Chapter Twenty Five
Hass had found help. He'd also, quite effectively, thrown them out of the frying pan and into the fire. However, Wyatt Cain wasn't about to fight against the band of Outlanders that had come to their aid, not once the Commander's men had sent the Lady and what was left of her contingent limping back to the Black Forest, licking their wounds.
The company of the Commander's men numbered twelve, and was comprised of both rugged Outlanders, and human soldiers. Without much in the way of proper negotiation or agreement, the princess was seized by gunpoint, and her four travel companions – himself, Raw, Jowan, and and the now-shifted Corporal Hass – were marched toward what had been, all along, their intended destination.
They travelled through the still, snowy night, further and further up into the mountains; the terrain was rough, and the going was slow, but the Outlanders at the forefront were determined to press on up the mountainside to outrun the worst of the storm. Trudging through the ever-deepening snow exhausted the five 'prisoners', who'd been on the road since before the dawn had broken. Finally, near morning, twenty-four hours after they'd left the shores of Lake Lillay, their hands stiff from cold, their feet soaked and numb, the group stopped at a vertical fissure that cracked open a sheer, high rock-face.
Until that time, the Outlander heading the group – barely distinguishable by Cain from the rest of his counterparts – had ordered his men to keep the five prisoners separated. The leader had taken the charge of the princess upon himself. With the barrel of a shotgun pointed at the back of his neck, Cain had followed a begrudging fifteen feet behind, Raw closer to DG than he. Now, however, he was able to get next to DG as the Commander's men began to prepare to shuttle their captives into the narrow space.
"You doin' all right?" he asked her, keeping his voice incredibly low so as not to draw attention to them. DG, glancing up at him with wide blue eyes, said nothing, only nodded. Sighing heavily, Cain reached out to put a hand on her neck – over her hair, his hands too cold for him to think about touching her skin – and tried his best to look convincing. "We're safer now than we were back there, before," he told her, and once again, she nodded. Frowning, he leaned in a little closer to her. "Talk to me, Kiddo, would ya?"
Her voice shivered as she did what he asked. "I'm cold," she complained softly; he gave her a small smile, as they were all cold. "How far do you think we've gone?" she asked.
Cain looked around quickly; the first of the Commander's group of soldiers had begun to enter the tunnel. "I couldn't rightly tell you," he muttered softly, and she looked up at him with a perk of unhappiness in her brow. "My best guess is there's another two hours or so to go. We've gotta be near the border by now."
"You're right there, Captain," Old Jowan spoke up from behind him, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "But we cross the border, out of the O.Z. The barracks lays underground, just beyond the Queen's lands."
A slight touch at his finger made Cain jolt, but as he turned around, it was to DG's blue eyes; her fingers had brushed his as she'd tried to take his hand. Exhaling softly, Cain wrapped an arm around her, doing her one better than she'd hoped for. He felt her small body relax into him, and a sigh of relief, of honest and utter trust escaped her. It was only moments later, however, that they were pulling apart and being pushed and shoved into the tunnel that led deeper into the mountainside.
With DG directly in front of him, and Raw directly behind, Cain did his best to traverse the narrow, rocky path without tripping; his broad shoulders brushed the rock walls if he wasn't careful, and ahead of him, the Outlanders were forced to walk slightly sideways in the tight confines. Closed-in spaces didn't bother Cain much – after all the time in the suit, he'd learned to cope – although they did bring back a slew of painful memories. His thoughts skipped precariously through images of Adora, of his son as a young boy, of Zero and the recorded events that had replayed day in and day out at the cabin; fifteen minutes of horror committed to memory, his last visions of his Adora... until he'd come across the recording of her murder. His black thoughts accompanied him through the darkness, unaffected by the presence of DG, close enough to touch.
The cavern was filled with the sounds of their scraping footsteps, of their laboured breathing, echoing so loud that talking would have been impossible. In silence, they walked; if there was a singular blessing about entering the small, dark tunnel, it was that the snowstorm had been left behind. Long, long minutes passed, and soon an hour had melted away; the winter-cold air had grown slightly warmer; the tunnel was widening, and the gradual decline of the ground beneath their feet became a sharper slope. When finally they began to approach a light that signalled the end of the tunnel, DG hesitated in front of Cain, and he caught up to her in less than two strides. Putting one hand on her waist, he guided her forward – there were guards behind them that would notice she'd stopped, and Gods, he didn't want any trouble then. For almost ten hours, the Commander's soldiers had marched them mercilessly. For the life of him, Wyatt Cain just wanted to reach somewhere and rest – even if it meant a prison cell.
It was then that the reality of being separated from DG settled down heavily upon his shoulders. Though the girl he led in his arms was brave, and stubborn, she wasn't without fear, and he knew she would react strongly, and negatively, to being alone. He clenched his jaw, wanting to warn her but not to frighten or insult her. Settling on plain vague, he retracted his arm from around her, and said, "You gonna be all right by yourself, Kiddo?"
Her appreciative smile froze in place as she cocked her head, considering what he'd just said. As she hurried to keep up with him, realization dawned slowly in her eyes, and her smile faltered. "I – yeah... yeah, I'll be fine," she reassured him as best she could, although he could read it as clear as day on her face, that tiny spark of panic that still held sway over her, that little-girl urge to run and hide from what scared her. "But, Cain, I – "
Whatever she was, though, he never found out. Her jaw snapped shut as he reached out to grab her, to bring her to an abrupt halt before they collided with the soldiers who had been walking ahead of them. The tunnel, it seemed, had come to its end. A set of heavy, steel doors dominated the rock-face; the doors themselves were open, and a small group of three men stood waiting in the gaping maw. The interior of the barracks visible beyond seemed eerily familiar to one Cain, DG, and Hass had seen before.
Cain was left with no doubt in his mind as to the authoritative stance of the Outlander at the head of the small, awaiting group. After getting a good look, however, at the amused smirk on the Commander's face, Cain lowered his head and kept his eyes down. DG was hovering near his side, the sleeve of her wool jacket brushing the wet leather of his duster, and he could feel Raw near his back, the Viewer's breath coming in fast, nervous spurts.
"Your Highness!" boomed the Commander, his jovial tone provoking immediate suspicion in Cain. At the Outlander's recognition of DG, Cain raised his eyes, watching the scene now, keeping his gaze on, and only on, DG. She was shivering under her soaked clothes, but she kept her chin raised. "What an unexpected pleasure."
DG's voice was surprisingly steady for the trembling of her body. "Yeah, um, sorry to drop in on you," she said. As the words left her mouth, the soldiers who had led them down into the ground stood aside as the Commander moved down the metal stairs. He was agile despite his hulking size, and the stairs clanged under his weight. He made straight for the princess and DG backed up a few steps at his quick advance, until she'd bumped into Cain. Instinctively, Cain's hands flew up to her arms to steady her, a gesture, he noted with dissatisfaction, that caused the Commander's eyebrow to perk curiously. The Outlander's dark eyes – almost black – took in the sight of the ex-Tin Man's hands on the princess's arms.
The Commander cleared his throat, before returning his penetrating stare back to DG. She, in turn, stared up defiantly, despite the fact the Outlander towered over her by a rough fifteen or so inches. Cain let his hands fall, and DG stepped forward. The Commander stayed planted, feet shoulder-width apart, back straight, in perfect military posture.
"You've done more than drop in on me, Your Highness," the Commander said, his tone changed from his first greeting. With every word bitten out through clenched teeth, his face became harder. DG, falling into a familiar routine after her initial hesitation, glared up at him expectantly. "You've now drawn my men and I into your war. A grievous mistake, Princess." Growling out a command to his men, he stepped back from DG. "Take the princess and find her suitable quarters."
DG's head whirled around, to look back at Cain. Though he tried his best to keep his face impassive, he nodded at her; she'd be fine, and he knew it... sometimes, however, he was unsure if she knew it. Whatever the impact his slight reassurance had on her, it seemed to be enough. Though she yanked her arms away from the soldier that tried to grab her, she allowed herself to be led away. When she'd disappeared farther into the barracks, around a corner and out of sight, Cain heard a soft growl from Raw, and he frowned.
Yeah, that's just about the way I feel too, Raw, he thought.
"Take the princess's men to the detainment area," the Commander told one of his soldiers, the one who'd held his weapon aimed at the back of Cain's neck for most of the journey from their encounter with the Lady Catt. "I want the guard on the level doubled." Cain smirked then, wondering if the Commander had any idea that the man who had helped Queen Locasta's soldiers escape his underground complex the annual before was in fact the one that had led Cain and DG back, to stand here now. But as Cain was shoved hard between the shoulder blades, toward the open, twelve-foot clearance doors that led into the barracks, the Commander held up a hand for the soldier at Cain's back to stop.
Now, Wyatt Cain wasn't used to looking up to people, but the Outlander dwarfed him. With a steady stance, Cain didn't meet the Commander's eyes, though he could feel himself the subject of great scrutiny. Swaying slightly on his feet as he waited, radiating impatience, Cain counted off the seconds until the Commander spoke.
"Old Man!" the Commander barked; Jowan, who'd been quietly waiting for his orders, came forward, and stood beside Cain. With his back straight, the two human men were within inches in their height, but the old caretaker let his head fall back slightly, so that he might look his superior in the eye. "Who is this man?" the Commander asked with the arrogance of a man who already knew the answer.
Jowan looked at Cain as if he'd just noticed him. Cain rolled his eyes, and kept silent. "This, my Lord? This is – " And here, the old man paused to knock Cain's hat to the floor. He put his hand directly on the back of Cain's skull and bent his head forward in a bow. With a low growl, Cain allowed the forced gesture; after only brief seconds, he jerked his head back up, this time meeting the Commander's eyes, not trying to mask the fierce dislike he felt. "– Wyatt Cain. He is the personal guard of Her Highness, and um –" Jowan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "He is the... intended of the young princess."
The Commander raised a brow, giving Cain a knowing smile. "Intended, you say? Lover, then." He chuckled low. "This is the man who knows if she tastes as sweet as she looks."
Unwilling to give the Outlander any satisfaction, Cain kept his stony silence. Frowning at Cain's resistance to his goading, the Commander backed down. Speaking to the soldier behind Cain, he said, "I want to be notified when the princess goes to him. Old Man, you follow me." With a nasty grin, the Commander nodded politely at Cain, before turning and stalking away. Jowan, before following after the Commander, shot Cain a look of warning.
"Be careful, Captain," he said, before bending and picking up Cain's hat from where he'd knocked it to the floor. Brushing it off, he handed it back to Cain. He turned and walked away, and as Cain watched after him, a shiver went through him, more likely caused by his soaked clothes and his numb body than by the odd sense of more trouble on his horizon. Before he had too much time to focus on this, however, he was being escorted roughly along with Hass and Raw to a lower level, where bright lights lit an unadorned hallway. Separated, they were locked in empty cells that seemed to have once served as slave quarters. Unceremoniously shoved in head-first, Cain was unaware of where, exactly, the corporal and Raw were led. He assumed, perhaps a little too optimistically, that it would be nearby; thinking, hopefully, that it would be on the same block.
A small, slatted window was set in the heavy wooden door, and it was with this slice of light coming in from the hallway that Cain navigated the small cell. There was a kerosene lamp on the table, but there were no matches – there had been matches in his pack, but he had no idea what had happened to his belongings, or to his horse.
Grumbling to himself, Cain began to peel off his wet layers. His shirt was relatively dry, so he rolled up his damp sleeves before slinging his vest over the back of the only chair, a rickety wooden thing that didn't look like it would hold his weight. He tossed the water-logged duster on top of the vest, knowing that he would spend more than enough time in this dark, tiny space for his things to dry. His pants were soaked past his knees, but he wasn't about to take them off without a change of clothes. The pants would just have to dry while he wore them.
The cot crammed into the corner of the cell was a bare mattress on a creaking metal frame. He sat down on it, removing his boots and socks, and stared at the square of light created by the small window on the door. He could hear the shuffling of the guards who were situating themselves outside his cell.
"I want the guard on that level doubled," the Commander had said.
Cain exhaled heavily, looking around the dark cell that he could almost, but not quite, make out. As his body finally began to settle, he could feel a dull ache beginning in his muscles, a shaking inside that seemed to start from his very marrow. His heart was pounding and his blood rushing through him; he needed to calm down, and he needed to sleep. There was no telling what was to come in the next few hours – or days, as he guessed... they wouldn't be leaving until the storm had let up and they could travel out of the mountains on foot.
Once, of course, DG was able to find whatever or whoever was supposed to help her sneak into the Longcoat base at the center of the Black Forest.
He tried not to concentrate on how much trouble they were in, or how he didn't quite know what the next step was going to be. The Commander, in his insight, had labelled one truth very clearly: sometime in the near future, DG would be seeking Cain out.
And it was with this unwavering truth calming his firing nerves that Cain was able to close his eyes, and attempt to sleep.
***
Things were changing rapidly in the underground barracks. Unbeknownst to Cain and his friends, they'd been led underneath the Western mountains, and had almost reached the desert beyond. Crossing the border had put them in the no-man's land that rested between the O.Z. and the rest of the world.
As Cain and his two men were being led down deeper still into the ground to the detention cells, and DG was being led to more comfortable quarters against her will, The Commander walked down a separate hallway, followed in silence by a small group of soldiers and behind them, the old caretaker, Jowan.
"Send a messenger on," the Commander ordered of the soldier directly behind him. "Tell the border guard we shall be returning over the desert in a few days. Do not specify a reason."
The soldier nodded and broke off from the group, heading back in the direction from which they'd come.
When the group had reached the Commander's offices, the remaining soldiers were dismissed. The old man, however, followed after the Commander and closed the door behind him.
"Why did you bring the princess here, Old Man?" The Commander asked, getting straight to his point. But, without giving Jowan even a moment to answer, he continued on. "You met with the scout not three days ago in Central City, am I correct?"
Jowan cleared his throat, and nodded. "That you would be, Sir."
The Commander studied the old human that stood before him. He hadn't seen Jowan since he'd sent him to keep an eye on the Gales, and that had been almost an annual before. In that time, there seemed to be a change, as if the annual in the Zone had invigorated the old man.
"You reported to the scout the Princess Royal was in Finaqua." The Commander raised a curious brow as he settled himself down into his desk chair.
"Yes, well," Jowan said, "that was the general consensus about the palace as to the young princess's whereabouts."
"Court gossip was wrong, then?" the Commander asked with a self-satisfied smile.
"DG and the captain gave everyone the slip," Jowan told his commander with a bit of a smile himself. "They snuck back into Central City like criminals to ask me for my help in finding you."
That grabbed the Commander's interest. "Oh, really? Why would the little Slipper want to seek me out?"
"Apparently she wants a formal negotiation to take place," Jowan said, not mentioning anything about the Emerald, or what he knew of it from his own research. The Commander would know well enough DG's intentions. News of the Outlands had come to Jowan from the scout, Zero, as they'd met to discuss the goings-on of the Gale princesses. Not all that long ago, Zero had stated rumours of the Commander's mind still being consumed by his obsession with the Emerald, and his failed attempt to obtain it.
And surely enough – "A formal negotiation?" The Commander leaned back in his chair as the words left his mouth, and for the briefest moment, it almost seemed as if the Outlander were daydreaming. Snapping out of it quickly, however, as he noticed the old man watching him, the Commander stood. He put his fists on the desks, and leaned toward Jowan.
"And what of the events that took place in the mountains? Your run in with the Lady Catt was most unlucky," the Commander commented casually, but the glint in his eyes was menacing.
Jowan, quite used to Outlander tactics after a lifetime of slaving underneath of them, was unaffected and didn't falter. "The run-in with the Lady would not have happened, Sir, had the girl not wandered off."
The Commander gave a gravelly chuckle. "So that's how it happened, then?"
Jowan's only response was to roll his eyes.
"Well," the Commander said, pushing away from the desk, and coming around it. "The girl is going to need a shadow while she's here, I don't want her unattended for even a minute." The Commander had learned his lesson about letting the girl wander freely. A horrible thought occurred to him, and it caused him to smile. "Shall I set Zero to the task?" he asked the old man.
Jowan looked for a moment like he was considering it, but then shook his head. "No, I don't think so, Sir. There's no reason to torment the poor child while she's here."
The Commander found himself agreeing to this, surprising himself with just that. "I want to meet with the princess this evening once she's rested. There are other things that need to be taken care of at the moment," he said. His men had recovered one of the Lady Catt's injured soldiers; someone had beaten the man quite badly, but he was going to live to see another day – and he'd talk if he ever wanted to return to the surface.
***
After everything, DG wouldn't remember, later on, the maze of passages and stairwells that led, eventually, to a room and a bed, nor would she remember shakily fighting her way out of her wet clothes and collapsing into the bed in her underwear. There would be a fragmented memory of dissolving into tears before being claimed by sleep, not from sadness or fear, but from relief.
What she would remember, and vividly, were her dreams. Her sleep was deep, impenetrable; her dreams were familiar, images seen before of a black-and-white world, memories not her own, of an ancestress long dead. Of corridors similar, but different; of rooms almost the same. Dorothy Gale, stumbling down a shaft into an underground hell. Her imprisonment, the eventual favour she found with the leader of the Outlanders, and her binding with the Emerald. It was this pain, the knife-blade sharp memories of the mark of the Emerald burning into her skin that startled DG out of her dreams, and into wakefulness.
She was on a bed, soft and warm, and she was comfortable. She knew she was alone, and she swallowed back the worry of what could have happened to the others – to Raw, to Cain – and instead tried to focus on worrying about herself. She knew, somehow, that they were as safe as she was – but exactly what that was saying, she wasn't sure yet.
At the moment, she didn't care about Emeralds, or dreams of Papay fields, or warnings of dark eyes. Her problem wasn't the strange, beautiful face that kept appearing in her mirrors.
The darkness around her was her most immediate problem, and it was this she chose to deal with first.
It was almost second nature now to focus her energy and hold her palm out, facing upward; from her skin was born a bright, tiny wisp of light. The brilliant flash in the room at its sudden appearance shocked her eyes, and she shielded them with her forearm. Blinking away the stars that danced across her vision, DG looked around at the tiny room bathed in the pale glow cast by the light, as it floated still and patient, waiting for her order.
Glad for its company, DG got up off the bed, steadying her wobbly legs with one hand on the metal frame; yanking a blanket off the bed, she wrapped it around herself. The light ambled behind her as she crossed the room to the open doorway, which led into a closet-sized bathroom. Merely perfunctory, there was no door or tub; the mirror above the sink basin was cracked, and hanging crooked.
On the wall opposite the bathroom was the door that led, presumably, to the world outside the small room. The door itself was made of rough wood, fortified with thick iron bands. When she tried the handle, she found it locked. With a surge of annoyance, she tried her magic on it, but the lock held securely. With an unladylike curse, she slammed her fist on the wood; frustration and fear were beginning to rise in her, and she turned to lean her back against the door, to catch her breath and blink back the threatening tears.
Walking away from the door with her head in her hands, elbows pinning the blanket to her body, she tried to gather her thoughts enough to make sense of her situation. As she plopped back down on the bed, she tried to concentrate on her options. She was getting ahead of herself – she couldn't very well, after all, storm out of this room with a blanket wrapped over her bra and panties.
Start thinking straight, DG, or you're not going to get anywhere, she chastised herself.
Taking things slower now, she tried her very hardest to formulate a plan of attack. Her mind, however, rebelled, and skipped around aimlessly. Cain... no, clothes, then Cain... no clothes, then a way out, and then... Cain, and Raw. And Hass. The Commander...
Her stomach growled a loud complaint, putting in its two cents. She didn't know what the time was, but she was certain that it had been well over a day since she'd eaten anything. Frowning, DG slumped back onto the bed. Her brain just wasn't ready for this yet.
Finally, she got a bit of a hold on herself. Her clothes had disappeared from wherever she'd left them, but there were clean, dry dresses folded into the bureau that was tucked into a tight corner of her room. The linen tea-dress she pulled down over her head smelled musty, and clung to the curves she usually tried to hide, but she couldn't quite care.
Oh, my kingdom for some sweatpants, and a hoodie. The thought made her smile.
She found a pair of knit stockings, pulling them up to find that they went well past her knees. Her sneakers were still completely soaked, and she wrinkled her nose at them as she placed them upside down in the bathroom sink to dry better.
She found a lamp and lit it with her magic, before she banished her small light companion, who disappeared with little to-do or complaint. The flame within the lamp's glass burned bright and constant on the wick, and she set it on the bureau, looking around the room she'd been led to, properly for the first time. Aside from the bed and the dresser, an old chair of carved wood sat in one corner, its cushion faded and worn. Over the back of it, someone had hung up her wool coat to dry; there was no doubt that her own clothes had been picked up and taken away by someone who'd come into the room while she slept – the Commander's slaves, she could only assume.
Impatiently, she stalked about the room, shaking her hands out as she did so. She worked up the courage to try the handle again, to use her magic in just the right way to make the lock release, but none of it worked. Cursing loudly, she shook the handle angrily. "Let me out!" she demanded, and then placed her ear to the door.
There was a definite sound of muffled footsteps on the other side of the door. A guard?
A key turned in the lock; DG hopped back from the door in surprise, magic sparking in her very blood in ready defence. However, when the door opened to reveal Jowan, entering her room with a tray of food, she fell back, disappointed. The door was closed behind him, and locked from the outside.
Definitely a guard.
The old man was offering her a smile as he crossed the room to place the tray on the small table in the corner. "You slept long, Princess," he said offhandedly, straightening again to brush his hands together. "There, uh... there is a small meal, here. I'm to inform you, however, that you're expected to meet with the Commander later tonight."
"Tonight?" DG asked. "How long did I sleep?"
Jowan looked at her sympathetically. "We arrived near five A.M., its now almost dark above ground. You slept almost twelve hours, Your Highness."
DG waved a hand at him, and snapped, "Please, don't. Just don't. None of that, not right now."
Jowan looked uncomfortably caught. "My apologies." The sentence fell anticlimactically, as she awaited add-on of her title that didn't come.
Breathing a sigh of relief at that, DG looked up at the old man, ignoring the tray of food that he'd brought. His eyes were dark-rimmed with exhaustion, and there was a slowness to his movements that she'd never observed before, and a slump to his shoulders that she was sure was not intentional.
"Have they let you rest yet?" she asked him quietly.
Jowan gave her a weary smile. "Not yet, Miss, but he can't work me forever."
DG somehow doubted that. "You're not returning with us when we leave, are you?" she asked.
"No, I won't," he told her, and there wasn't any regret in his voice. In fact, he seemed completely all right with this fact. "I'll return to the Outlands with the Commander when he goes. His scheduled departure has, however, been postponed until your business with him is finished." Almost as if to clarify to her his agreement with his conditions, he winked at her.
"The Commander knows I didn't bring him the Emerald, doesn't he?" DG asked, not specifically to Jowan.
The old man, however, spoke up. "He is aware you do not have the Emerald," he said. "I daresay that he's going to want to speak with you on the subject. He is under the impression that you've come for formal negotiations concerning the stone."
DG laughed out-loud, a short and nervous sound. "I wonder who put that idea in his head."
"Oh, I do wonder," Jowan said sheepishly, though his face read amusement. "You will have your chance to speak with the Commander on a great number of things, Child, don't worry. You and your men are stuck here until the storm passes, and it seems to have taken a liking to these mountains. It might be a few days yet before you can venture out again."
DG looked up at the ceiling above her head, absently wondering just how far underground she was, and knowing that Cain and the others would be at least a level or two below her. "Where are they, Jowan?" she asked him, continuing her thoughts aloud.
"'They'? ...Oh. Oh, yes. They'll be down on the fourth level, I imagine. I don't know where, exactly."
DG's lips curved into a tiny smile. "Keeping you away from there, are they?"
Jowan cleared his throat, his worn old face staying emotionless. "One of the higher-ups might be under the impression that odd things tend to happen when I'm around," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. His eyes met with hers, and he studied her for a moment; she could tell that there were words on the tip of his tongue, and he was fighting with his conscience on whether or not to release them to her. Finally, he shook his head, and looked away from her. "If you're wanting to go looking for your men, you're free to move about the complex, as before... consider yourself warned, however, that you're going to be watched, and carefully. The Commander has plans to assign you an escort."
DG shook her head. "I don't need one of the Commander's men."
"You'll get one whether you like it or not, Princess," Jowan said, and the slip of her title off his tongue seemed to put an end to his willingness to speak. With the tiniest of regretful smiles, and a small bow of his head, the caretaker knocked firmly on the heavy door, which was opened for him. Once it had shut behind him, it was locked.
DG snorted unhappily. Free to move about the complex, huh? Damn it!
What her mother or Azkadellia would say about her language choices, she didn't know, but DG was glad they couldn't hear her thoughts. She knew that, even if she attempted to send her thoughts to her mother or sister, both were too far for her to reach. She could reach out to the others, to Cain or to Hass, but what good would it do, as they couldn't respond in kind?
God damn it, she missed her mother's soft, kind voice; she missed Azkadellia's dark, expressive eyes. Almost in tears over it, DG wandered over to the tray the old man had brought, and enjoyed the cold toast as much as she might have a piece of cardboard. The tea was luke-warm – tea, it had been almost a week since she'd managed to drink down the bitter fennel-seed tea, meant to act as birth control; it had come from a Central City pharmacy, under a fake name concocted by Azkadellia. The tea-bags, untouched since... Milltown?... were wrapped in tissue paper and tucked away at the bottom of her pack... and now only the Gods on this side would know where that was. Buried in snow at the side of a back-road of the Western province, maybe forever.
Feeling lonelier than ever, and wanting nothing more than to see another familiar face, DG threw down the last crust of her toast onto the plate, put out the lamp, and marched determinedly toward the door. As her hand touched the door-handle, the glow of her magical exertion shimmered in the dark; with one hard twist, the doorknob turned.
Triumphant, DG laughed, and pulled the door open, prepared for a confrontation with the guard the Commander had assigned... only –
There was no one there.
Where had the guard at the door gone? She looked around, expecting someone to come around the corner. She'd made enough of a racket trying to get the door open. Sighing, she left the door wide open; whoever the guard was, he would just have to come looking for her.
Seconds later, she summoned a wisp. With thoughts of Raw, Cain, and even the corporal dominating her mind, she whispered to it, "Take me to my friends, please."
Author's Note: Outline says we're spending a few chapters at this location. Anyone who has been missing Jeb will see him next chapter (Finally, I know, sorry). Also, what's this? You've noticed DG dropped her guard already and is heading to Cain's cell alone? Yeah, I thought you'd notice. Reviews are always great for the Muse's inspiration. Just ask her. ;)