A/N:Chapter updates will slow down after this one while I iron out some kinks in the story while I still have a buffer! Don't worry, shan't be slower than one a week, I'm just an incredibly controlling writer who's hit a bit of a roadblock five chapters from here. As always, thanks for the lovely reviews!

Also, I've been fiddling with the summary. I hope it's more compelling than the first was!


Chapter Ten


Bolvar's first thought upon waking was, what the hell is Katrana Prestor doing in my bedroom?

His second thought said, you act like this is a problem.

"Get up," said Katrana Prestor.

His first retorted, you only said that because she hadn't opened her mouth yet.

Bolvar longed to curl up underneath the covers and fall back into sweet oblivion, but forced himself to sit up, his mind groggy and slow. He peered at Lady Prestor through heavy eyelids, fighting back a yawn, his armour gently clinking with subtle movement. He must have fallen onto the bed without undressing, he realised.

"There's a knocker on my door for a reason," he grunted. His self consciousness had yet to kick in and he rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand, the other still squinting at her. "Knock before you come in."

"You wanted to be woken, so I am waking you." Lady Prestor gave him a long, hard stare. A black, damp cloak clung to her form, her hood casting odd shadows on her face in the flickering light of the lantern she held. She balanced Jettion expertly in the crook of her other elbow, her slender fingers stroking the shivering whelp underneath the chin. "I can leave you there if you prefer, but I do not fancy being sulked at in the morning for not holding your hand as you get out of bed."

Bolvar stared at her for a long moment, the rusty gears in his head straining to turn, before his heart rose to his throat and his stomach began to churn.

Anduin. For a few blessed hours, he'd had the privilege of not having to think about it. Obviously he hadn't come back. If he had, Lady Prestor would have told him by now.

"Give me a moment," said Bolvar quietly. "I need to get dressed."

"As you wish." With a swirl of skirts and the chattering of Jettion's teeth, the door clicked shut behind her.

His muscles knotted up as he redressed, fingers fumbling with the catches of his armour and, moments later, the buttons of his shirt. The nap had done nothing to drive away exhaustion, and every clouded step felt difficult. He'd been so tired he hadn't even locked his door, he realised now. No wonder Prestor had just come in like she owned the place. He gave a low hiss of irritation, his anxiety transmuting into annoyance.

Anger. That emotion was much more useful than chronic worry.

Fel. Maybe Lady Prestor subscribed to the same idea.

He found her in his sitting room, with the whelp curled up by the flickering fireplace — kind of Lady Prestor to light it, and uncharacteristic — and her cloak still obscuring her form. Her hood now rested on her shoulders, revealing stray ringlets plastered to her cheek and slender neck.

"I brought coffee," said Lady Prestor. "And dinner. Eat."

For a moment Bolvar thought he'd been too tired to hear her properly, until he saw the evidence on the table beside the lantern. What the hell? Since when did Lady Prestor ever bring anyone something to eat?

But he sat down without complaint and gestured for her to do the same. She sank into the arm chair opposite him, peeling off her cloak as he took the mug of coffee with a, "Thanks."

She nodded at him, regal as ever, one leg crossed over the other underneath her skirt, her cloak folded on her lap. Bolvar hesitated before taking his first sip, the scent cutting through the hazy cloud of fatigue and urging him to wakefulness. He gazed at her for a moment.

She stared back.

"They haven't found him," he said.

"No," she said.

Bolvar sipped the scalding liquid, trying not to wince when it burned his tongue. He blew, watching steam curl in the air and tiny ripples echo in the mug.

"This was very kind of you," he murmured. "Why did you do it?"

She leaned back, but Bolvar wasn't fooled — she sat as stiff as a board, head held high and alert, her posture rigid. She did not like it here. "Stormwind is going to fall apart if Anduin is not found, and if you keel over in the street dead of starvation that leaves me to clean up the mess alone. I do not look forward to that prospect."

He smiled without mirth at her grim humour. "You found Jettion," he said, glancing to the pile of dragon beside the fire. The whelp purred, pressed so close to the grate that if he were any other animal, Bolvar would have worried he'd ignite.

"I found him in the rain, tired from the hunt," said Katrana.

"I saw him zip around this morning." Was it this morning? Or had it been yesterday? But Bolvar glanced at the curtained windows and saw no light spill from behind. Still dark, then. Of course, he thought, kicking himself mentally. She wouldn't have brought a lantern if it was morning!

And Anduin was out there, in that darkness, somewhere. Tired, definitely. Hungry. Cold. Wet. Where was he? Where was he that he had not yet come home if he could?

Guilt gnawed at his insides. He should be out there, on the streets, looking for Anduin. Gods — Varian would never forgive him. How could he be so careless? How was it nobody found Anduin yet? Where was he?

To at least delude himself into feeling useful, he stood up to pace along the well-worn track in the carpet. He heard a hiss of irritation from Katrana. Of course, she hated it when he paced, but tonight he couldn't care less. "How good are dragons at sniffing things out?"

"I've already taken Jettion all over Stormwind," said Katrana. "I returned moments ago, as you can see. The rain has washed all scent away and not even Shaw's dogs are having any luck." She nodded at Bolvar's dismayed expression. "Indeed, they were brought out far too late."

He wasn't hungry, but he made himself swipe a sandwich from the tray. "Give me the rest of your report."

"Stormwind is under partial lockdown," said Katrana Prestor. "Nobody will leave the city until dawn, at which point we will be forced to open the gates so as to allow farmers in with their food. The flight masters have been woken up and alerted that the airspace has been shut down and they are banned from allowing anyone to leave until further notice. The lockdown was put in too late, I fear — anyone who may have captured Anduin should surely be far away by now, but at least if they have dawdled they may be caught attempting to leave. As for the Keep, the lockdown is still under effect. Out of all the staff in the Keep, you, I and Captain Rivers are the only ones permitted to walk around unhindered. The guards have had their duties taken over by SI:7 rogues, for now."

Capture. That could be the only reason Anduin had not come back already. And, worse yet — possibly by the very same people, whoever they were, that took Varian…

"My personal theory is that the boy left to search for his father on some foolish quest," said Lady Prestor. Bolvar didn't bother argue. He was sure Anduin was more down-to-earth than that, but now was not a time to brush aside theories. "To that end I have had Master Shaw dispatch Stormwind Intelligence agents to watch the harbour and the tram for any unsupervised children, as well as keeping a close eye on the Park, a place I believe Anduin was fascinated enough by that he may have gone there."

"That far?"

"It would not serve to underestimate the boy," said Lady Prestor. "In addition to that, we have agents waking the homeless and searching among their population, in case someone may have taken the runaway under their wing."

"Even Anduin has pride," said Bolvar.

"And yet, he has not come home."

Bolvar took another sip of his coffee in silence, forcing himself not to contemplate the implications.

Katrana said, "One, two, three, four…"

She hated it when he paced, and he knew it.

He hated it when she counted his steps, and she knew it.

"What happens at dawn when the lockdown is lifted?" he said, cutting across her.

"Five, six — people at the gates will be searched. Ships will not be permitted to leave the harbour. The trams will remain stopped, and the gryphon masters will not allow anyone to fly away."

"People are going to ask why. That response doesn't suit a thief and a nicked heirloom."

"Master Shaw's concocting a story about a missing diplomat. Three, four…"

Bolvar snorted. "Oh, that one again?"

"It worked last time. Six, seven, turn — " just as Bolvar did an about face to resume more steps.

He shot her a glare. "You think they'll believe the same story twice in a row?"

Katrana Prestor shrugged lightly again. "We never said it was the same diplomat. Six, seven, eight — oh my, eight steps, Bolvar? You rebel."

"Just to spite you, sweet Katrana."

"In any case, we cannot keep things this way forever," said Katrana Prestor. "Three days should be long enough. If he's not found after that…"

Silence sank its icy claws into Bolvar's core. At least, until Katrana started counting again.

If Anduin wasn't found in three days, he was as good as dead. A struggle for power would ensue — however little Bolvar interacted with the other nobles, he knew some despised him and would gladly see him removed from power. The most likely one sat right in front of him at this very moment. He did not believe for one moment that Katrana Prestor was responsible for Varian Wrynn's disappearance, nor Anduin's, but cruel rumours often circulated about the woman's intentions and ambitions and he'd be a fool to ignore them completely. Thankfully, more people hated Katrana Prestor than him — she had no friends in the court because of the condescending and cold way she treated others.

"Five, six, seven, turn, one, two…"

But that did not cancel out the fact that some nobles would move in for the kill. That some might resort to violence. That the Defias would take advantage, the Horde would take advantage… not to mention what would happen if Bolvar somehow maintained power. That would only postpone the inevitable. Bolvar had no heir, and if he was forced to take the throne for real, who knew what would happen with his death?

"Seven, turn, one, two, three, four…"

He was terrified for Anduin, but this was no ordinary case of a missing boy. If Anduin was dead, the heartbreak and the pain of mourning him would be nothing in comparison to the political shitstorm that would ensue. Bolvar found himself already counting off the likely suspects — Lady Tariona White was almost as ruthless as Lady Prestor was, however quiet and obedient she seemed to be otherwise, and was rumoured to know Rudolphus Withering, the legendary assassin, personally. If Lady Prestor didn't immediately turn on him like a rabid dog, he'd be surprised. Lord Fletcher, another outspoken noble in assemblies, was hardly a hateful man but still had a quiet, reserved intelligence about him that made Bolvar uncomfortable. Lord Taylor, Lord Lescovar, Count Ridgewell… and so many more nobles. Who knew what they would all do?

And poor, poor Anduin…

"Three, four, five, six, seven, turn…"

Bolvar wordlessly threw himself into his armchair, almost spilling what was left of his coffee. Katrana Prestor stopped counting, looking smug.

Silenced stretched between them for a moment.

Bolvar said, "He ran away. But someone was waiting. I'm sure of it. Someone who might have even encouraged him, or pushed him to run away. Someone within who took advantage of the chaos. He would surely have come home otherwise." He stood up. "Dragons. It has to be dragons."

"I should certainly hope not," sneered Katrana.

"They kidnap people, in the legends, and it's already been proven that they don't just transform into humans or elves like in the tales. Do you think — "

"If the dragons have indeed captured Anduin," said Katrana, "then perhaps it is in response to the expedition."

Fel. Katrana Prestor was so obsessed with her dragons that the entire court often questioned what lewd acts she'd get up to if she was alone with one. Bolvar stopped himself rolling his eyes just in time. "There hasn't even been enough time for them to get there yet, let alone for them to be detected and a counterattack made."

"Unless they found out," Katrana met his eyes. "I doubt the dragons would do this. It's… too convenient."

Did he detect uncertainty? "You have a point, but we cannot rule it out," he said.

"No," said Prestor quietly, to his surprise, brow furrowed. Her brilliant brain worked a million miles a minute behind her sharp features. "We cannot."

"In any case," said Bolvar, "Wake Samantha, Miss Perin, and get Rivers from wherever he is - we have interviews to conduct, roll calls to make and we need to find out, above all else, who came and went before the lockdown."

"Shaw is far ahead of you on that front," said Lady Prestor, rising. "He is already conducting interviews. He will want to speak to us later."

"I'll have to find him."

Lady Prestor didn't argue as he herded her out of the door. If anything, she seemed strangely subdued. He caught a glimpse of a crease of worry in her scowl as he closed the door behind her.

Katrana Prestor had always been the one person who could be relied on to keep a cool head in a crisis, the one person who wouldn't have flinched if Arthas himself strode into the throne room and turned everyone around her undead. However questionable and enigmatic her motives were, she was the one person he wanted on his side if the walls fell down around them, if Stormwind was in uproar, if the end was coming.

Katrana Prestor, the one part of Stormwind Keep that changed slower than the stone used to build the walls, was anxious.

And if she was worried, it meant everyone else wasn't worried enough.

-o-O-o-

In Katrana Prestor's lifetime, Onyxia had felt helpless only twice before.

The first time was in the Second War when the walls closed in, the darkest moments of the Black Dragonflight's history. Deathwing fell, but it was not this loss that Onyxia mourned most — it was the Dark Portal's collapse that gutted her. Sabellian had been on the other side of that portal, his brood trapped and abandoned in the Blade's Edge Mountains. Unable to perform the mourning call in his honour while bound in the form of a human, Katrana Prestor had locked herself in one of the palace's training rooms and spent hours blowing up the target dummies within.

The second was not that long ago, shortly after her eggs had been laid within the Wyrmbog. Adam Rivers always received Onyxia's letters — too many letters addressed to Katrana Prestor would grow suspicious, and the Obsidian Flight had long established a system for communication with their spies in Stormwind. Onyxia could remember the one day he brought her the news clearly — sitting behind her desk, the fire crackling in the grate and turning her room stuffy in spite of the summer, just the way she liked it, and the rustling the parchment made as she unfolded it.

It had been a letter from her eldest and now-only surviving daughter. Orion, her mate, had been working in the Steppes with her brother to establish a foothold there after Redridge had taken matters into its own hands and attempted to regain Morgan's Vigil. They'd been driven back in the end, Onyxia read, but it cost the life of Onyxia's prime and only living consort.

Out of all the consorts she'd had over the millennia, Orion had been the most memorable and the only one whom Onyxia hadn't tried to kill at some point of her life. Orion and Sabellian had been as close as black dragons could be, an odd friendship that almost resembled mortal friendships, before the Portal had been shut down.

Orion had been her last tether to her brother.

On both occasions, Onyxia could do nothing but remain with the humans, lest she wished to spoil everything they'd ever worked for. She wanted vengeance — but there had been nothing she could do. Nothing. She could not slaughter humans for Orion's death without heavy retribution, she could not reach through millions of miles of Nether and bring her brother home.

She was only one dragon.

Today, the feeling came rushing back, coupled with paranoia. She was almost confident of it now — Romathis had taken Anduin. No doubt he wanted to usurp her power within the Flight and leave her to the dogs. And like twice before, locked behind wooden doors and hidden behind stone walls, she could do nothing. She could not leave and confront him without arousing suspicion, just as she could not abandon her post during her brother's probable death and Orion's defeat.

If Romathis betrayed her now, if he defied her and did as he willed — Onyxia was trapped. If he'd ordered Omnarion to keep quiet about his betrayal, then there was little Onyxia could do. She could hardly threaten Omnarion to be loyal to her — Omnarion and his men had been a gift from her brother, they weren't her forces. She would be as good as Omnarion's prisoner.

Speak of the demon — a knock sounded on her door. "Master Shaw has sent for you," said Captain Rivers. Dark, wet hair coiled against his forehead. "Everyone is being questioned and it will be your turn soon."

"I see," said Katrana, pulling a fresh, warm cloak from its hook. Rivers stepped aside as Katrana closed the door behind her, her footsteps echoing in the cold, deserted corridor. Her voice said coldly, "Captain — "

"Nice night, isn't it?" said Rivers, and Katrana's words died in her throat.

We are being watched.

Only after Rivers had said the apparently innocent words did the hair on the back of Katrana's neck rise. She sniffed the still air and detected a whiff of leather, and sweat. Rogues, no doubt, some of Shaw's men. "If you enjoy being drenched and the possibility of our little thief being cold and wet then, indeed, it is a nice night."

A comment on the weather made by a dragonspawn was code for, we are not alone. More than once had Rivers been forced to improvise a fake report on the spot rather than deliver his real message because there were humans nearby. Katrana longed to chew him out. Did a dragon kidnap him? Are you behind this?

It would have to wait.

Highlord Fordragon waited for them outside of his study, his forehead creased in worry. Rogues peeled away from the shadows, bowed as if they were controlled by a single entity, and led the way out of the Keep.

"I was thinking," said Fordragon, as Rivers followed them in silence. "Are you familiar with Hora Peddlefeet?"

"Hora — a name derived from an Old Common word meaning 'time.' Peddlefeet — the last name of that obnoxious goblin who attempts to pair everyone off during the love holiday in February."

"No, I mean the gnome."

"I know no gnomes by that name."

"She saved Leo from our scaly intruder last week," said Fordragon.

"I have encountered her since, yes," said Katrana. "Why do you ask?"

Fordragon dropped his voice. "Who is she?"

"I know not. I have met her only once."

"She's not with the Brotherhood, she's no noble. We have visitors from the public all the time, but what was she doing here?" Fordragon shook his head. "Perhaps I'm merely being paranoid, but it seems odd. Just who is she?"

"You suspect she is not truly a gnome?" said Katrana.

And almost stopped in her tracks.

Hora. It meant "time." "Hour," to be much more precise.

The more I think like a human, the more they treat me as if I am one…

Her tone had been too meaningful then. Far too meaningful. Katrana clenched her jaw. And, that odd little tune she'd remembered, the laugh that sounded familiar…

She hadn't met Hora Peddlefeet in Katrana Prestor's lifetime. She'd met her long before, hadn't she? So long ago Onyxia had long forgotten.

"She simply showed up," said Fordragon. "I think it might be worth it to investigate her, at least a little. Just check she is who she says she is."

This was not good. A Bronze knew things about the future that Onyxia could only begin to guess at. If her identity as Katrana Prestor ever became public at any point in the future, whether she'd revealed herself or someone else had, the Bronze would know. And the Bronze would be in a prime position to pass that information on…

Katrana hissed. Just what was a Bronze doing near her? Why was she here? At least, if she did not want mortals to find her, she could simply vanish and reappear next week. Or yesterday. Or six months ago. Or three years from now. Bronzes were unpredictable. No one ever knew what side a Bronze was on. The Bronze might even be here to aid her — for the sole purpose of defeating her later. Bronzes had been known to form alliances with the most despised of demons and mortals, allowing the most horrific events to happen, because in the end those events had to happen.

Why was the Bronze here now? What did this "Hora" — whatever her true name was — hope to achieve?

It had something to do with Onyxia. It had to. She must have known Romathis's spy would attempt to assassinate Leonardo.

Katrana Prestor had to be vigilant. The appearance of a Bronze was almost guaranteed to be bad news. If a Bronze was here, something significant was about to happen, whether tomorrow or a year from now. If a Bronze was here, perhaps that indicated that Katrana Prestor's days were numbered…

But why did she tell Katrana to "think like a boy" when that had gone nowhere? Why did she save Leonardo Withering? Had she been advising Katrana on how to be more human?

Was the Bronze protecting her? Or was she leading Onyxia into a trap?

Thunder rolled above the small procession. Another downpour threatened, but held itself in check until just after they entered SI:7 headquarters in Old Town, where it beat upon the cobblestones as if having waited for them to seek shelter. The door shut behind them, the floorboards creaked with the cold underneath Katrana's feet. In spite of the early hour, low murmurs sounded about the building, whispering along corridors and weaving themselves through the banister of the staircase ahead of them. A room opened, and out trotted a bleary-eyed Samantha Inkweaver. Shaw leaned against the door frame behind her.

"Where's the little one?" said Fordragon.

"One of the rogues are taking care of her," Samantha rubbed an eye. "What's going on? They won't tell me what's happening."

"Just a little problem, miss."

Samantha did not look convinced, but didn't argue. At that moment, Maeqa appeared with another pair of rogues, face creased with worry. Shaw gestured to Katrana. "You next, my Lady," he said. "I'll personally oversee this."

SI:7 were far more meticulous than even the most paranoid dragons, Katrana found out, to her discernment, and must have asked her about every tiny detail of her day three or four times. They vexed her greatly, but Katrana knew that was the point — to annoy the guilty enough into blurting out something incriminating.

She was not guilty. Humans, however, always felt guilty, always worried about being found guilty even while innocent. And yet she felt concerned that somehow they would see through her, see Romathis written all over this, see the connections between Anduin's disappearance and the Black Dragonflight.

And they did ask her about it, peppering her with questions. She was the resident expert on dragons, after all, and her specialty was the Obsidians.

They asked her her professional opinion more than once. "My professional opinion?" she'd said the last time, eyebrows raising. "I can no more tell you the motivations of the Black Dragonflight than a human expert on gnomes could tell you what a gnome wants out of life. Dragons are as individual as we are. Perhaps some do have a grudge against Stormwind, and others don't. Perhaps some want humans wiped off the face of the earth as humans want them dead. Perhaps they could not care less. How can I, one human, speak for an entire Flight?"

They stopped asking after that.

"A curfew will have to be imposed," said Shaw, when the barrage of questions was done.

"What will that do?" murmured Katrana. "Nothing, most likely. Kidnappers are just as capable of meeting in broad daylight."

"But in broad daylight, there will be witnesses."

"Really?" said Katrana. "You notice every single person you walk past on the street because you are an assassin — you are supposed to. You learn to. But civillians do not. They may have in fact seen Anduin, and multiple times, but never recalled him because he failed to stand out."

"But neighbours will notice neighbours acting differently," said Shaw. "No, a curfew must be imposed. We must be paranoid. They will be just as paranoid in turn." He nodded to Katrana. "In the name of that paranoia I must assign bodyguards to both of you. Four at a time, they will be rotated."

Bodyguards? These "bodyguards" were spies, Katrana knew that. But she did not begrudge the man — it would be too suspicious to complain.

She did not doubt there'd be an additional pair of stealthed rogues watching, too.

"You should sleep," said Fordragon, looking to Katrana.

Dragons did not need sleep nightly, but with people watching, she had to pretend. Instead of arguing, she nodded, and allowed Shaw to lead her to those who would be shadowing her under the name of "protection."

In the night, she could feel Romathis closing his fist over Stormwind. Over the boy. Over her.

If he removed her from power, he had the entire Black Dragonflight at his command. And kept prisoner inside her own room, with rogues pacing her floor, she could do nothing as her paranoia felt him pull the Dragonflight from underneath her.