Chapter Six
If she did not find the damned Highlord in the next half hour, she was going to spit her "apology" between her teeth like acid.
In the library, the book keepers Sheaf and Tovald shrugged helplessly at her inquiries. Her knocks at the door of his study went unanswered. The empty throne room greeted her with nobody, and when Katrana found the Suicide Squad training hard at the training square, none of them had seen the Highlord, either. She hissed and snarled under her breath, and when she carefully checked the magical tether between them for the umpteenth time that morning, his immunity hid him from her.
Finally, she found him. Rather, he found her when he almost crashed into her at high speed down a corridor, skidding to a stop just in time. "Highlord," she said, pretending not to notice, as cool as ever. "If I may have a word — "
"Maeqa says Anduin ran off."
Fel. She had hunted all over the Keep for him only to be greeted with this? To not be given the time of day? Her knuckles paled as her grip on her staff tightened. Her eyes narrowed. The ungrateful bastard! She was going to apologise to him, and it only seemed like the universe had conspired again her. "Then find him." The addendum you idiot was strongly implied.
"That's the problem," Bolvar gestured wildly with his hands, before he quickly seemed to recall they were in a public corridor, empty as it was, and dropped his tone. "We can't!"
She stared at him. "Anduin is missing? How in the hell did he get away from her? Is everyone in this Lightforsaken hole incompetent?" Remembering her purpose, she drew a deep breath in through her nostrils, her rage still threatening to breach as she hissed, narrow-eyed, "How long has he been gone?"
"Half an hour," said Fordragon. "She just turned around and he was gone!"
"Where's Jettion?"
"In his room, howling."
Jettion. A shining example of draconic youth. Katrana hissed again. "I will examine his room for clues."
"There was no struggle — " Bolvar gaped at her as she stepped past him, scarlet robes flowing among her legs. "Lady Prestor, we already checked his room!"
Anduin's quarters weren't far away. On the window seat, the lake sparkling beyond the large panes of glass, sat a doleful heap of scales.
Katrana closed the door behind her. The room was, indeed, pristine — nothing had been disturbed. His books, crammed together on the shelf, were neatly organised. The bed was made without so much as a wrinkle in the covers, and the baby blue carpet was bare of crumbs. For a child his age, Anduin was remarkably tidy.
"Jettion," said Katrana.
Hot anger flared as the whelp let out a mournful, "Roooooo."
"Jettion!" Katrana snarled at him in Draconic. "Where is Anduin?"
"Roooooo!"
"Whelp, answer me now!"
The whelp finally turned his big, dark eyes on her. "He's gone to the roof to die!"
Children of all species could be so dramatic.
"You cannot honestly be suggesting the stupid boy wants to kill himself," said Katrana with a glare.
"He said he may as well throw himself off the roof!"
Even for a dragon, Jettion was too young to understand exaggeration. He tipped his snout back for another rooooooo!
A very small part of Katrana froze inside her at the sound.
The mourning call.
Don't be ridiculous, she told herself as she stormed out. The boy will not kill himself, both children are merely being melodramatic.
-o-O-o-
She climbed onto the palace roof the only way she knew how — through a small window in the library, along a gutter and onto the flat tiles above the training room. Apparently this was the same route Anduin had used, because Katrana found him within minutes, his pale legs dangling over the edge and the prince gazing down at the ground with an expression that said, is that it?
Katrana glanced over the edge with an arched eyebrow. She was ignorant as to why Anduin was so unimpressed — Stormwind Keep sat on a hill and therefore, while the library was on the first floor, the drop down the sheer cliff beside them was one that could kill an adult. Katrana spent a moment pondering the power vacuum that would take place if Anduin "accidentally" slipped and decided it wasn't worth it — it was frowned upon to kill a whelp, after all, even a human one. Humans didn't feel the same way, butchering dragon children without second thought and protecting only their own young, but dragons had more morals.
Without any fear at all, Katrana walked along the ledge and deigned to sit beside the human whelp. "I certainly hope you are not entertaining the idea of throwing yourself off," she said. "Jettion would howl for weeks if you did, and the sound is incredibly annoying. Not to mention, Fordragon resembles a kicked spaniel when he is upset."
Anduin shook his head quietly. "No, Lady Prestor. I could not do that to the Highlord." A pause, then he muttered, "Goodness knows he'd probably remember my existence if I was dead."
Katrana tsked, deciding to play along with Anduin's sulk. "And what did the buffoon do this time?"
"Do this, do that, go away, go to someone else. Sammy gave birth? Who gives a crap? Go back to Miss Perin like a good little prince!" Anduin sneered. "Why doesn't anyone care about Sammy? They're all so cruel to her! Some of the nobles, when they see me with her, call her a whore in front of me as if I don't know what it means!"
"Children tend to be thought of as stupid, goodness knows why," said Katrana. "You are most certainly not."
"Everyone is so unkind to her!"
"And the Highlord does not stop them, am I correct?" said Katrana. "They never do anything to her in front of me."
Anduin's face flickered in sad amusement. They didn't dare, and both of them knew it. "They don't do it in front of him either."
"Wise, because I would find out about it," said Katrana. "Who does it?"
"The people who knew the Norris fellow." Anduin sighed. "His friends, his pals from the Brotherhood of Cinders."
"Hmph. That Leonardo Withering is unbearable, it does not surprise me he allows his underlings to run amok."
The child clenched his fists and scowled. This was a golden opportunity to nurture his temper to her advantage, to have the future king on her side by giving the brat the attention he seemed to crave. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Sometimes," he said, and Katrana was all ears. "I really think Bolvar couldn't care less."
"Well," she said casually. "He did care for Varian, but cancelled the search because it was impractical to keep it going."
As she predicted, the boy froze.
"Bolvar did tell you the search was cancelled, did he not?" Katrana's tone was honey. "You are Varian's son, after all, I cannot imagine why he would not have..."
"No," said Anduin, his shoulders sagging. "He didn't. But — Dad's not — he can't be — "
"No, not dead, I believe," Katrana continued fluidly. "Probably ran to avoid responsibility. He likely cracked under the pressure, as they say. After Tiffin's death he was never the same again."
The implications appeared to overwhelm the whelp's small mind. "It's not possible," he whispered, eyes welling with tears. Wonderful. The damn whelp was going to cry on her.
"I do not doubt he loved you very much," Katrana said, laying it on with a trowel. She turned to watch the lake in the mid-morning sunlight, glittering through the trees as the breeze stirred its surface. "Rulers have more responsibility than the populace, after all, and some simply cannot take the burden without breaking. At least someone was left in charge, though Fordragon always makes excuses for his incompetency..."
In the room below, Katrana's keen hearing caught footsteps she'd long memorised. The humans had a saying: "Speak a demon's name and he is sure to appear." To her puzzlement, the sounds came from near the window she had taken. Did everyone know of that short cut up to the roof? She rose her voice so that it would carry to him. "You must be distraught," she said to the boy, who blinked in surprise at the sudden expression of sympathy. "You must feel so upset. Maybe even neglected. Unloved."
She heard Fordragon stop.
"I..." Anduin hesitated. "I know he's very busy."
"Yes, he is very busy," said Katrana. "But all the justifications in the world do not mean our own feelings are invalid." Who knew Bolvar's crap would come in useful? "My father once taught me, 'human nature does not care about why, only what.'"
"Sammy has her baby now, too," mumbled the boy.
"She will not forget you," said Katrana, "unlike some others she evidently adores you." Anduin twitched. Ah, how Katrana delighted in burying the knife deeper — into two chests instead of one, for Fordragon still made not a sound. "Take heart. You have Miss Samantha, and you have Jettion."
"Yeah, but he's a dragon."
"And?" said Katrana. "He's the most loyal companion you'll ever meet, however inhuman he is." And, why not, since Fordragon was listening — "And you have me as well, Anduin. You can always call upon me and I will listen, if I am not busy. Perhaps you can come in for tea on some afternoons."
Oh, Fordragon must be drowning in guilt by now, an achievement that was not difficult. Katrana suppressed a smirk.
"I..." Anduin gazed at her, touched. "Thank you, Lady Prestor."
"Take heart," she said. "Things will not be like this forever."
It was spoken as much to herself as to Anduin. Thirty years in a life span of over ten thousand was objectively the blink of an eye, but it had felt like forever since she had been surrounded by her kin with not a whit of human knowledge. Being around mortals for too long changed all but the most stubborn of dragons. The body had a will of its own, and the body sometimes forgot it was truly dragon...
But she was better than that. She was Onyxia, Broodmother, older than human civilisation.
Not Katrana Prestor, a human whelp not yet forty.
Finally she heard sot footsteps below, which seemed to chase Bolvar Fordragon's heavier ones out of the window. The night elf bodyguard appeared behind him, hanging out the window. "Your Majesty!" she piped up in fright as soon as she spotted Katrana and Anduin sitting on the edge. "Be careful, you'll fall!"
"He has not fallen in all the time I have been up here," said Katrana, standing up. Fordragon looked ill just watching her walk along the roof. "Come, Anduin."
The boy narrowed his eyes, and Katrana noticed a genuine effort not to be afflicted by vertigo as he spoke sullenly to Fordragon. "Good to see you showed up."
"Don't use that tone with me," said Fordragon sternly. "Go inside immediately and don't do this again. Maeqa is for your own protection, this behaviour is unacceptable."
"Hmph," was Anduin's only comment on the matter. He swung himself through the window without difficulty. From inside, Maeqa squawked.
"You need to develop some empathy," said Katrana, fixing her eyes on Bolvar.
Fordragon gaped at her. His mind said, loud and clear, are you lecturing me on empathy?
"Evidently the boy is distressed," Katrana drawled.
"When you're not implying I'm spineless," Fordragon growled, "You're implying I'm a heartless bastard. Which one or the other?"
"You certainly show some spine now," said Katrana, fighting a smirk. "Contrary to your beliefs, it is possible to have personal courage and a sense of empathy."
Curses. She was supposed to get on his good side, not antagonise him further!
"Forgive me," she said quickly, before he opened his mouth. "I have spoken too rashly. I am too harsh on you, Bolvar. I apologise."
Fordragon stared.
Humans. They thought people never changed. Bolvar hissed quietly, but he evidently held more self control than her at this moment. "It's... alright." He gave her a wavering smile. "Just, please, keep a hold on your temper more."
Now it took all her self control to do just that and not snarl at him for that impertinent remark! Instead, she kept her face neutral and beckoned to the window. "For all they say about women first, the apparent superiority of my physical anatomy will not stop you from falling when vertigo takes you. Go."
"Trust you to say something like that," Bolvar grumbled under his breath.
-o-O-o-
The Stonemasons had hidden many secrets within Stormwind's walls, secrets not even Varian Wrynn had known about, and one of these was a small passage from Bolvar's quarters to his study.
He'd kept both strictly separate. Unlike some other nobles who had their studies in their apartments, he'd not trusted himself to stop work when it was time to sleep and had the spare room in his apartment as a second sitting room. Still, the passage came in useful and as soon as he'd found out the room it connected to was empty, he'd snapped it up — partly to avoid the nobles when he emerged from his own apartment, partly to annoy Lady Prestor. Lady Prestor hated it when she couldn't find him, and if he wanted to avoid her he could merely slip through the door hidden behind the book case so he would not be lying when he claimed absence from his study later.
Save for the Holy Light Bolvar allowed to swim around his fingers, the narrow passage was pitch dark. No torches adorned the walls, no spiderwebs or cobwebs drifted in the darkness. It was barely enough to see his way by.
Finally he made it to an apparent dead end, but instead of stopping Bolvar merely held his hand out and pushed on a wooden wall. A bookcase on the other side swung slowly open on hinges. He was always careful, lest he allow books to tumble, but none did as he allowed the Light to die from his fingers and squinted, stepping into the brighter room beyond.
Instead of the patriotic Alliance blue, Bolvar's study was decorated with plush red carpet, with golden embroidery on scarlet curtains. Yellow splashed itself here and there, but deep reds and browns warmed his study. The bookcases sat against the wall, covering their secrets. A portion of the carpet was slightly worn from Bolvar's pacing — a pastime that annoyed his least favourite advisor when she had an audience with him. It was hardly adult to be passive aggressive, but without this way to vent steam, he was certain he would have done or said something regretful a long time ago.
That apology of hers today had been extremely odd.
Reginald Windsor would leave in the morning. The mission would be quick — in, look around, out. They'd be quick and careful. And there were the diplomats to placate, unamused at being left out of the loop. Bolvar had updated them on the situation, careful to emphasise Stormwind would handle it alone. He also had the feeling there was something else he had been supposed to do, but then again, he always had that feeling, the chronic worry that something had slipped from his mind or other.
Forget Reggie and Leo — worry and guilt were his two best friends now.
An impatient knock sounded on the door. Bolvar blinked up from behind his desk, surprised — Anduin should be with his tutor right now. Unless that was a tall dwarf knocking at that level? "Do come in," he said.
Anduin entered, scowling. Behind him, Maeqa winced at Bolvar. "I'm sorry, my lord," she said, "Please accept my most sincere apologies, it was either come with him or watch him run off again and he just left — "
"Do not worry yourself, Maeqa," said Bolvar with a frown. He gestured to the night elf. "Please wait outside." He didn't like the way Anduin was glaring at him and returned it sternly. He was the adult here, not the boy.
Maeqa nodded and dashed out of the room as if a goblin bomb was about to go off. That did not bode well. Bolvar had the distinct feeling the boy had been ranting at her again…
He frowned deeply. "Anduin, what on earth are you antagonising your poor guard for?"
"Highlord," Anduin merely said. Ah, the boy was pulling rank — Bolvar would have none of it. "Why didn't you tell me the search for my father had been cancelled?"
That threw his resolve out the window.
Shit! That was what he'd forgotten! It took all of Bolvar's willpower not to smash his head into a fine paste against the mahogany of his desk at his own stupidity. Hell!
"Lady Prestor says he ran away," Anduin spat. "Is that true?"
Katrana Prestor had said what? He stood up, gesturing to an arm chair by the fire. "Take a seat, your Majesty."
"Screw that."
"Watch your mouth," said Bolvar sternly. "You will address me and all your elders with respect — "
"Did he run away or not?"
"Gods, no," said Bolvar, watching as Anduin stalked across the carpet and threw himself into the arm chair, sprawled all across it — like a royal brat, Bolvar thought with irritation. "He was kidnapped en route to a summit in Theramore, Anduin. I told you."
"You can tell me the truth, Highlord. I'm not a child."
"Then cease acting like one," Bolvar snapped. "That is the truth, Your Majesty."
"So he didn't run away?" The sharp edge blunted into a fatigued tone. The boy sounded so tired, sounded like Bolvar felt. The stress had been wearing down on all of them, but Bolvar couldn't see what the boy had to be stressed about. Of course, his father had vanished — but Anduin had been coping alright with that for a few months, surely he wasn't upset about it anew? Bolvar rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Patience. Empathy. He could not allow his temper to erode either. Losing a father was not something recovered from easily — Bolvar was living proof.
"No, Anduin," he said quietly. "Varian didn't do that, he didn't run away, he was a man who..." faced responsibility, he'd been about to say, but then, ever since Tiffin died Varian had been close to useless —
No. He should not be unkind. Varian had been in mourning, it was completely understandable he hadn't functioned well. Completely understandable Katrana Prestor had most of the power, practically, when he was mourning.
"He was a man who did what was right," Bolvar finally finished. "He would certainly not have run away. Anduin, please, go to Miss Inkweaver."
"Oh, man, I'm forgetting something," Anduin drawled, tone reminiscent of a scornful Lady Prestor. "Oh, that's right! She just gave birth!"
Oh, hell. He'd lecture Anduin about his attitude later, but for now he calmed himself. "I apologise, Anduin, I've been very stressed and forgetful lately."
Anduin stood up, jaw clenched. "Lady Prestor's right, you do make too many excuses."
Bolvar was left staring at his study door in shock, long after the bang of the slam had finished reverberating along the walls. He rubbed his temples. Anduin had been nothing but a pain lately. If Varian were here...
If Varian had watched that, he'd come down like a tonne of bricks on the child for his wretched insolence. Anduin had definitely spent too much time around Lady Prestor, throwing his weight around like she did. And Miss Inkweaver, who couldn't discipline a child to save her life, did not help at all. Granted, Miss Inkweaver thought the sun shone out of Lady Prestor's —
Anduin was right. He was making too many excuses. He'd have a stern word with Miss Inkweaver as soon as she was back to work, and he'd punish the boy personally, and see to it that Maeqa ensured the punishment was carried out. As for Lady Prestor...
Just when he started thinking Katrana Prestor had a heart, she went and pulled this? She'd been brilliant with the boy up on the roof! What kind of person suggested to a son mourning his possibly-dead father that his father had abandoned him? A heartless bitch, that was what —
No. No slinging petty names. He was better than that. Better than her. Bolvar was not a man who hated easily, but for the first time in his life he felt a flicker of it simmering inside him at the thought of her. Just what was she playing at?
-o-O-o-
There was no reason Rudolphus wouldn't be about this time of evening, Leo thought as he walked through the slums of Old Town. Rudolphus, in spite of being one of the highest-paid assassins of the city, was hardly a glamorous assassin. He preferred to live in a dump.
Thugs knew better than to hurt a Withering, and so Leo walked without fear through the lampless back streets. Leo on his own was hardly fearsome, but people knew better than to touch Rudolphus's son. What Rudolphus lacked in tact and kindness, he made up for in abundance with protection.
The lock of his front door was not pickable. Leo tried it anyway. After that he tried all the windows — one hadn't yet had its lock updated, Leo noticed, and he slipped in without a sound.
The house was dark. Empty. Anyone else would have turned around and gone home, but Leo's father was beyond eccentric. He kept his back to the wall as he crept into the living room. "I'm really not in the mood to have to fight for my life, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't give me a spontaneous training session, alright?"
"Damn," said a voice, and a lamp flickered to life on a small table, casting orange highlights on grey hair. A grizzled face, with a hole where one eye should be, glared at him. "Usually I'd ignore you and stab you in the back anyway —- "
"Attempt to stab me in the back - "
"- but you look fairly peaky." The assassin gestured to a chair. Only Rudolphus would have better night vision with his one eye than most. Perhaps that was why he kept the lights off, so his eyes would not have to adjust when he went on the job. "Sit. Clarisse told me you were coming."
Leo deposited himself in the rickety, uncomfortable chair. "That little street waif of yours?"
"She's hardly 'mine', nor a 'little waif,' I just pay her to keep her eyes open," said Rudolphus, sitting down opposite Leo.
"Like hell. I know what you're like. Does she know you're my father?"
"She'll make a good rogue one day," Rudolphus ignored him. "Damn better than you. I know a fair few street wenches."
"How old is she?"
"Oh for fel's sake, Leo, she's twenty five."
"That's disgusting."
"Get over it. Next question?"
Why not? One had, indeed, risen in Leo's mind. "Did you ever know a Samantha, by any chance?"
"Inkweaver?" said Rudolphus. "Oh yes, she was a street rat for a time. Not the best of rogues, but she was competent enough. Probably good she got a job with the Keep before she got herself killed, she lacked true talent." He stared at Leo with his good eye. "Spit it out. Something's bothering you."
"Right. I need advice on a... hypothetical situation."
"Are we talking hypothetical, or 'hypothetical'?"
"'Hypothetical', if you will." Leo glared at him.
Rudolphus smirked. He was almost seventy, but only the naïve were fooled by this — a strict diet and frequent exercise meant that Rudolphus looked more like Leo's grey-haired older brother than his father. He'd long retired from SI:7, but hadn't retired from the job itself. Ever. He'd been the best damn rogue in Lordaeron, back before the Second War, and now he was the best damn rogue in Stormwind. He was older than Shaw, after all, and had far more experience, but more people knew of Shaw.
Only the right people knew of Rudolphus Withering — and only if they looked hard enough.
"So what is it, then?" said Rudolphus.
"Let's say that you knew of an evil deed that might take place that had good consequences for many people —-"
"Are you a complete and total fucking idiot?" said Rudolphus. Leo bit the inside of his cheek and glared. "If an evil deed has nothing but good consequences, kid, it's not an evil deed!"
"Someone might die —"
"And just who is benefitting from their deaths?" Rudolphus crossed his arms. "Is a bad organisation benefitting? The Defias?"
"Fel, no. If this person dies, the Defias are in danger."
Rudolphus shrugged. "Then I fail to see the problem," he said. "Granted, I don't know anything of this hypothetical situation, but if the Defias are in danger that means that the people who benefit will be civilians, yes?"
"Well, yes..."
"And who, this person excepted, is disadvantaged by their death?"
"The people closest to them." Fel, did Katrana Prestor have anyone close to her? Aside from possibly Bolvar, who likely was sleeping with her? Bolvar was a very private man, after all…
Rudolphus snorted, standing up. "Bullshit. Every villain has their family and friends, that doesn't mean they deserve to live." He stared at Leo. "I don't even know why you came here."
"Because I'm at a loss," said Leo, standing up. "This man, he approached me — said this person had... well, he outright implied this person had to die."
"Why did he approach you? What can you give him that he wants?"
Leo shook his head. "I honestly don't know."
"Idiot, the guild. Oh, and me, probably." Rudolphus crossed his arms again, staring at his son with disappointment. "He probably hoped you would speak to me. After all, it's not the first time a client of mine has reached out to me through you."
Leo blinked. "It isn't?"
"Yeah, you just never knew about it," said Rudolphus. "So, it's that Prestor chick, huh?"
Leo stared at him. Long ago he'd given up asking his father how he knew about these things. He may as well confess. "Yes, it is."
Rudolphus whistled. "They've got a task on their hands. I stopped accepting hits on her after the first three times I failed. She knows her shit, Leonardo."
"You tried to kill her? And failed?"
"She's a powerful sorceress," said Rudolphus. "I'm not even sure what she is — she has the spells of a fire mage, but doesn't delve into the other trees at all." He laughed. "Fel, I still have the burn scars on my chest from the second attempt!"
"I'm surprised you're not on first name basis."
"She doesn't even know it was me those three times." Rudolphus cracked a grin. "Now, sonny, run along and bury your conscience. Murder happens. You want her to die — admit it."
"I do not!"
"So why'd you come to an assassin for reassurance, eh?" said Rudolphus. "You want someone to pat you on the head and tell you that you're doing the right thing. And let me tell you, even if you're still chewing yourself up over this — they're not going to succeed. Hell, tell the man I'll take on another job for kicks if he likes, but I'll probably fail again. Even I can't get to Prestor!" He made a shooing motion. "Run along, little kidlet. No harm'll come to her. And even if it does, it's for the best."
"Father, I'm not a child - "
"Then bugger off, will ya? I have a job tonight to prepare for!" His face softened. "Let her die, kidlet. She has a lot of enemies."
Leo left his father's house (by the window, at Rudolphus's insistence. "I don't like it when people see people coming and going from my place, son or not! I bet you were stupid enough to just walk down the street instead of sneak, you ninny.") feeling no more reassured, but with extra guilt welling up in his chest.
Did Katrana have to die?
Yes. There was no doubt about that. He'd stewed on it more and more since encountering Fletcher.
But did he want her to?
He didn't want to know the answer to that question.
