Chapter 36: Rematch
The fools had gotten themselves killed, and while Mehrunes had expected them to last a bit longer, he wasn't particularly concerned. Ruined Cloak was far more efficient than his now dead assistants, and so long as he remained, the prince's case was in good hands. The dark killer himself wasn't upset by the loss of his men, for he'd told them to investigate the rumors and activities around Arelius, and it would only have been a problem had Portia successfully left the city, but she hadn't. In a craftily executed ploy, the Blades had tricked and killed two men, and for the first time, Mehrunes considered that Portia's allies might be more dangerous than he'd anticipated. Sure, he'd been careful thus far, but there was no doubt that the Blades were stepping up their game. Perhaps they were closer to acting than Ruined Cloak had warned.
Again, the prince considered launching an attack, for it would soon be time to leave, and with Portia avoiding Cassius, he was bored. She'd have received his letter by now, and the thought made him smile as he wandered the city streets. He was restless tonight, and staying at home was out of the question when he hadn't fought anyone in days. True, he'd provoked a duel on the streets a few days ago, but his opponent had hardly been worth the time. The guards must have been absolutely thrilled to find the bloody corpse outside of the bar, and the only downside to that night had been Horace's concern over the blatant violence. He didn't want guards at his door, especially since Ruined Cloak claimed that someone had infiltrated the house.
"The dark elf has to go, my lord. She is the most dangerous threat to us."
Perhaps, and Mehrunes was inclined to indulge his servant, but not right now. For the moment, he'd merely sent the killer on a short mission to remind the Blades of whom they were dealing with, and with a grunt of annoyance, Mehrunes paused beneath a streetlight to stare at the palace walls. The white stones looked like bleached bones in the night, which wasn't a displeasing comparison, but he would prefer blackened lava rock any day. He'd inhabited this realm for weeks with little concern for his own world, but now he pictured his palace rising above the Deadlands, and on impulse, he decided to infiltrate this gleaming beacon of human hope.
The palace was well guarded, but Mehrunes had once seen Portia enter the grounds unrestricted and undetected, for there was a small pathway through the training yards that was rarely monitored. With the high walls blocking him from view, he retraced her footsteps, easily breaking the lock on a wooden gate and passing beneath a small archway into a columned corridor. The right side opened onto a grassy yard, and he knew that there were a series of such rooms, all interconnected by hallways, storage, and baths. Now that rekindled fond memories.
With a grin, Mehrunes kept to the shadows as he strolled, his sword at his side, and intuition telling him that he wanted something here. Truly, there was no reason to be here, but the location suited him, and he remembered fighting Portia on this yard. Perhaps that was what drew him to this place, and the quiet reminded him of the inner rooms of his palace. When he was in a particularly foul mood, he'd banish all the guards, and in the following silence, he'd sit and brood, maybe moving his mind from one daedric shrine to the next as he sat atop his throne, listening to his followers and sometimes lashing out for his own amusement. Speaking through the mortal followers that gathered at his shrines reflected the position that he'd held in this world for many decades: that of a disembodied voice.
Creak.
Mehrunes paused and looked toward a small, side room, for the door had suddenly swung outward, and while no further sound followed, he knew that someone was inside. The darkness beyond the door was nearly complete, so he could not spy on his unexpected company, but slowly a figure emerged, and his mind raced in anticipation. It was female with a bag of what had to be equipment over her shoulder, for he could hear the jingle of metal as she moved, but he didn't care what she carried when he could almost taste the woman's scent on the air.
Mehrunes didn't even stop to consider his actions as he stepped onto the yard, completely foregoing the element of surprise as his pulse quickened. What good fortune, or rather, how fortunate that he'd been guided here. The idea of being unconsciously guided would normally have sent him into a rage that would burn through his entire body before being brought to heel, but he'd forgo anger for the time being. This was too good to spoil, and a quick scan of the female body obscured by the corridor's shadows reaffirmed the thought.
"What...what are you doing here?" a feminine voice asked, clearly surprised. She'd frozen, caught off guard, and Mehrunes could imagine her hand flicking toward her waist where a sword hung, but he wasn't fooled. The slight trepidation in Portia's mannerism did not escape him, and it made him wish to throw her to the ground and lord his power over her, but he did not. He wasn't the prince of destruction right now, but Cassius, which had advantages of its own.
"I could ask you the same thing," he told her.
"My business is my own," she quickly responded.
"Likewise, my lady." He began walking closer, grass softening his otherwise forceful stride, and Portia merely setting her load aside. For one so ready to think the worst of him, she could have yelled for a guard, but no, that wasn't her style. It wasn't his either, and as he looked over her body, he wished to remind her of how he'd held her.
"What do you want, Cassius?" Portia asked.
"Where do I begin?" He stopped, not missing the movement of her hand to her sword's hilt. Ah yes, what did he want? "I've been waiting for a rematch. Perhaps you'll be lucky this time."
"It's late," Portia shrugged. "And I am not keen on being caught with an unauthorized intruder in the middle of the night. You'll have to wait until later."
"Pathetic excuse, Sherkyn. I'm giving you a chance that you might not get again."
************
Portia wanted to fight. She stood there, hand touching metal, and thought of Gilthan. Mehrunes had promised her a chance to fight in retribution, but when would he appear, and if she could fight him in this capacity, did she even have a prayer of winning? Cassius might be Mehrunes, but then again, he might not be. This arrogant man before her was a match personality wise, but he was standing there and giving her a choice, which seemed very unlike the prince. Perhaps she was wrong in her wayward thoughts, but either way, Cassius was here, offering to duel and allow her a form of venting. She had wanted to beat him before, and if she could do so now, she could show him just who he was harassing. Verbally besting him or denying his advances was on thing, but seeing him hit the dirt was something greater.
And oh, how she wanted him to admit that she could be more than his equal. The urge had long been there, and after days of hiding while Mehrunes mocked her, this confrontation almost seemed like a blessing. If only he knew what chance he was giving her, and as she looked into his seemingly knowing eyes, she made a decision. He had to be part of the Mythic Dawn, and for that, she could draw his blood.
"Round two is it then," she spoke, drawing her sword. Cassius said nothing, but shot her a wicked smile that showed his fanged teeth as he took his own weapon in hand. Portia stepped onto the yard, fingers gripping the sword until her knuckles ached, and she slipped into a fighting stance, heart steadily pumping as she realized just how dangerous this was. There would be no interruption this time.
Good, part of her whispered.
It didn't matter if Cassius was Mehrunes or not as the man initiated the first attack. All Portia knew was that he wasn't going to win this time, and as his heavier sword collided with hers, she felt the blow down her entire arm, using both hands to brace her blade against the attach. Yes, this might kill her, but she wouldn't let him stand victorious over her this time.
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The mortal was holding her own, and Mehrunes could see how determined she was when he smashed his sword against hers in a downward slash. Their blades were locked together, the prince throwing his weight into the attack and attempting to force Portia backwards. Her feet dug into the earth, and she angled her body forward, trying to counterbalance his force, and their faces were close, glaring at one another from behind crossed weapons. He could see the sweat forming on her forehead, and feel the wrath of her emotions as more than just their blades clashed. Again, he saw a flash of orange in her eyes, and he admitted that they were more evenly matched this time around.
Just when he felt her strength about to cave, her knees lowering ever so slightly, and she threw her weight sideways, forcing his sword away from her, but he did not lose his grip. What a stupid mortal if she thought that it would be so easy, but once his blade was deflected from her body, she whipped her sword sideways, the tip whistling through the air mere inches from his face. If he hadn't yanked his body backward, he'd be feeling a sting right now, or maybe worse.
So she wants to play rough.
Mehrunes didn't hesitate in renewing his offensive, his aggressiveness bearing down on Portia so that she could not use speed against him. His attacks were brutally forceful, and there were many that she barely managed to block or dodge, her breath coming in shorter gasps as she parried another thrust. Then she did the unexpected; she began giving more ground, moving backward and making weaker attempts to stop him as he felt her arm shake with his latest strike.
No one beats a prince, he smugly thought, and the promise of blood made him move faster, exhausting her fatigue as she stumbled, and he took full advantage of her mistake. He swung hard, wanting to disarm her once and for all as her footing failed her, but what was that? In the moonlight, he caught her grim smile, but it was too late to undo his assault, and with shocked realization, he watched her safely duck beneath his sword, the blade continuing its path to sink into the thick wood of a practice dummy.
"Damn," he hissed, working to yank the blade free, but the delay was long enough to cost him. Portia's sword was already flying toward his gut, and he sucked in his breath in anticipation of a wound that never came. There was pressure, but no pain as he stared in disbelief at the sword tip resting against his tunic.
"You lose, Cassius."
No.
He watched with satisfaction as Portia's eyes widened in alarm, for he'd abandoned his sword to grab her blade with his bare hands. The razor edge bit into his skin, but only enough to make a shallow, clean cut as he chuckled, metal firmly locked between his palms.
"Not quite," he told her, and ignoring the conventional rules of a duel—rules that she'd failed to specify this time around—he ripped the sword from her grasp, cheating by sending a small flare of heat down its length to loosen her hold. He threw the weapon aside and glared down at where she sat on the grass, a few drops of blood sliding down his fingertips and livening his senses. It had been a long time since someone had drawn his blood, and with a twisted smile, he reached for Portia's throat, perfectly willing to force her to admit her defeat.
He never saw her foot coming until it was too late.
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"Bitch!" Portia's foot collided with Cassius's groan, and the man doubled over in pain. With a sharp intake of breath, his eyes burned with a wild, uncontrollable rage that made her synapses fire in a dizzying onslaught of sensations, and for a moment, she wasn't sure if the anger was his or hers. She'd never seen him so stoked for violence, and with his feral side manifesting itself more strongly with each passing second, she knew that this fight was more than a duel. He wasn't going to allow himself to lose, no matter the cost, and that was the most dangerous kind of enemy.
She took her chance as he braced himself against his thighs, exploiting his vulnerable state to punch him in the face, which snapped his head to the side as an unearthly growl emanated from his throat. By the nine, she was in deep shit, but if he thought that she'd lay down and let him win after his dirty trick, he was wrong. Whether she was forced to seriously injure him or not, she didn't think that running was an option. The man always found her, and running, while a very attractive idea as his smoldering eyes snapped back to her, would not save her.
"You lose," she reiterated, and the sneer that came over Cassius's face looked nothing like a mortal man's as he lunged for her. She felt rather than saw his fist collide with the hand that she raised in self-defense, and the resulting pain almost made tears spring to her eyes as she wondered if he could break bones with a single punch. Gods, it hurt, but she avoided the next swing and aimed a kick at him. She very nearly panicked when he grabbed her leg and twisted, whirling her around and sending her to the ground face first. He could have been inside of her head as she sensed his triumphant glee, making her unsure if the scathing bellow of laughter that she heard was real or imaginary.
Will he kill me?
Another growl came from above her as a foot pressed into the space between her shoulder blades, and she considered that he might be far gone enough to do something drastic.
"What did you say?" he demanded. "Something about me losing?" She'd never imagined that his voice could go so low or threatening. How could she have found this man attractive, even to the point of thinking about kissing him? Suddenly her teeth ground together in anger, and the hand that wasn't pinned beneath her tore a hidden dirk free from her belt.
"I said that you lose." She didn't need to see as she awkwardly angled the blade over her back and into the thick leather of Cassius's boots. The tip dug into flesh, causing the man ripped his foot free with a yell of anger that seemed to shake the very foundations of the building, and Portia had never thought that she'd come so close to death in her life. Maybe once before, but this had taken it to a whole new level, and her enemy wasn't done yet. His hand reached for her, and she attacked without thinking, the knife burying itself in Cassius's shoulder, and causing him to fall backward.
He lay there on the grass, hands ripping the blade free and discarding it as he pressed palms to the wound, determined to stop the flow of blood. He looked mortal and vulnerable, eyes flashing angrily, but the animalistic fervor gone as he watched her. There was a lot of blood, and Portia frowned, disliking the carnage, but feeling it necessary to bring the man to his senses. She'd been scared into fighting so fiercely, but now she watched the red stain on Cassius's shoulder grow, and wondered at what she'd done. When had a duel escalated into such violence?
"I guess you're right," Cassius said, voice strained with pain. Gods, but how could she think him Mehrunes Dagon when he was laying prostrate like that? She hated blood—hated it! At least it wasn't literally on her hands this time, and she moved closer, watching Cassius's dark eyes that looked like voids even in the darkness. She couldn't see exactly where'd she hit him, and perhaps she'd done more damage than expected. What if...No, she couldn't be soft on this man, whoever he was.
"Say it," she told him.
"No," he firmly denied, dark hair falling across his face as he breathed heavily. Gods, but there was a lot of blood. "What will you do now, Sherkyn?" he taunted her. "You've struck true, and if you wanted to kill me, you could. Victory demands blood."
"No," she argued. "Killing an opponent has never been my end goal. I promised myself that I would shed as little blood as possible the day that I murdered my comrade, and I won't go back on that vow. You forced my hand, Cassius." He chuckled, but it was weak, and Portia reluctantly knelt at his side, noting how his blood was little different from her own. This man was mortal, like her, and he felt pain, the idea resounding within her as her own shoulder throbbed with a subdued ache that worried her. The blood had to prove how utterly human Cassius was.
Maybe he wouldn't have gone as far as feared, meaning that she'd overreacted, and while the thought seemed ridiculous, she realized that she'd struck him down in more than fear. She'd wanted to cause pain and release the dark swirls of doubt within her, but to pin it on a man who might not be the rightful recipient of her frustrations...
"Admiring your handiwork?" Cassius asked. "You're a lot more vicious than you act."
"Sometimes," Portia admitted, removing his hands from the wound and widening the tear in his shirt to examine the damage. She despised the slick feel of his blood against her fingers as she stared at the hole in his flesh, which wasn't serious, but it would take time to heal. "Can you walk?" she asked, glancing at his injured foot.
"What are you up to, woman?" he suspiciously growled, and she closed her eyes against the aching resemblance of those words to those of another man. He thought that she lived to fight as he did, but Cassius was wrong, for she was nothing like him just because she refused to give in. This handsome liar would assume nothing about her without her consent, and the resentment of being expected to kill like her enemies made her flinch. She could and would kill, but not like this. Not like this. Not this man who's waiting for me to prove him correct, who's already defeated. It'd be pointless.
"Wrap your arm around my shoulder," she instructed while putting her own arms around his waist to help lift him from the ground. He hesitated, and Portia lost her patience. Even when he was defeated, he had to put himself in the controlling situation. "Now, Cassius," she ordered. "I don't know any restoration magic, and even though I'm tempted to leave you here, I won't."
"You're asking me to trust someone who just stabbed me," Cassius pointed out.
"I'm not going to do anything to you," Portia promised, her conviction making his head snap toward her, peering up through dark hair to scan her face for falsehood. He didn't believe her, and she knew it. "If you die, you can't admit that I won. And I did win, Cassius." She expected anger, but what she got was a very blank, serious stare that made her look away as she helped him to his feet. He leaned heavily against her, but she could tell that he was fighting the necessity.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say that you're enjoying having this power over me," the man stated as they began moving toward the yard's walkway. Portia chose not to respond, for to admit that she was enjoying being his means of support would make her sound like him, and she would not give him a reason to gloat and reverse their roles. "Hmmm. No answer, Sherkyn?" He suddenly pushed her away, and Portia was so startled that she easily released her grip and stood to watch Cassius rigidly take a few steps on his own, several bloody footprints left behind him.
"Too proud to admit that you need help?" she questioned. The man had amazing tenacity to be walking on his own in a weakened state.
"You will hold your tongue," he harshly ordered. "You may have won, but I do not need your help." He is too proud, the idiot. Portia walked to his side and stared at him, curious as he held a hand to his wound and pulled it away, marveling at his own blood. "It's been a long time since..." He suddenly turned his endless eyes on her, and she steeled herself for whatever barb was about to be sent her way, but none came. His expression was a mixture of pain, surprise, and admiration, but Portia did not understand why his own wounds fascinated him so.
"Fine," she suddenly said, and with vindictiveness that she did not feel, she left him.
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She was going to leave him to his own survival, and Mehrunes decided then and there that Portia was a much more hardened opponent than the touching of his wounds had suggested. What kind of crazy fetcher helped treat an enemy anyway? He grunted and leaned against a pillar, despising his current weakness as he listened to her footsteps fade, leaving him alone to bleed. If he'd been in her shoes, he'd have killed the wounded opponent rather than leave him alive to possibly seek revenge, but she wasn't him. She was vengeful and merciful at the same time—a paradox that Azura would appreciate, and if he'd wanted to subdue her before, the desire was barely contained as he now slid down the pillar.
She'd wounded him—drawn the blood of a prince and then rubbed the victory in his face by offering to help him. Damn that mortal woman! Still, he grimly smiled and stared at his bloody hands, impressed by her little stunt, and acknowledging that if she could do this to him, then she could hold her own against the Valkynaz. His human was certainly a spitfire, but did she have any idea that she'd just tightened her chains? A prince could not let an attacker go about as a bold victor, and for the blood that she'd spilled, he would remind her of the blood debt that was always about her shoulders. When his strength was back, he'd make that scar bleed, but he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to do more: watch her bleed or press her into the wall and whisper dark praise for her boldness.
She was worthy of his attentions, he admitted, now sitting on the ground. His human form was weaker and didn't heal as quickly, but the bleeding had already almost stopped, and the pain was lessening. In some ways, it was refreshing to feel the sting of competition, but he hissed in disapproval as he shifted his injured leg across the ground. The prince of destruction was momentarily disabled, and he had to get out of the palace before someone saw him. Then again, the thought of either Horace or Ruined Cloak seeing him like this made his fingers curl into fists.
"Cassius." That voice. Mehrunes looked up to meet Portia's softened features. The aggression was gone, but not the anger as she tossed a healing potion onto his lap. "You don't deserve that."
"Then why give it to me?" Portia sighed, the sound barely audible as Mehrunes uncorked the potion and downed it in one gulp.
"I said that I wouldn't leave you here," she reaffirmed. "You act like we're enemies and should be out for bloodshed, but you only asked for a duel, Cassius." That's right, he inwardly scoffed. Cassius and Portia weren't necessarily enemies, but she had seemingly forgotten that only a short while ago. Mehrunes stood, feeling the potion mend his shoulder and foot, and rolling the sore muscles to work out the kinks. He could kill her right now if he chose.
"Are we enemies?" Portia asked.
"I've no reason to call you an enemy," Mehrunes lied, remembering himself, but Portia wasn't an enemy, or not entirely. She was someone to hunt, claim, and torment, but not one destined for the palace prison. No, her prison would be built of something more complex than metal and stone. "Perhaps we are opponents, but I do not wish to see you die, Portia. You're far too..."
"Not enemies then," she mused. "Or enemies of a different kind. Your weapon, sir." She held his sword out to him pommel first, and he stared at her, wondering if she realized that he could easily take vengeance on her now. As he grabbed the weapon, he saw the hard edge to her eyes, and it was one that was anything but naive. She knew the risk, and she was testing to see if he meant his words. Ah, clever woman. She was testing more than his goodwill tonight.
"I hate to lose," he stated. "I won't let this go."
"You've made that clear from the beginning." Did she know who he was? He had to seriously consider the situation as he stepped closer to her, wanting nothing more than to smear his bloody fingers across her lips and make her taste the violence of what she'd done. It would repulse her to know that she was much more like him than she cared to admit.
"I am vengeful, Sherkyn," he darkly promised her, sheathing his blade. "It's my rightful role to win, but maybe this once..." And he leaned close enough that he could see her slightly parted lips and the tired, black circles beneath her eyes. "This once, I might be able to appreciate the loss. Don't forget whose blood is on your sword, because its a rare honor that you've claimed. If you forget, it might cost you your life."
"Get out of here, Cassius," she softly but firmly spoke.
"In my own good time," he assured her, ready to devour her as she pulled away from him. She was being careful to keep her eyes on his hands at all times, which gave him some measure of satisfaction. Perhaps he would have gone after her, but his body had that euphoric, dazed feeling of a powerful potion, which was a new experience for him. "Did it feel good, Sherkyn?" he pressed as he closed his eyes.
"Go home, Cassius. You're out of your element tonight."
"You didn't enjoy it," Mehrunes answered for her, watching her walk away. "But you needed it." Did her gait just hitch? "I'll never tell," he smugly mocked. "And I'll never disapprove. How very generous of me." They parted ways, and nothing was left on the training yard but a blood and torn grass.