…
Astarte read on, unable to comprehend the extent of Maria's betrayal. Here, written in her fathers hand, was proof that her childhood friend had deceived her yet again. According to the letter she held in her hands, a good portion of her father's men would arrive tomorrow to aid Maria in her crusade against the assassin's. This gesture was 'to express my gratitude to you for your services to the family'. Astarte was to be handed over to 'a guard of fifteen so that my errant daughter might be escorted homeward at the earliest convenience'. Unable to read the rest, Astarte crumbled up the heavy parchment and threw it into the fire.
"You think you can just scheme your way to the top like always, don't you, Mary? Well you've got another thing coming, you sorry cow!" Astarte stuffed her athame back into it's sheath and snagging the templar sword as well and coin purse as well. Astarte felt like she had on the night she ran away from home: Stupid, reckless, invincible. No one was going to steal her freedom from her, she'd rather die on an assassins blade then go back to a life where her actions were preordained by the expectations of others. In fact…Oh, foolish Maria. You did always underestimate me when we were children, and you never learned.
Giddy with the strength of her fervor, she whipped around the room like a whirlwind making preparations: A pinch of henbane to the hot peppermint tea steeping over the fire, the tiniest dash of monshood and(just to be vindictive) a touch of belladona. It was a shame that this brew would never touch Maria's lips, but it would nonetheless prove itself exceedingly useful as the plan progressed.
Leaving the wicked brew to marinade in the boiling water, Astarte turned to the mirror. It would be impractical to change back into the red gown, but she'd have to tweak things a little if her devious scheme for retribution was to succeed. She loosened the ties on the jerkin and pulled the belt up on her tunic so that it emphasized the hourglass look that men seemed to desire.
Once the tea had steeped for an appropriate length of time, Astarte poured it into two ornamental goblets. Being careful not to inhale the vapor, she spooned a little sugar into the concoction and stirred it well. Astarte made a face as she poured a little cream into each goblet. She was just going to have to trust to the peppermint and her own feminine wiles to mask the bitter flavour long enough for the herbs to take effect. Turning back to the bed, she looped the strap of her bag around her neck so it hung down her back and then fastened the cloak over it. Carefully, she nudged the door of her room open and tip-toed out.
"Where do you think your going?" Astarte froze and turned to the burly guard behind her, affecting her best imperial gaze.
"Who do you think you are? I am a noble guest of this household and I-"
"Save it. I'm getting paid a guinea per hour to make sure you stay in that chamber--" I don't have time for this! Astarte ripped the coin purse from her belt and handed it to him dispassionately. The guard checked the weight of it and raised an eyebrow at her.
"So…how de you reckon you escaped?"
"Through the window, of course." And without another word, she made her way down the hall to…oh, what was his name? Simon? Si-something's chamber and knocked, flicking her hair out so that it fell in a sheet of gold down her back. This was her secret weapon: long hair unbound. The church put strict regulations in place that a virtuous woman's hair, if at all possible, should be kept hidden so as not to entice men to commit sin. Normally, Astarte adhered to this stringent requirement religiously; any woman with a brain between her ears knew how dangerous attracting unwanted attention was. Tonight, however, it was just as worthy a weapon as the goblet's contents. There was a scuffling sound behind the door and a slot slid aside to reveal a pair of blue green eyes glaring at her suspiciously and then widening when they recognized her. The door swung open and revealed Sibrand, still wearing his templar uniform and looking astonished to see her.
"Milady? Why are you…so oddly dressed?"
"You'll have to forgive me for my behaviour earlier, I just despised that gown. I prefer to wear clothing like this, its so much more…" She fluttered her eyelashes at him coquettishly and handed him the goblet. "…practical."
"Oh." He was staring fixedly at her like a snake before its charmer, eyes flicking from her hair to her chest and back again mindlessly. Astarte placed and hand on his cheek and smiled sweetly into his terrified expression.
"I was hoping you might give me a tour of the castle tonight and, of course, have a drink with me?" She layered her voice with sickly sweet overtones of seduction, taking his hand and placing it around her waist. Mesmerized, he took a sip from the goblet. Instantly, his eyes crossed and he pursed his lips and choked.
"I…uh, what sort of liquor is this?" He thumped his chest and coughed a little.
"Tea, Milord. I brewed it myself. If it does not suit your tastes-" She affected an injured expression and pretended to take a sip from her own goblet. He quickly followed suit and took a gigantic gulp from his, shaking his head furiously.
"No! No, it's just that I've never drank something so…healthful." Astarte smiled at the foolish young man and looked over at a set of stairs leading downwards before giving a wistful sigh. Sibrand, eager to please, jumped on the unspoken request:
"Is there any part of the keep that you'd wish to tour first, Milady?" She let him gradually coax the information out of her, but after a moment of practiced hesitation, she made her demand:
"I know it's a very strange thing for a woman to ask, but I would absolutely love to see the dungeons."
"I…er, certainly!" Sibrand was her ticket past the guards, and as they went, she poured the entire contents of her goblet into their pitcher of wine.
Astarte's eyes darted around the three cells eagerly until she found what she was looking for: Two figures in white staring at her from behind the bars of the second cell on the left. The assassins! One of them, the nearest, was dressed in slightly different garb: His red sash was shorter and the white robes had a sort of off-gray tinge to them. He was slighter then his counterpart and peered at her curiously, the first scrubbings of a tiny beard shadowing his chin. His countenance was less frightening, almost childish in comparison to the Assassin behind him.
Astarte's turned her attention to the second and her breath caught. His snow white garb glowed luminescent in the silver moonlight that trickled through into the cell, the long red sash lit afire in stark, crimson contrast. He possessed the subtle strength that looked all the more menacing because he was still, just waiting for his prey to make the wrong move. Ever so slowly, he lifted his hooded head to and glared at her, gray eyes pinning her in place. Oh, dear goddess, what is it that I'm preparing to unleash? Astarte's giddy exhilaration was shot through with a stab of fear.
"Er…Lady Astarte? I am…unwell, I think." Astarte turned towards Sibrand just in time to watch him drop the cup and stare at the ceiling with growing horror. His gaze snapped back to her face and he whimpered and brought his hands up to cover his eyes, obviously terrified.
"Milord, you mustn't be frightened. It's just a hallucination, it can't hurt you. Come on, let's lie you down." Astarte almost felt pity for the poor man as she lead him into an empty cell and gently sat him down on a pallet in the corner. He whimpered and trembled, shaking his head and moaning in horror. Just a moment and the henbane, provided she hadn't dosed it incorrectly, should knock him-Sibrand's shoulders went slack under her hands and he slid into unconsciousness. She touched her fingertips to his wrist and felt the thump of his heart, it's rhythm depressed but still strong. She exited the cell and shut the heavy iron door behind her, turning to face her new objective.
Author's Note: Oh, poor Sibrand! Now we all know why he's such a whiny little arse in the game, right? ;)